Epsisode 40

Behind him, Harold heard the startled shouts of the humans plus the screech of one very indignant monkey which had just been dumped without ceremony onto the grimy concrete.


He had no time to spare for them now.

He had to get himself as far away as possible. The rhythm of his feet pounding the pavement brought the words of a chant into his head and he found himself running in time to it: one-two-three-four-five-six-seven. All God's children go to Heaven. One-two-three-four... He pushed this irrelevance aside and tried to remember where he'd seen the safe place, it had to be around here somewhere...

"I knew it!" cried India as Harold suddenly shot past her and out the door, "It's getting away!" Taser in hand, she set off after him.

"What?" Mercury and Othello spun round in surprise, having been intent on the crumpled old speeding ticket they had found.

"The demon's making a break for it!" This was from Prada as she herself ran toward the doorway.

"Helluva time to pull a stunt like that," grumbled Othello as he and Mercury followed.

"Wait!" cried Teatime, but it was too late.

Harold was not strong as demons went but he was fast and had soon put several streets between himself and the crumbling old building. This was not a good neighbourhood, its days of prosperity were well behind it. It was a wasteland of failed businesses and broken dreams, a desolate sprawl of padlocked doors and smashed windows. Even the gangs didn't bother coming here any more, such was the spirit of listless despair that hung around the place.

Where was it?

Harold rounded a corner, passing the shuttered windows of Sweetman's Cafe - Cucumber salad a speciality and Bergdorf Solar Power and Light Inc, now ironically in total darkness. Sale of Surplus Library Books! shouted a hand-painted sign as he flashed past. He was close now, he was sure. Rooster & Trench – False Teeth and Dental Supply Company proclaimed a faded hoarding to his left. Yes! He was almost there now, just down this street: he'd seen it on the way in.

"Darn it!" India skidded to a stop in the empty street. Of the fleeing demon, there was no sign. "I knew it couldn't be trusted." There was a savage edge to her voice, "I just knew it!"

Beside her, Mercury sighed and shook his head. "Guess you were right after all." he said, "I have to hand it to that demon though, he had me fooled. I really thought he was helping us."

"It was just biding its time, obviously." added Prada, "Now what?"

"Well, we've still got –" began Mercury.

The bomb exploded.

Glass and brick fragments and great clods of earth flew everywhere, and the air immediately filled with a great spreading cloud of choking dust. Where the bomb had been, there was now a large hole in the ground as if a giant had wielded a great big invisible spoon, scooping up the earth. Knocked flat by the blast, Harold could only watch helplessly as shards of glass and lumps of masonry rained down on him from out of the smoke, the whole thing a weird sort of drizzle and fog. He'd still been too close to the bomb when it had gone off and he would be going nowhere until his vessel had repaired itself. He closed his eyes. It was such a pity that humans weren't as durable.

Episode 39

Whilst life in the world of men was a definite improvement over the one he had led in the Basement, Harold could not but help being a little disappointed sometimes that things were not more, well, glamorous. He and Teatime found themselves, once again, in a narrow alley. This one was behind the crumbling old building that was supposedly the home of a hi-tech medical plastics company. The alley was a classic of gritty gumshoe movies and hack cop-shows. Rubbish lay everywhere, piles of cardboard boxes labelled McKinley's Organic Carrot Soup were stacked untidily, ready no doubt to be crashed into at any moment and sent flying by a speeding car. There were a couple of dumpsters (with bodies or incriminating evidence in them for sure) and Harold expected at any moment to turn the corner and come across some ill-lit figures conducting a furtive and shady deal of some kind. Yep, definitely not glamorous, but at least he wasn't sitting in his little room at Aunt Aggie's, being bored to tears.

Earlier in the day, Prada had visited the place and had found it locked-up and deserted. Far from being the home of a hi-tech medical supplies manufacturer, the place looked more like an abandoned warehouse. There had been nobody around to ask about it either, so it had been decided that a night-time visit was in order.

"OK, demon," Came Prada's soft voice in the darkness next to him, "time for you to do your thing."

