One of Our Thursdays Is Missing - Jasper Fforde [86]
“Why?”
“Because if we know you’re here, so will they.”
“‘They’ being . . . ?”
“Who else? Goliath.”
“I can handle them.”
“I don’t think so,” said Spike. “You’ve been gone a month, right?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Three weeks ago SpecOps announced it had been privatized. The Goliath Corporation now runs not only SpecOps but the police as well. Almost the first thing Goliath did was charge you with crimes against humanity, murder, theft, illegal possession of a firearm, the discharge of a weapon in a public place, murder, impersonating a SpecOps officer, cheese smuggling, assorted motoring offenses and murder. It’s quite a list. They must really hate you to dream up so many spurious charges.”
“I think the feeling’s pretty much mutual. Does that mean I’m under arrest?”
“We tried to, but you escaped.” He smiled and removed the plastic cuffs with a flick knife. “Now go before Flanker gets here.”
It was too late. A group of blue-suited individuals had arrived, brandishing Goliath IDs and a lot of attitude. Their leader I recognized from the description I had in the series—Commander Flanker, once head of SO-1, the police who police the police, now presumably answering to Goliath.
“Thank you, Officer Stoker,” said Flanker, “for securing our prisoner.”
“You can have her once we’re done,” said Spike, pulling himself up to his full height—he was well over six feet six. “Miss Next is charged with the illegal possession of a firearm, and I need to process her.”
“The charge of crimes against humanity has precedence, Stoker.”
“Your bullshit charge is bigger than my bullshit charge?”
“We could argue this all night, but the outcome remains the same. She is coming with me to be interrogated at Goliathopolis.”
“Over my dead body,” said Spike.
“I’m sure that can be arranged.”
They growled at each other, but there was little, it seemed, that Spike could do. Within a half hour, I was in the back of a large automobile being driven to the Clary-LaMarr Travelport to be put on a private bullet train to Goliathopolis.
I took a deep breath. Being Thursday was exciting and was certainly distracting. I’d hardly thought about Whitby at all.
24.
Goliath
Perils for the Unwary #16: Big Martin. A large catlike beast who is never seen but always leaves a trail of damage and mayhem in its wake. A Big Martin event can always be avoided, due to the ample warning given by a series of cats that gradually increase in size. The universal Rule of Three should be adopted: Simply put, the third Big Martin warning should be considered the last, and it is time to leave.
Bradshaw’s BookWorld Companion (2nd edition)
Well,” said Flanker as we sat in the plush interior of the bullet train, “we’ll be at Goliathopolis in an hour, and your debrief can begin.”
“Mr. Flanker, sir,” said one of the accompanying heavies, a small man with a rounded face and a crew cut like a tennis ball, “have you checked she’s not one of ours?”
“Good point,” said Flanker. “Would you be so kind?”
The two heavies needed no extra encouragement, and while one held me down, the other clasped my upper eyelid and peered underneath. It wasn’t painful, but it was undignified. Plus, the agent looking at my eye had been eating an onion sandwich not long before, and his breath was pretty unpleasant.
“She’s not one of our Thursdays,” said the agent, and they released me.
“I’m delighted to hear it,” I said—and I was. There were now only two possibilities for who I was: me or Thursday. “Potblack killed them all,” I added, “and had them buried in the Savernake.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied Flanker airily. “Goliath no longer conducts experiments into synthetics. It’s against the law. Oh,” he added, “I forgot. We are the law. Shall I come straight to the point? We’ve been contracted to complete Phase One of the Anti-Smite Strategic Defense Shield by the end of the year, and the penalties are severe for noncompliance. We’re not in the business of paying out severe penalties, so tell us where the secret plans