Mr Hook's Big Black Box

Dwayne Carlisle: Playing My Part

It was hard to get changed with the van rocking as we moved, but Ferrari was a better driver than me. And along the way, she explained a bit of what was going on in clipped sentences. The intruders had told the police that they worked for some kind of secret government agency, and that any calls to emergency services in that area should be ignored. The local police weren't too happy about it though, some other organisation throwing their weight around. So when they demanded a police escort to get the Box to an evidence storage facility, the cops decided they were going to do it by the book, putting the request in a queue that would probably delay it by half an hour or more. So if we showed up in a police van, while they were actually waiting for one, they might just give the Box back to us.

"You're crazy," I exclaimed, "The whole world's gone nuts, and you're just surfing over the top of it like Queen Crazy. Stealing a police car? Just asking a bunch of guys with guns to hand over the Box? Can you imagine what will happen even if we get it?"

"It doesn't matter," she said, so confident that I almost believed her, "We have to keep this Box closed, and if we can't do that, nothing else matters." I nodded, but I still wasn't so sure about that. But whether we wanted the Box open or closed, we couldn't leave it to those heavy-handed thugs. Maybe it was the influence of too many conspiracy theory stories in my TV and literature, but I really didn't trust a government agency to deal with either a scared little girl or a demon from the dawn of time. Somebody had to do something, I couldn't deny that, and right now we were the only someones available.

* * *

I was practically shaking by the time we pulled up outside Monty's house. The last time we'd been here, I'd been driving away and these same men had been shooting at me. That was enough to make anyone nervous. We'd discussed the plan a little on the way, and I'd added as much as I could, but I was still just hoping that we'd get out of there alive. It didn't seem as probable as I would have liked.

Ferrari backed the van up, almost to the garage door. She leapt out and came round, while I clambered slowly down and straightened the uniform.

"Hurry up," she barked, every inch a frustrated superior officer, "Remember your orders. This has to be fast, and discreet. Nobody sees us here."

"I don't see why we–" I started, hesitant and nervous. I was glad that was the tone I needed to adopt, because I don't think I could have pulled off anything else. This was all just an act, to sell them on the role of disapproving cops. The uniform had come with an old fashioned badge, but I didn't have a warrant card, so we had to convince them enough that they wouldn't ask to see it.

"You don't need to understand," Ferrari was a better actor, coming off as bitter and jaded, as well as frustrated with the idealism of her young subordinate. You might not realise she was only two years older than me. "Constables do what you're told, right?"

The garage door swung open, and two men stepped out. They were dressed in rough clothes that were clearly designed for practicality. Some kind of uniform, but a uniform with a dozen pockets and just as many webbing straps to hold equipment in the field. Military, or something very much like it.

"You've got something for us?" Ferrari was brisk and businesslike, staring at the shouldered rifles like they were no big deal. "Evidence warehouse?"

"We can't sign anything," one of them said, "No paper trail, you understand?" Ferrari nodded as they led us into the basement. It looked a lot different since the last time we'd been there, not least because there were pieces of a shelving unit all over the floor, and the safe control panel looked like it had been drilled out. The heavy vault door was in the garage area now, completely removed from the wall, and there were pieces of loose masonry piled up in the corner. The vault stood wide open, and the Box was in the middle of the room. It was wrapped up in sacking this time, and tied around with paracord, but still easily recognisable.

I noticed with dismay that everything else from the vault was strewn around the room, maybe trying to create the impression that the place had been tossed by casual burglars. That beautiful, golden sword was lying on the ground like a piece of junk.

"So what are we after?" Ferrari carried on, "They said one exhibit." The guy on the right pointed down at the Box.

"You're joking, right?" she said, then turned to me, "Steve, you reckon you can carry that to the van?" I shook my head, and the two men just glared at me. Of course, they hadn't told the police anything, so they couldn't expect to get people burly enough to move a heavy crate. The two looked down at the Box, then glared at me again, then picked it up and carried it towards the door. We'd done it, and the relief maybe made me a little over optimistic. But I couldn't leave it like that.

"Hold on, Sarge," I spoke slowly, "Everything's computerised at the warehouse now. It won't let us in the evidence cages unless we've got something to check in, properly documented. Remember, after that farce with Marconi?"

"Oh, yeah," Ferrari muttered, following my eyes to see what I had in mind. As soon as she got it, the frown disappeared. "This is like, top secret, though. There anything else we can put on the paperwork?"

"Not our problem," one of the presumably-soldiers shrugged.

"This looks like a weapon," Ferrari picked up the sword that the vault had actually been installed to protect, "We'll put it in an evidence bag, check it into the warehouse, and when we're deciding if it's a weapon or stolen goods, maybe we might forget to document that big... whatever it is. That's what you want, right? And Steve is not going to carelessly say anything, because it's more than his job's worth. Right?" Again, she treated me to an angry glare. The dynamic between Steve and his superior was clearly telegraphed, and enough to distract them from wondering if we might not be real policemen. All I had to do to sell the role was act nervous, which was easier than I'd ever imagined it could be.

"Whatever," the other guy gave a shove, getting the Box in the back of the van. "That needs to be safe, right? Don't knock it around." I couldn't get any more words out, but that probably just came off as a sullen silence. I got in the front passenger seat this time, gripping the seat belt with white knuckles until we were out on the street.

"Do you have Kris's number?" Ferrari asked, "And Marco? We need to get back together and decide what to do with this thing."

"I called Kris before, to check he's okay," I said, "I think his phone battery still isn't charged." I knew I'd said the wrong thing when the speed we were driving at dropped sharply, before I even finished the sentence.

"You called him?" Ferrari took her eyes off the road to look at me as she asked, like she couldn't be quite sure I was serious, "And you didn't think they might be tracing your phone?"