city of anarchy
chapter seventeen
The rotary blades of the helicopter did their thing, pushing a gust of wind and chopped noise down to the rooftop where Brutt and his cronies were only just emerging.
'Head south,' Avgi ordered, lifting up the pilot's headset and shouting into his ear.
The copter's sliding door was still wedged open and Avgi remained stood at the open side, one hand finding support, the other pointing the gun at the police officers down below, the point wavering with the helicopter's erratic movements.
Illuminated by the lights from both the helicopter and those around the helipad, her white labcoat and her long, dark hair blew uncontrollably about her in the roaring breeze--an ascending, triumphant, vicious angel against the dark night.
The police tried to shoot her down--all of them missed. Brutt was already ordering them back inside.
'Piles of shit,' Avgi muttered, unheard, before turning her attention to the spinning city below.
She pushed herself back, leaning into the pilot's cockpit and grabbing another headset. 'Can you hear me?' she spoke into the mic.
The pilot nodded, his eyes fixed on their bearing.
'Good,' said Avgi. 'Now, I don't know what the procedure normally is for things of this kind, but please be aware that, should you attempt to undermine my extremely important mission in any way, I will shoot your face off. Understood?'
The pilot nodded again, too afraid to speak.
Avgi withdrew from the cockpit, pulled her phone from her coat pocket and wrapped her arm around some part of the helicopter's metal frame, using the same arm to put the phone to her ear.
'Beans Enterprises,' came the answer. 'What the hell is that noise?'
'Beans!' shouted Avgi. 'I'm on a helicopter.'
'What?' replied Beans. 'How did you manage that?'
'Beans, what the hell is going on over there?'
'I don't know, Avgi. I just got the update from the intern--Agent Ian is down, as well as an unknown number of Peripherals, possibly all of them, and the intern's gone after the Dark Circle gang on his own. That's what it sounded like, anyway. He was using Ian's watch, so I tried Ian's phone--no luck.'
'Damn it,' said Avgi. 'So Hermes is now alone and unreachable.'
'Looks like it,' said Beans. 'But it wouldn't be the first time.'
Avgi sighed, an act lost completely in the noise of the helicopter. 'He still has that tracker in his head,' she said. 'Find him. Then give me some directions. I'll go after him. Again.'
'On it, Avgi,' Beans replied. 'But I'm having a hard time picking up the signal. Until then, all we can do is wait for updates from the man himself. I'll get back to you.'
'One more thing, Beans,' said Avgi. 'Mawgly and Grieve were onto us being onto them. Any word from Yvonne?'
'No,' said Beans. 'Not yet.'
Yvonne was tied to a chair. As she returned to consciousness, her muscles tensed reflexively to find her arms bound behind the back of it, her feet tied together at the ankles, and several more lines of cord wrapped unceremoniously around her breast.
The back of her head hurt immensely.
Her throbbing, bleary focus managed to find itself on the figure of Electa Grieve, absurdly small in the high-backed chair, sat behind her desk. Yvonne had to blink a few slow times to clear the feeling that she had lost her sense of perspective, the view that the Governor as being projected onto the wall behind her: her massive portrait loomed above, same skirt, blouse and jacket in varying shades of mauve, the pose and expression almost identical.
For the first few moments, the only thing about the actual Governor that offered any sign that she was more alive than the portrait were the sentient strands of hair that floated about her head, free of the otherwise tight bun, glowing in the lamplight. Then she stood, her height increasing only fractionally.
'You have been trapped,' she announced in a shrill, matter-of-fact voice.
Yvonne said nothing.
Grieve pattered around the desk and walked up to the Agent. It suddenly struck Yvonne that the double portrait had been deliberate--it had been meant to impress.
She also noticed Grieve's weapon of choice sat on the desk--the gold elephant ornament. As she shifted in her seat again, her head gave her another sharp, painful reminder that the elephant had been as heavy as it looked--and she'd probably caught the trunk. She was surprised that the somewhat diminutive Governor had been able to swing it.
Grieve stopped mere inches in front of her; stared at her. It was a creepy stare, circular and unblinking and, this close up, somehow hollowed out and cracked with wrinkles all around the eyes.