"My, my, what it's like to be in demand, eh, old sock?" came Teatime's amused voice from his shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," replied Harold, "It's what we ache for, now step back please, ladies and gentlemen." He flexed his fingers theatrically. India rolled her eyes: what a show-off!

Harold placed his hands against the peeling paintwork of the door.

"Ta-daa!" he sang softly, as it clicked open after only a few moments' concentration - he was definitely getting better at this.

They quickly entered the building and Agent Othello closed the door carefully behind them. No point advertising their presence, after all.

They paused for a few moments to listen out for any signs that their ingress had been detected, but the dead stale air in the place was playing it cool and was not being split by the sound of wailing sirens, angry shouting or the thudding of running footsteps.

The humans clicked on their flashlights.

"Mag-lights?" Harold said to Prada, in mock disappointment, "I'd have thought you agents would have had some fancy gizmo like a powder puff that turns into a set of night-vision goggles or something."

"Mag-lights are reliable and cost less," replied Prada.

"Yes, and they're just about heavy enough to make a handy bludgeon as well," added India darkly.

"Focus, people." admonished Mercury.

They were in a narrow hallway. A door led off one side of it and another stood ajar at the opposite end to the one they came in by. A cursory glance through the side door revealed an empty room.

The door at the far end gave out into a large space which was mostly empty. Here and there, the concrete floor had metal brackets sticking up out of it - presumably once used to bolt down machinery, and the odd wooden pedestal here and there which may once have supported a tool rack or a workbench. Two rows of metal column marched down the room, holding up the corrugated metal roof. The agents played their torches around some more, and the shadows rose in clouds like dust before settling back into place once the light had moved on.

"Well, this looks like a bust." said India, with a sigh "If those records ever came here then they must have been picked up long since."

"Spread out and keep looking," ordered Mercury.

Harold and Teatime wandered over toward the farthest corner, away from the OGS agents and their lights.

"Oh," he said disappointedly when they reached the corner.

"Oh, what?" demanded Teatime, "You know, you could turn on your flashlight, old bean. You might be able to see like a cat but I see like a monkey."

"Oh, sorry, I forgot," laughed Harold. He got his own light out and switched it on. He shone the bean down at the remains of a cardboard box. "I thought I saw something here, but it's just an old box after all."

He knelt down to look more closely. The box was labelled Changeling Electronics Inc – Amplitude Modulation Circuits.  Setting down his torch, he lifted the top flaps to see inside.

Behind him, he was dimly aware of Agent Mercury announcing that he found an old speeding ticket, but that was all a very long way away.

The inside of the box was dimly lit by a single red LED, whose sullen light also showed a tangle of wires and a slab of something that looked a lot like Play-Doh, but clearly wasn't.

Episode 38

Mr Teeth was annoyed that he'd had to turn back from following the OGS car. They had gone a good way out of the city onto empty desert roads and to have kept on following would have looked suspicious. Frustrated, he flicked on the radio. "...dream a little dream of me. Stars fading but I linger on, dear... " Mama Cass's distinctive voice came floating out. Not in the mood for easy listening, Mr Teeth turned the dial: "The flowers are in bloom again here at Providence Floristry! Surprise that special someone with a nice bouquet that won't upset your bank balance! Ask about our special Bride and Groom package today!" He spun the dial again "... special offer on bagels and lox at Rosenbaum's Deli!" He flicked the radio off again in disgust. If there was one thing Mr Teeth hated, it was those brassy-voiced, super-cheery radio commercials. Dammit, though, he'd been so close! If he could just get his hands on that little trumpet-playing punk, he was sure he'd be able to get some answers to the mystery of his boss's disappearance. Not today, though. Not today.


If this were one of those TV detective dramas, thought Harold, we'd be able to get DNA samples and things and find out what happened to Reverend Box. DNA samples always seemed to be the answer for some reason on those shows – even when it made no real sense. Still, it was only entertainment, after all and didn't have to be true-to-life. It was curious, though, how the strange little man had just seemed to vanish into thin air. Harold hoped he hadn't come to any harm like agent Emerald had - that would be tragic. He nay have been as crazy as a racoon but he had been quite likeable and, come to think of it, he hadn't actually been all that crazy anyway. Just because he worshipped Zeus and ran around the place with no clothes on didn't make him much more insane than most of the humans he'd met so far.

