Page 48 of No Man's Land

“No. Do you?”

Their eyes met, clashing. “You’re in enough trouble as it is, you know.”

“I’min trouble? You just chopped a man’s head off in the middle of bloody Belgravia!”

“You’re quite right,” Dutta interjected pleasantly. “Alex is in much more trouble than you, as you’re about to find out. However, the degree of trouble is all relative. In truth, we’re all up to our necks in it.” He turned to Alex with an ironic smile. “I see what you mean about his spit and fire. Right up your alley, I should imagine.”

“Put a sock in it, Dal. You don’t—”

“Enough.” The other man’s voice cracked across the room, silencing them both. His gaze fixed on Josef, bright, inquisitive, and cold. “My name is Saint,” he said. “And Mr Dutta is quite correct. You—we—are now in a difficult situation.”

“Are we now?”

“You have a photograph of a ghoul—”

“So you say.”

Saint blinked his cold eyes. “So Isay?”

From his chair, Alex added, “I didn’t have time to explain that Shepel doesn’t believe a word I told him. He thinks I’m a liar and a fraud. And that I work for the Intelligence Corps.”

“Which is what?” said Saint.

Josef laughed. “Oh, very good. Deny it even exists. Of course, why not?”

Saint stared at him, unblinking.

“No, he’s serious,” Alex told Josef, taking a drag on his cigarette. “Saint is focused on … other matters. He doesn’t pay much attention to the outside world.”

The outside world…

Josef rubbed his forehead. “If you expect—”

“What Iexpect,” Saint snapped, “is that you hand over the photograph of the ghoul before it’s too late. What Iexpectis that you will never speak of what you have learned here and that you never again return to this place, that you never—”

“Or what?” This was bloody rich! “Will you have me arrested for telling ghost stories? Sent to prison?”

After a long silence, Saint said, “We have no prisons, Mr Shepel, but rest assured that if your silence cannot be ensured voluntarily, it will be enforced. By other means.”

“Oh, it’s threats now, is it?”

Alex grabbed Josef’s arm, holding him back. “Saint, you can’t mean—”

“I ain’t scared of you!” Josef spoke over him, trying to pull free of Alex’s grip. “None of you. And when my editor gets that picture—”

“Silence!” Saint held up his hand, and the room fell quiet. After a moment, and in a cool voice, Saint said, “Beaumont, this is your error, and I expect you to correct it. All of it.” His gaze lingered, measuring. “Do I make myself clear?”

This close, Josef could hear Alex’s harsh breaths. “As crystal,” he said stiffly, his fingers tightening on Josef’s arm.

“Very well.” Saint retrieved a letter from his inbox, flicking it open with a flourish. “Get it done, Beaumont. No more blunders. Put a lid on the ghoul situation before London’s overrun with the stinking bastards. And no loose ends.”

With that, they were dismissed.

Alex turned and, before Josef could protest, frogmarched him out of the office, out of the waiting room, and out of the building.

Dutta followed on their heels. “I did warn you,” he said, as they stopped in the darkening November afternoon. A breeze had picked up, needle sharp as it dispersed the fog, and Josef pulled his coat tightly around himself.

“Warned me about what?” Alex reached for his cigarettes and lit up, offering the packet to Josef. He took one, and leaned in to share Alex’s light, close enough that he could feel his warmth through the chill air.

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