The Governor took a pen from the desk: Yvonne's eyes followed it as it hovered before her, then quickly stopped and glared at Grieve as the Governor began to move it from side to side, playing her own little game of being in control.
Grieve then poked her with the pen: in the forehead, the right shoulder, the left breast. Yvonne reacted with deliberate suddenness, a wrenching motion that she knew would not help her free from her bounds, but was done to get the bizarre, probing Governor to take a step back.
'I suppose you want to know how I foiled you,' Grieve said, retreating but staring no less. She hitched herself up onto the desk, pushing the elephant aside. Her feet failed to touch the floor and she swung her legs back and forth like a hideous child.
Yvonne looked at her peevishly. She did want to know, but it was still not something to which she wanted to admit.
'We staged it,' explained Grieve, regardless of the Agent's muteness. 'It occurs to me now that I recognise you--from the party. Well, we found your devious listening device and staged all ensuing interaction. Recorded it, played it right back to you. I wrote it all myself, you know. I liked the idea of "Phase Two" especially, I must admit. It was also a clever thing to make you think that I would not be here. You're not as smart as you suppose, you Agent people.'
'So what now?' asked Yvonne. 'You just keep me tied to this chair, bragging about your little victory?'
'Eventually, you will be handed over to Commander Brutt. You will join Agent Avgi, who is being seized at this very moment.' Yvonne must have reacted visibly, for Grieve's mouth wrinkled in a deformed display of satisfaction. 'Your Agency will then be dissolved for being a public nuisance,' said the Governor.
'What are you up to?' Yvonne demanded. 'Everything that's going on in this city--are you responsible for it?'
'You are not permitted to ask such questions,' said Grieve. To Yvonne's horror, she appeared to stifle a small giggle. 'Now, I would like to savour this little victory of mine. There is no need to hand you over to Brutt just yet, I think, if I may acquire some information for myself.'
She picked up the pen again. 'I think I will torture you,' she said. 'I believe this is what the Commander does. I do not know his exact technique, nor his chosen duration, but we shall experiment. You may answer my questions once we are done.'
Hermes had lost them already. Still driving at ridiculous speed in the direction he thought he might have seen them go, he considered the flawed nature of his plan as he barrelled blindly through street after street: what exactly he had been intending to do if he ever caught up with them, and the fact that he was just a little bit petrified about the whole situation, having only recently learned to drive.
He glanced irritably at Agent Ian's watch, rolling about on the passenger's seat beside him. He made a point of ignoring it: he did not even know if anyone was receiving his messages, and anyway did not want to voice his lack of success--or make known his lack of plan.
He still had his gun with him, so far unused but for a few misguided shots back in the nightclub. He checked the glove compartment, one eye still on the road, and had a rummage: a few useless documents and...another pistol, possibly loaded.
He turned a sharp right and then left, rolling out of the myriad lesser streets and onto one of the many-laned main roads that cut through the city at an angle, broad and straight.
Then he saw the Dark Circle motorcade speeding west. It a such a cocksure escape: they were speeding, but not desperately so, forming a procession that was far from discreet--which gave Hermes another chance.
He put his foot right down on the pedal and the car lurched forward, barely coping.
He then grabbed Ian's watch and held the button. 'They're on the West Artery, if anybody's listening,' he said. 'Still in pursuit. Still don't really know what I'm doing.'
'How are we doing, France?'
Vann was at the wheel of the motorcade's rearmost vehicle, glancing in the rear-view mirror. France had his head stuck through the window, his follicle bobbles quivering in the oncoming breeze. He pushed himself out further, squeezing his whole upper body through the gap, and looked behind them.
'Clean break,' he announced. 'No, wait...' He flashed a big, white grin. 'We have a tail.'
'Which one?'
'The white one.'
Vann glanced again. 'I see it,' he said.
He tilted the mirror to view his backseat passengers: Holly's glowering face glared back at him.
Vann frowned. 'And there you are looking at me like we've just gone and killed innocent people,' he said. 'We didn't kill...what was his name? Angus?'
Holly folded her arms and looked away.
Eugene was nearly paralysed in his seat. He was staring at the lithe, charcoal figure of France, or what little left of him there was still in the car, as he rotated and gazed up at the sky. France closed his eyes, the big grin still fixed on his face. Then he swivelled further clockwise, cupped his hands and yelled to the gang ahead: 'We've got a tail!'