The car pulled to a stop outside Aunt Aggie's. They were back.

Othello headed straight to the nearest computer with the shipping receipt from Box's place in his hand. Harold and Teatime wandered over to watch him work his magic – and it really was magic to Harold. Computers were so clever and interesting! No wonder so many demons worked in IT. Where better to build things that held out the tantalising promise of such a variety of information, entertainment and efficiency while actually delivering such an amount of disappointment, expense and tooth-gnashing, hair-tearing, blood-vessel-bursting rage and frustration. Yep. Demonically perfect.

"So, who lives at 223 Oakland Drive," murmured Othello, typing the address into a search window. The computer thought about this for a moment, then displayed the answer: Osprey Medical Plastics Inc.

"Now what on earth would a company making naso-gastric tubes, disposable aprons, instrument trays and whatnot be wanting with information about Project Dynamo?"

"It doesn't make any sense," agreed Teatime, "Is it definitely a genuine company?"

Othello typed some more. "Well, it's certainly registered in this state as one so I guess it's a real company alright." he said, "But why would this so-called OGS agent get Box to ship the project records there of all places? Why not to here or any other OGS office? It just doesn't add up."

"Perhaps this agent was working on his own, not as part of some official OGS activity?" suggested Teatime.

"I wish Box had managed to get the guy's name," sighed Othello.

"Assuming he was a real OGS agent," replied Teatime.

"Yeah, that's argumentative, I suppose," Othello pushed his chair back and stood up.  "I'm getting a coffee, you want one?"

"No thanks," said Harold. This was a lie: he did want coffee, having developed quite a taste for it since coming to earth, but right now he didn't want to go into the break-room.

"Any minute now..." sang Teatime softly.

Spring Has Sprung! The familiar bright pink letters shouted up at Agent India from the mug sitting in the centre of the table. The perfectly undamaged, totally-not-in-a-bajillion-pieces mug sitting in the centre of the table. She reached out and touched it lightly with a finger and, when it didn't fall to pieces or prove to be a hallucination, she picked it up, cradling it thoughtfully. The demon had done this, obviously. No human could have repaired it so thoroughly - not in one night. Now this was a conundrum: she had loved this mug, cheap and gaudy as it was, but if that demon thought it could wheedle its way into her affections by fixing it then it had another think coming.

She walked over to the garbage bin and pressed the foot pedal to flip open the lid.  She held the mug over the bin, ready to drop it in, but for some reason her fingers just couldn't let go. Darn it, she really loved that mug! With a sigh, she lifted her foot, letting the bin lid fall closed and, mug in hand, wandered over to the coffee machine. Doesn't mean I like you any better, demon, she thought to herself as the hot bitter liquid splashed into the white china.

Episode 37

“I wonder what the exact opposite of ‘raining cats and dogs’ is,” mused Teatime, gazing round at the featureless and aridly grey-brown desert, “Because this is definitely it.”

They were back at Reverend Box’s ‘church’ and, as before, all was quiet. The agents, Harold and Teatime had been standing around for several minutes, expecting the strange little man to pop up out of his hole in the ground, having seen them on his cameras, but so far he had failed to do so.

“Did anyone notice that car that was behind us for a while back there?” said Prada, “I could have sworn it was following us until it suddenly turned off.”

“It would be difficult to follow someone in these conditions undetected – there’s no cover for miles around. ” commented Othello. “It doesn’t look like Box is in any hurry to come out and join us today, what say we drop in on him?”

Prada rolled her eyes, “Very droll.”

When they reached the bottom of the access shaft leading to Box’s underground living quarters, they found the door locked.

“Don’t suppose he’s left the key under a plant pot or anything like that,” sighed Mercury, looking around the now rather crowded space at the bottom of the ladder.

“Doesn’t look like it.” Replied Othello, regarding the plain grey metal door, “We could try knocking I suppose, but this door is quite thick as I recall and he may not even hear it.”

“I think you could assist here, old sock,” Teatime whispered into Harold’s ear, “Remember how you got the jazz club’s door open?”

