Theseus took out his tranquillizer gun and checked to see if was ready for action. John would have done the same, but his hands were too busy working the sensors on his laptop. Just before the lift juddered to a halt, his screen fizzled and cracked as every sensor was overloaded by a jamming device.

Just as John’s dizzying nausea of falling was replaced with the incapacitating nausea of fearful realisation, the elevator doors slid open. Had Theseus not been practising his aim when it happened, and had his reactions not been as sharp as they were, the man waiting for them with a rifle would have surely fired first.

***

Phoenie tugged at the crimson robe and wondered if this was really that good an idea. The cloth was heavy and making her sweat, and the sleeves were too long for her arms. Walking was a struggle too, as the robes kept trying to trip her, and she dreaded the thought of trying to run from the Inquisition if they were found out.

Doyle slipped out of the cupboard and clicked the door shut behind him. His robes clung tight to his muscled body, and his cowl looked more like a balaclava than the ominous hood it was meant to be.

“They should be safe in there,” he said, “Well, for the time being,”

“‘For the time being’?” asked Lyra, arms crossed in her oversized robes.

“Let’s just say that no one will find them unless they look,”

“Where did you hide them?” asked Phoenie, curious as to how Doyle sized up to Theseus when it came to stealth ability.

“They’re under the desk,”

“Under the desk?” asked Lyra.

Doyle grimaced and rubbed the adolescent stubble on the side of his face. “Their feet might be sticking out a bit,”

“A bit?” asked Lyra, her voice bordering on a banshee’s scream.

“You can see their shins,”

Phoenie rolled her eyes and began to walk away. She was starting to regret putting Lyra and Doyle together on her team. “Please, we don’t have time for sexual tension!” she said.

Doyle grinned and wriggled his eyebrows at Lyra, who looked disgusted at whatever thought was running through his masculine brain and stormed off ahead.

“Don’t worry, no one will find them. We’re cool,” said Doyle as he passed Phoenie. She didn’t believe that for a second and wished she could just lock the door to the cupboard. If Doyle wasn’t a physical asset, she’d have been tempted to lock him in there with them.

Phoenie and Doyle caught up with Lyra, who had slowed down. “There’re people around the corner,” she stated, “Now we find out if Doyle’s bollocked up or not,”

The three of them rounded the corner into another identical corridor. Phoenie took a deep breath and put on the best serious face she could and kept her eyes focused on the far wall. The cultists walking towards them were tall, bulky men who bore the markings of the Inquisition on their chests. Phoenie kept her sight focused…focused…focused…

“Robes shrunk in the wash?” one asked Doyle as they approached.

“Always happens,” said Doyle, putting on a deep voice.

“Must be from the cheap batch,” laughed the other, “Don’t worry, kid, you’ll get a better one when your rank’s higher,”

The Inquisitors passed without further incident, laughing between themselves once they were around the corner.

“I thought this was gonna be more dangerous than this,” said Doyle once they were out of earshot, “We could’ve thrown some bedsheets over us and walked in the front door!”

“I always imagined this place would have guards at every door,” said Phoenie.

“Shouldn’t have overestimated them,” said Lyra, “They’re just fascist sheep following an obscure cult, not a secret military organisation hiding weapons of mass destruction,”

After all the build-up, all the investigation, all the fear and anticipation and planning, the anticlimactic truth that lay behind Godhand’s walls left Phoenie as disappointed as a child finding out elephants didn’t exist any more. Her imaginings of an impenetrable order being brought to its knees through the power of truth and journalism were shot. Her friends had been kidnapped, not by a dangerous group rounding up and exterminating their adversaries, but by a paranoid sect that prayed on low self-esteem and ruled through fear of reprisals they couldn’t even back up. It felt like the adults around her were mocking her. Phoenie was disappointed, but she was more determined than ever to do something.

Chapter 17
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