Another head popped out of the vehicle in front. 'Tail?' he shouted back.
France nodded. 'Tail!'
'Tail!' the word flew around the motorcade. 'Tail! Taaaail!'
Then everyone knew they had a tail.
Hermes saw the motorcade speed up and begin to drift apart, the sequence taking place as a series of frames as the vehicles passed in and out of each yellow circle of light from the streetlamps above.
Their formation broke and the cars started to head off into side-roads: Hermes pushed his own car as fast as it would go, but for all its straining it did not feel like it was going any faster at all.
Then a hulking black police vehicle tore out of a side-street and went straight for the centre of the motorcade, colliding with the back of a car that had been about to turn into the same road and sending it spinning. Another then hit, and another: giant slugs of black metal impacting with the procession, clearly intent on stopping the motorcade even if it meant destroying it utterly.
Hermes slammed on the brakes and the car screeched as it slowed. How the police had figured out where they were, he could not guess.
It was only then that a glance in his rear-view mirror informed him that more were on their way. The black four-by-fours, swaying from side to side as they cut across from lane to lane, emerged suddenly from the darkness behind him. Hermes squinted in the glare of their headlights and forced his wailing vehicle to speed up again.
Up ahead, the components of the motorcade were attempting to recover and heading for the nearest exits. The police seemed to be after more destruction, not getting out of their vehicles to attempt arrest, but barging where they could.
Determined not to lose them again, especially not to the police, Hermes picked the nearest vehicle and followed as it cut left.
Agent Yvonne was covered with jagged lines of ink.
She had clenched her jaw as tight as she could, gagged with a rolled-up ball of the Governor's tights, and refused to react as Grieve scored her skin with the pen. At first she had found the whole situation too absurd to be outraged, and the taste of the tights far more concerning, but now she was prepared to knock Grieve out with a headbutt as soon as she returned.
Grieve had gone looking for other potential torture devices. Yvonne once again tried spitting out the gag and wriggling her way out of her bounds--she was still fuming that she had managed to let it get this far to begin with.
The Governor had taken her phone from her and placed it on the desk beside the elephant. The Agent attempted inching towards it, her efforts redoubled as the thing lit up and started to buzz with an incoming call.
Then she sensed movement, and turned as much as she could to see Grieve framed in the office doorway, holding a can-opener.
The phone stopped buzzing.
In a flurry of insect-like steps, the Governor came up behind her--seemed to hover there a moment, deciding how to use her power next. She came around in front and removed the tights from the Agent's mouth.
'Tell me what you found at Dregg Street,' she said. 'We found evidence of combat. Blood all over the walls. Several ambulances were called to that location. Tell me what happened.'
Yvonne's thoughts immediately went to Agent Sofia.
'I don't know what you're talking about,' she said.
Grieve pulled apart the handles of the can-opener and took a step forward. For the next few seconds, they both looked at it bemusedly.
Then Yvonne's phone lit up again and rattled on the desktop. Grieve looked around the room as if she thought it might be a fly. She stared up at various corners of the ceiling for several moments before she realised that the sound was coming from right behind her.
She spun around.
'Your phone is ringing,' she observed.
Yvonne sighed. 'Stranger things have happened,' she said.
Grieve picked it up and inspected it like some alien device. 'Avgi,' she read. 'Why is Agent Avgi calling you? She is supposed to have been apprehended.'
Yvonne relaxed a little. She was relieved, but rather felt that she should have expected it. Mingled with this was the irritated feeling that she had not been so avoidant of her own predicament.
Then, to her surprise, Grieve answered the call.
'Yvonne? Why haven't you been--'
'Hello, Agent Avgi,' said Grieve, scuttling around behind her desk. 'What is that noise?' She opened a drawer and took out a gun with a silencer attached--just a little more menacing than the can-opener. 'I am rather displeased to hear of your escape. So very ungraceful. So disobedient.' She sat back in her leather chair and swivelled it. 'You are a fugitive now, you understand. A criminal.'
She waited for Avgi's reply. Avgi eventually said, 'There are words far worse that I could use for you, Electa.'