“Oh yeah!” agreed Harold. Aha! Here was a chance to make himself useful to the team – actually useful – for once. He stepped forward.

”Excuse me,” he said, “I think I can get us in.”

Mercury raised a quizzical eyebrow but stepped aside with a be-my-guest gesture, and Harold set to work.
It took longer to get this particular door open than when he’d opened the old fire ext door at Baron Samedi’s – the mechanism was more sophisticated - but, after a couple of minutes of concentration (along with a number of sceptical glances from the others), Harold was able to give the door a push and was rewarded with the sight of it swinging silently inwards.

“Nice job,” murmured Othello, slipping his notebook into his pocket (he had been making a careful observation of Harold the whole time). “I’d love to know how that’s done.”

“Sorry, trade secret,” Harold grinned as they all filed into Reverend Box’s bunker.

The lights were on and the refrigerator was still humming away in its corner, but of Box, there was no sign.

“Hello?” called Mercury, “Anyone here?” He listened for a few moments but there was no answer. “Ok, let’s look around carefully and see if we can figure out what’s going on here. Prada, you check what’s through that door. India, you take that one, Othello, check in here.” He paused, “Demon, you help Othello.”

The group dispersed as instructed.

Harold followed Othello over to Box’s desk and watched as the agent opened the drawers one by one. The first drawer just contained a sheaf of papers devoted to the various aspects of ancient Greek religious practices of which Box was so fond, many of which he had apparently written himself. The second drawer held office supplies, spare ink cartridges, staples and so on, but the last drawer contained a surprise.

“Well, well,” chuckled Othello, lifting out a stack of well-thumbed paperbacks. “Charity Lambert and the Spoof Spooks’ Book Club, eh?” he said, holding up the first one. The cover art was a luridly-painted scene featuring the eponymous Ms Lambert, a rather voluptuously endowed young lady PI, clad rather impractically in six-inch heels, tight leather jeans and an even tighter t-shirt, standing in dramatic pose under a streetlamp, gun pointed at a rather salacious-looking criminal. “Who’d have thought Box was into these penny dreadfuls,”

“I suppose it must pass the time.” Opined Harold, picking up the next book off the stack: Charity Lambert and the Magical Mystery Tour. “I imagine life down here could be quite lonely and boring.”

“Hmm,” agreed Othello, setting the book down, “I guess. Oh, hello, what’s this?” At the bottom of the drawer was a folded sheet of paper. Othello picked it up and unfolded it.

“Aha,” he breathed, “the legendary Lost Shipping Receipt!”

At that moment, Prada came back into the room, sneezing loudly, “The dust in this place,” she moaned, brushing her sleeves vigorously, “You’d think a guy could flick a duster round once in a while, sheesh!”

“Find anything?” asked Othello,

“Nah, I think that was just an old store room - loads of old clutter, broken desks, empty filing cabinets and a bicycle, of all things.” She shrugged, “You?”

Othello held up the receipt.

One by one, the other returned. Box, it seemed was nowhere to be found.

“Guys?” said India, after a few moments, “Didn’t Box have a computer when we were here last time?”

“That’s right, he did.” Agreed Othello, “a laptop. It was right here. I knew something was missing. He must have taken it with him.”

“Now what?” said Prada.

“Let’s leave a note for Box,” suggested Mercury, “and then let’s go check out the address on the Shipping Receipt.”

Episode 36

“She won’t thank you, old button.” Said Teatime, “You do know that don’t you?”

Harold teased a tiny fragment of china into place and concentrated really hard. The fragment became part of the whole. There was no noise, no spark of eldritch blue light or anything, the shard was just suddenly not separate any more. Harold flopped backwards into his chair and let out a breath.

“I know, and I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t started this now,” he said ruefully, “This is tough!”

India’s mug was about half-reassembled – a triumph of gaudy flowers and pink lettering.

“Well it’ll do you good to exercise your abilities once in a while,” replied Teatime, eyeing Harold’s handiwork critically. “Not bad,” he murmured, “Not so much as a crack anywhere. Would have been quicker if you’d used glue though.”

“A true artiste such as myself does not use glue,” Harold said airily.

Teatime snorted.

There came a knock on the door and Moon entered with delicious-smelling takeaway cartons and cans of drink.

“I thought you might like Chinese for a change.” He said, placing the goodies on the table. He caught sight of the half-repaired mug.
“Wow!” he exclaimed, “I didn’t know you could do that! India will be thrilled when she sees it!”

“I rather think not,” said Teatime drily, “My bet is that it will be in the bin before you can say Jack Robinson.”

“Ten dollars says you’re wrong!” declared Moon.

“You’re on.” replied the monkey, sourly eyeing Harold, who was spooning – or chopsticking – strings of steaming flaccid noodles into his mouth at a rate of knots. Becoming aware of the little monkey’s baleful stare, he paused, several noodles still hanging out of his mouth.

“Whamph?”

“Great Cthulu’s ghost,” sighed Teatime, “A little decorum if you can possibly manage it, dear boy, a little decorum.”

“Sorry,” said Harold, having quickly made the noodles disappear, “I was really, really hungry. Must be all the jigsaw work.”

“Wasted effort, I tell you.” Said Teatime, shaking his head, “That woman hates you with a passion.”

“But I’ve never done anything to her.” Harold reached for a carton of duck in plum sauce.

“Perhaps she’s had a run-in with another demon in the past.” Said Moon, “I could find out for you if you like.”

“How?” asked Harold.

“It’ll be in her files I expect,” replied the young agent.

Harold frowned, “I’m no lawyer but I’m guessing there are rules about poking around in people’s personal information. Anyway, we’d probably find out her animosity was down to some demon misusing an apostrophe or something.”

Moon shrugged, “Heh! A demon with moral angst over accessing someone else secrets, whatever next? Well if you change your mind…” He got up and left the room.

“What an odd little fellow,” said Teatime.

-0-0-0-

Next morning, Harold, Teatime, Mercury, Prada, Othello and India were gathered once more in the Salamander room.

“So how long do we give Box to come up with this more and more spurious-seeming agent Iris and that shipping receipt?” said Othello.

“I take it he hasn’t called back then.” Said Mercury.

“Nope,” replied Othello ,”And I tried calling him again this morning: no answer.”

“He’d better not be pulling some kind of prank,” said Prada, “Cos if he is..”

“No, no, as mad as he is,” replied Mercury, cutting her off, “He’s not the type. Once upon a time he was one of our very best agents. In the nineties, he virtually single-handedly took down the New Genesis cult, he infiltrated no end of enemy operations, spotted more Fallen than you could wave a stick at.” He trailed off, shaking his head sadly. “He’s not playing games, I’m sure of it.”

“Perhaps we had better pay him another visit,” suggested India. “Maybe the monkey was right, maybe there was someone else with Box and that’s why he can’t or won’t answer us.”

“Well, we don’t have any other leads at the moment,” agreed Mercury, “Let’s go, people!”

-0-0-0-

From where he was parked some way down the street and across the road from Aunt Aggie’s, Mr Teeth was in an excellent position to observe the small group of people – including one trumpet-playing little punk - come out of the building and climb into a large car. Yes, he could have let Peck and his associates handle this but, truth to tell, he was getting to the point where the PI’s condescending manner was becoming more and more irritating, as good as he was at what he did. Besides, with the club still closed, there wasn’t all that much else for him to do anyway. Mr Teeth waited a few moments then started his engine, easing his nondescript vehicle out into the road after the departing OGS car.

Episode 35

“Oh, my aching bones!” groaned Mercury, clambering up into the sunlight once more. The ladder leading down to Box’s lair had been long and steep. “I don’t want to have to do that again in a hurry, It’s like climbing up a giant’s chimney.”

“I suppose living in a place like that is one way to ensure a certain amount of peaceful solitude.” Said Othello, “I can’t imagine he gets many people dropping in – unless they fall in the hole.”

The others laughed.

“It’s interesting you should say that, Agent,” said Teatime, “Because I had the distinct impression that someone else was there but keeping out of sight, in one of the side rooms perhaps.”

“If I was associating with a nut job like Box, I’d been keeping out of sight too!” laughed Prada, “What makes you think someone was there?”