'Well, whatever,' said the Governor, still spinning. 'You may call me all the names you wish, but you will do so in my custody. Hand yourself over, Agent Avgi.' She stopped spinning and stood, swaying in her dizziness. 'That is an order. If you do not, I shall kill Agent Yvonne.'
Eugene had put on his seatbelt.
Holly was twisted in her seat, looking through the back window at the white car that was racing somehow reticently down the street after them.
France was still half out the window, happily ignoring the purpose of the vehicle's various mirrors and making himself an easy target. He squinted at Hermes, who was still a fair distance behind.
'That Agent,' he said, ducking back inside, and with conversational indifference to the whole situation, 'I don't know what he thinks he's doing--but he looks about ten years old.'
Then he was back out, making an odd noise, a sort of squealing chuckle, before he returned to announce, 'Boris is behind him. He really has no clue, this one.'
'Let Boris deal with him, then,' said Vann, keeping their ride at a steady speed some way ahead of the rest. 'You can bet those police didn't miss us, either.'
And he was right: Hermes' rear-view glances had barely finished their wary look at the fast-approaching car behind him before they were alerted to the looming, black presence of the police's trademark transportation. He suddenly found himself at the wrong end of the chase--or at no end, in fact, but right in the middle of it, where he was starting to feel he had no right to be.
Boris hit the back of him and he jolted forward. Boris leered at him, then noticed the police. He and Hermes performed a synchronised duck as a black-clad officer did the lean-out-of-the-window trick and opened fire.
This only made Boris more intent on ramming Hermes' car out of the way. He pulled up as much to the side as the road would allow and then heaved the steering wheel to the left, delivering a clip to the back of the white car that sent Hermes fishtailing, just as they entered a street lined with glowing, late-night business.
Commuters turned collectively at the screeching of Hermes' tyres, then screamed and scattered as the police opened fire again.
Boris swore as the bullets buried themselves in his rear bumper and shattered the back window. He surged forward, clipped Hermes again--but the act backfired. In an effort to recover his control, Hermes countered the wayward direction of his vehicle by pulling sharply back the other way. He overcompensated, however, and the car swung out and around, acting as a forceful barricade for Boris' car and sending him off the road.
The car hit a lamppost, which bit all the way through the bonnet and sent Boris flying through the windscreen like a human missile and travelling headfirst through a shop window.
Still hanging out of the leading car, France shrieked again. 'Did you see that?' he cried, overcome with laughter. 'Through the windshield like a slingshot ferret! Boris, man...'
One of the black four-by-fours rolled on to the pavement, dealing the crumpled car a little more damage and wrenching it from its wrap-around position before charging into the shop itself.
'Oh shit,' said France.
'He can handle himself,' said Vann, swerving left.
As they turned the corner, Holly saw their disparate pursuers make to follow. She had felt the dread rise as soon as she had seen the big, black vehicles appear, and though she had established a firm dislike of the Dark Circlers, Holly was desperately willing for their successful escape.
Their other pursuer, the Agent, was once again knocked aside as the undistracted of the two police vehicles stormed ahead. Hermes tried to re-engage the engine, but it would not start. He was out of the race.
'A situation?' said Grieve, on one side of another phone conversation. 'You mean that Agent Avgi is not co-operating? Where is she now?'
The Governor fixed Yvonne with a protuberant stare as she spoke. Yvonne returned it with a look of icy defiance. She was sick of being in the chair.
'Very well. I will finish up here. Inform Mawgly that she will answer for her incompetence.'
Yvonne flexed her shoulders again as Grieve ended the call. The Agent looked up at the portrait and, as the intensity of the Governor's stare increased, tried to decide which of them looked more sinister. The pose in the portrait was hideously unnatural, somehow, but something about seeing the Governor's mind working as she decided what to do next just about took the edge for a feel of creepiness.
'I must leave,' the Governor said, eventually. 'I have matters I must attend to elsewhere. And yet, what to do with you...'
Grieve once again wound her way around the desk for a closer look--to see her power, her control, play across the eyes of her captive. She seemed reluctant to leave her plaything behind.
'Perhaps I will punish Agent Avgi for her insolence,' Grieve said, moving even closer. 'I will give you one last chance to answer my questions. Then--'
She was close enough: Agent Yvonne delivered the headbutt.