“There was a faint smell of spearmint in the air, like chewing gum or toothpaste or some such” replied the little monkey. “And Reverend Box was not the source of it – more’s the pity.”

“Well, the man’s allowed to have friends over – or down – I suppose we should say.” Said Mercury.

“Anyway, let’s get back to the ranch and check out this Agent Iris fellow.”

“That was pretty neat!” grinned Harold as they headed back to the car.

“I have my uses, old sock,” replied Teatime smugly, “I have my uses.”

-0-0-0-

“Nothing!” said Othello, slapping the table next to his keyboard, “Not a trace of any Agent Iris anywhere in the OGS system. Either Box lied to us or his memory’s gone the way of his sanity. ” He rubbed his eyes. “I‘ll call him and check the name.” He punched numbers into a nearby desk phone, listened for a while and then left a message, asking Box to call and confirm the name of the Agent he had worked with on project Dynamo.

“Well that’s all we can do for now, I think", said Mercury

"Yeah," agreed Othello, "Let’s hope he comes through with the name and with that shipping receipt. Oh, thanks!” This last was directed to Agent Moon who had just placed a fresh coffee on the table in front of him. The young agent smiled.

“You looked like you needed it. Tough case, huh?”

“Yeah,” sighed Othello, “One step forward, two steps sideways.”

“I’m sure you’ll crack it,” Moon paused, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, go ahead.” Moon perched on the edge of the desk and lowered his voice.

“That demon that’s hanging around here, how long is it going to be around?”

Othello shrugged, “Till we solve the case, I suppose. Look, if it bothers you, I can get you a transfer till it’s gone.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that!” protested Moon, “It’s kind of interesting actually. Did you know it likes music?”

“I did not.” Othello frowned, “Have you been talking to it?”

“Well, yes, actually,” admitted Moon, “When I delivered the pizza last night, we got to talking.”

“Well, if you take my advice,” said Othello, “Don’t interact with it – it can’t be trusted and will do its best to deceive, disarm and ultimately ensnare you.”

“I’ll be careful.” Promised Moon.

-0-0-0-

India wandered into the break room and was irritated to see Harold and Prada sitting at one of the tables, sipping coffee and chatting - for all the world like normal people. Yes, yes, Othello had said that Prada was just probably pretending to befriend the Fallen, to see if it knew more than it was telling, but still, such flagrant fraternisation was immensely galling to witness and no amount of platitudes about who was fooling whom would change that.

Annoyed by the situation, and annoyed at herself for being annoyed, she swilled her own coffee mug under the tap and banged it down on the stainless steel drainer with a little more force than was necessary. To her chagrin, it shattered and pieces flew everywhere.

Prada and Harold stopped talking and looked over at her in surprise.

“Everything all right?” asked Prada.

“Fine!” India snapped. She began angrily picking up pieces of crockery and dropping them into an old cardboard box.

“But that was your favourite mug!” Prada hurried over and began to help. She picked up the largest piece. The motto “Spring has sprung!” in bright pink lettering was still just about readable – the mug had been a promotional item for India’s favourite uncle’s flower shop. India took it off her and dropped it into the box with the other pieces.

“I was getting tired of it anyway,” she lied.

Harold got up and slipped out of the room. He had an idea.

Episode 34

“Give me a minute,” Box scurried through a grey painted metal door, leaving the others staring bemusedly around them at the large underground space he’d led them into.

The deep dark hole they’d all climbed down into had turned out to be an access shaft leading to what was by the looks of it an old military or Civil Defence bunker of some kind. The large main room into which Box had led them was about twenty feet by twenty feet with several doors – one of which Box had just disappeared though – giving off to various side-rooms and tunnels. Relics of the place’s cold-war past remained in the form of an old PA speaker system mounted high on one wall above a row of dusty clocks, all stopped, labelled with the names of various capital cities. Below the clocks was a row of old-fashioned CRT screens, also dusty and non-functional. Of more modern addition, the walls also boasted some neatly-mounted slabs of stone engraved with what looked like someone’s – presumably Box’s - attempt at calligraphy using Greek letters.