She had already freed her hands around the back of the chair, and quickly attended to the cord at her ankles.
But Governor Grieve got to the gun quicker than she had expected. Yvonne did not hesitate, wriggling free from the rest of her bounds and turning to run from the room. She made it out into the room beyond before Grieve pulled the trigger. Yvonne fell forward without a sound and hit the plush carpet just as her blood flecked it with red.
There was ringing silence. Then Grieve hurried excitedly into the room and stood over her to see the damage she had done. She stared at the Agent for some time, stared in wonder, until her phone buzzed again.
She listened. 'Yes, yes,' she said. 'I'm leaving now. I will be there shortly.'
She stared at Yvonne one last time, thoughtfully. Then she pattered away to gather her things.
Hermes kicked the door open in frustration and climbed out, taking his gun with him. He mad his way to the ruptured shop, gripping his gun hand to stop it from shaking, feeling suddenly cold in a horribly prickly sort of way as he first took notice of the night.
The shop looked like a bomb had gone off, carving out the inside and biting deep cavities into the walls, floor and ceiling, in some areas leaving nothing but crumbling holes.
The police vehicle was tipped forward, having driven straight into the crater. The officers were only just climbing out to see what damage they had done to the man somehow responsible for it all, now half under their wheels.
Hermes took big steps over the rubble, not even bothering to remain inconspicuous. The police officers paused their sadistic taunting and turned to him, and Hermes got a glimpse of Boris' stunned face, the strange tattoo on his forehead, as a light flickered and sparked above.
'You can't stop us!' Boris called out, blearily. 'We're, like... invincible!'
'We could make this a double arrest, I reckon,' one of the officers leered at Hermes. 'We'd get a bonus for bringing in a member of a rogue Agency.'
Hermes looked at them. 'I should probably feel threatened,' he said. He sighed, then. 'Instead I'm just going to close my eyes, pull the trigger and hope you're gone by the time I open them again.'
His eyes closed, just as the officers' mouths formed the first word of a question and they began to reach for their guns.
He fired twice.
There were, in fact, three shots. Then there was a long, deep, tortured groan. Hermes opened his eyes: one of the officers was sprawled on his back, caught in the chest; the other no longer had a right knee.
Hermes darted forward before the stumbling surviving officer could fire again, wrestled the gun from his protesting hand and clobbered him over the head. It took a few attempts to knock him out.
'So what was that all about?' Boris piped up, once the silence had settled. 'Are you really Agency or what?'
Hermes did not reply, instead looking blankly at his gun.
'I think my legs are broken,' Boris said.
Hermes looked at him again; fought hard to stop the shaking. He rubbed his eyes.
'Congratulations,' he said. 'You're still under arrest, though.'
Then a strange sound started filtering through his hearing, still dumbed and battered from the gunshots and the noise of the chase.
He left Boris where he was and went back outside, rotating on the spot as he tried to locate it.
The helicopter was flying low as it approached, hovering only a little above the rooftops. It came at such speed, Hermes did not even think to duck for cover: instead, he held his gun arm outstretched, the gun tracking the helicopter as it got closer.
Then a white figure emerged, appearing as the helicopter took on a slight angle. Agent Avgi had her own gun pointed, hr whit coat fluttering all around her.
Hermes pointed lamely in the direction the chase had gone.
Avgi nodded and the helicopter moved on, lifting itself up higher and leaving him behind.
'Avgi, I just lost contact with Agent Paul,' said Beans. 'Last I heard, he was about to head off the Dark Circlers who went east.'
Agent Avgi leaned back and peered through the cockpit window. 'Do you see them?' she called to the pilot, pointing to the bedraggled remains of Hermes' failed chase still tearing through the streets.
The pilot nodded, still not saying a word.
'I will let you go once this is done,' she said to him. 'Just stay focused.'
She put the phone back to her ear.
'I am now pursuit of some others,' she informed Beans. 'Agent Hermes is not. I have no idea what he is doing, but he is alive and well.'
'Same old, then,' said Beans.
Avgi did not reply, her concentration on the curving path ahead. She leaned out and aimed her gun again--the helicopter was rapidly catching up.
Vann and France were too preoccupied with their police tail to notice. France was shoving cartridges into a submachine gun he had pulled out from under the seat. The car swerved erratically from side to side as he worked, the officers behind tormenting them with the maddening chatter of their own gunfire.
'Hurry it up, France,' growled Vann, only just keeping the car under control as a tyre burst and they raked the road with sparks. 'Fuck!'
'This damn thing's jammed,' replied France.
Eugene was so petrified as to be practically fossilised. Holly felt a little sick just watching him--this was the last place Eugene belonged. It was the last place she belonged.
She risked peaking through the smashed rear window, and then almost immediately had to duck again as the police opened fire. Bits of glass sprayed over her.
'Give me a gun,' she said, suddenly.
The two in the front exchanged glances. 'What, so you can shoot us?' said Vann. 'I don't think so.'
'Yes,' said Holly. 'So I can shoot you, hope to survive the crash and then play let's-be-friends with the two bastards in the car behind us, even though they keep trying to kill me!' She let this sink in, then she said again, 'Give me a gun. Please.'
France looked at Vann, shrugged; Vann pulled out a pistol, one hand still on the wheel, and swivelled it around his finger at her.
Holly took it and paused. 'How do you use it?' she said.
Vann rolled his eyes, took it back and removed the safety. 'There,' he said, handing it to her again. 'Just point, pull the trigger.'
Holly nodded. 'Right,' she replied, and looked again at Eugene. He looked back at her questioningly. Holly breathed deeply and peered through the absent window again.
With a furious scream, she emptied the full clip--each pull of the trigger pounding like her scared heart against her ribs. The four-by-four fell back--but every single one of her shots had missed.
She screamed at them again, emphatically enough to alarm everyone in the car.
With all the noise that had been covering it, the helicopter seemed to descend from nowhere, lowering until it was almost right atop the police. The vehicle attempted to swerve out from under it and Agent Avgi opened fire--straight at the wheels of the car in front.
Holly ducked down again. Vann belatedly echoed her exasperation with a loud stream of curses.
The police officers opened fire on the helicopter: Avgi looked down at them, the shadows playing across her expression forbiddingly. 'Little shits,' she said, turning her attention to them as if to an irritating bug.
The helicopter leaned forward and pushed ahead as one shot caught its side. The helicopter dipped involuntarily: the police once again swerved to avoid them, hit a sharp curb and flipped spectacularly end over end, just as the pilot, sweating like a maniac, pulled the helicopter up, around and out of the way. The spinning car only narrowly missed its tail.
'Done it!' France announced, the submachine gun's magazine finally clipping into place. He slithered his way back through the window, rotated and opened fire, shaking with the recoil.
The pilot panicked, sending the helicopter into frenzied rotation and allowing the bullets an even spread of punctures all over. All kinds of alarms went off in the cockpit.
'Keep it under control!' Avgi screamed as the bullets chewed at the tail. Another few glanced off the propellors and the helicopter rocked like a ship as the pilot tried desperately to bring it up and around again.
Avgi looked for an opening so she could resume her shooting, preferably straight at the driver--she was running low on ammunition.
'Pull up!' she cried. The helicopter threw itself into a dizzying spin, straining to elevate. 'Come on, come on...'
France hung from the window, grinning widely. Vann sped them on; Holly looked back, wide-eyed, as the struggling helicopter issued black tendrils of smoke.
The pilot swallowed deeply as the helicopter rose above the rooftops like a drowning animal gasping for breath. Agent Avgi gripped the frame for support as the back of the helicopter dipped sickeningly, the tail rendered useless.
An untimely gust of wind was all that was needed to send the helicopter once again spiralling out of control. It had done nothing but go higher, and now Avgi briefly closed her eyes as she felt it begin to drop.
The pilot tried his best to avert, straining the controls with unearthly desperation. The rotating blades choked to a stop.
Avgi gripped the frame tighter. 'Shit,' she whispered, as the tops of the buildings reached up to them--
Hermes dragged Boris out of the ruined shop.
'I can't...I can't walk! My legs--'
'It's probably about time you felt some pain,' Hermes said, throwing Boris into a heap in the middle of the road.
He looked up just in time to see the flash of fire blossom on the skyline--the dull, echoing crack following sluggishly behind. He stared as it disappeared and the night resumed, and wondered what had happened.