Box re-emerged a few moments later, clad in a pair of crumpled khaki shorts and some sort of singlet that looked as though he’d made it himself by cutting up an old jute sack with blunt scissors.

So this was where Reverend Box lived, comfortably cool away from the desert sun. Comfortably cool and comfortably, period. Box was clearly no desert ascetic: all the amenities were here. In addition to the basics of electric lighting and power, a large refrigerator hummed away in one corner and on a counter nearby sat a microwave oven, coffee machine and toaster. On the other side of the room, a laptop lay open on Box’s desk – currently showing a split-screen picture of the wooden “church” above and its surroundings fed, presumably, by a number of hidden cameras.

“Saw us coming then , eh, Box?” said Mercury, seeing the display.

“A man can’t be too careful these days.” came Box’s gnomic reply. He wandered over to the kitchen area. “Coffee? Orange juice?”

“No thanks, we’re not staying long. We just wanted to ask you a few questions about project Dynamo.”

“That old thing again?” said Box, pouring himself a glass of juice from a cardboard carton.

“Again? What do you mean ‘again’?” asked Othello.

“Well, let me see it was…” Box stopped to scratch absently at his hairless scalp, “Hmm, It would have been about two months ago. I’d just finished researching the Eleusinian Mysteries as I recall. Did you know the Mysteries were celebrated for over two thousand years? Of course, we have resumed celebrating them here now rather than in Eleusis. Had to piece them together myself, though, from vase-paintings here and there and scraps of writing, because those old Greeks were very secretive and the rites probably involved the use of drugs of some sort which doesn’t exactly make for full and clear descriptions of what went on.” His eyes took on a faraway look, “I think Peyote might be an acceptable substitute these days and – “

“Box?” prompted Mercury, “ Project Dynamo?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” The snapping of Box’s attention back to the here and now was almost audible. “Yeah, a couple of months ago I got a call from a guy claiming to be from OGS asking about that old project, wanting to know if I had any records of it.”

“And what did you tell him?” asked Othello.

“I told him yes and that he could have them if he was willing to come out here and pick them up.”

“And did he?”

“He did. Well, when I say he did, what I mean is he sent a courier for them. There were several boxes and some old video tapes and whatnot, must have cost him some to get them Fed-Exed like that.”

“So you never saw the man?” Mercury could not hide his disappointment and annoyance. “Never met him in person and yet you let him have confidential OGS records without checking him out?”

“Who says I didn’t check him out?” retorted Box, “He knew all the right things when I challenged him, used all the right terminology and I was satisfied – and still am – that he was definitely OGS.”

“I’m sorry,” Mercury showed his palms in a conciliatory gesture, “I didn’t mean to insult you, it’s just that we lost an agent recently because of project Dynamo. We’re a little jumpy.”

“I see,” said Box, somewhat mollified, “But don’t go assuming that because I live in the desert, the sun has baked my brains. Don’t forget: I was an agent before your daddy had his first shave.” He took a slug of his juice.

“Excuse me,” said Harold, “Perhaps I missed something here, but what was project Dynamo actually about?”

Box regarded him coolly for a moment as though weighing up whether he should give anything away to one of the Fallen, one of the enemy. Eventually he said.

“Dynamo was all about us trying to find a way to detect your kind using technology. With Spotters being as rare as hens’ teeth, we were trying to improve our rates of detection.”

“So why was it shut down?” asked Prada.

“Because we spent a ton of money on it and we never got it to work.” replied Box, “It was deemed too costly to continue, so it was disbanded and all of us agents returned to our normal duties.”

“Were yours the only records of the project?” asked Othello.

“Agent Iris might still have some, I suppose.”

“Agent Iris?”

“Yeah, he and I led the project together. Haven’t heard from him in years though”

“Well, I guess we can look him up – OGS will have some record of his whereabouts I daresay,” said Othello, jotting down the name. “Oh, just one more thing: do you have a receipt from the courier company for the boxes they took?”

Box scratched his head again, “Probably, but it’ll take me a while to dig it up. I can email you the details when I find it if you like.”

“That would be great,” said Mercury, “Thanks for all your help.”

With that, they said goodbye and started the long climb back into daylight.