Nicht immer sagen, dass namen vor mir!
‘So, are you sure you’ve got everything with you? Toiletries? Pyjamas? Spare clothes?’ Joe asked, zipping up my rucksack.
‘I think you’ve probably packed enough to last me years!’
Joe kissed my forehead. ‘Just have fun tonight, and I think I can trust you enough to give you your phone back (I took my phone, and shoved it into the front pocket of my hoodie.) Call me when you get there. I’ve taken down that password thing, but I don’t want you calling that George, okay? Keep safe.’
A car horn blared twice outside.
‘That must be…Lottie’s dad!’ I said, throwing the old rucksack onto my back and we walked to the front door where Joe watched me walk towards an old blacked out 4x4, where the only part of the driver was his large hands tapping quietly against the wheel. I opened the door and sat in the passenger seat, flinging my rucksack onto the back seat.
‘We’ll be at Headquarters in a few minutes. Just sit back and relax,’ a heavy German accent confirmed as he turned the car out into the road.
‘Who the hell are you?’ I asked, getting nervous.
‘My name is Dieter Fastred Von Rathskeller. George told me to pick you up.’
Dieter Fastred Von Rathskeller had long and tousled dark brown hair, and light blues eyes that shined in the lights of the street lights like two pieces of sapphires. His cheeks had been drawn in so much that I would have to suck in my own cheeks to resemble his. He wore a dark grey jumper overcoated by a long black duffle coat, with belted boots and dark blue jeans.
‘So…you’re a…Searcher too?’
He only nodded, and kept his eyes on the road.
‘And…err…you enjoy it?’
He shrugged. ‘It is okay, I guess.’
‘Are you mates with George and Amyas then?’
Suddenly, Dieter swung the wheel to the far right, slamming his boot onto the brakes, launching me forward, with my seat belt saving me from slamming my face into the windscreen. Dieter made a low growl at the back of his growl. His eyes suddenly turned bright amber, making me think back to my nightmare, and then pointed his finger at me accusingly.
‘Nicht immer sagen, dass namen vor mir!’ he roared in German, his eyes wide with rage, and his angry voice booming, then turned back to the wheel, as if realising what he had just did, counted to ten in German, then rubbed his brow with his thumb and index finger before he reversed back onto the empty road and carried on down the road.
‘I am…I am…so sorry,’ he continued in English, ‘please forgive me. I and Amyas do not look at each other favourably.’
‘It’s…it’s okay, I’ll try not to mention him in front of you,’ I replied.
‘Much obliged,’ Dieter thanked, lowering his shoulders, ‘if I may, I had my doubts about you, you know, girls of this era.’
‘Girls of this…era?’I asked with a quizzical look on my face.
‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘I had my doubts about your attitude. I did field research and discovered that some girls these days can be very rude and thoughtless.’
‘Not all girls are like that, you know. Girls from Liverpool are known to have very good and welcoming spirit.’
‘We are here,’ he pointed out.
Dieter was the first to get out. I took off my seatbelt, and reached out to open the door until I noticed Dieter at my door, opened it, and held my hand as I stepped out onto the pavement. What a gentleman!
We approached a tall, shiny looking building. The lights were off, and no workers were in sights, until I noticed an old man mopping the lights of the reception area with great care. He turned his beady eyes from the soapy suds to us, eyeing us suspiciously.
‘I don’t think he wants us in there,’ I said but Dieter carried on walking towards the large glass doors.
‘He works for us actually. His name is Victor. He is kind and believe it not, he is from the Victorian times.’
I laughed. ‘That old? How old is he? 90? 95? 100? More?’
Dieter shot me a confused look, as if I had said the most idiotic question in the world, as he pushed a key into the slot, turned it, responding with a reassuring click.
‘He is two hundred.’ Dieter replied, as if this was the norm. He stood to the side, allowing me to step into the dark room first. Victor bowed his head at us as we passed him.
‘Have you taken your pills, Mister Rathskeller?’ Victor suddenly questioned, in a rough London accent, tapping two blue and green pills from a small container onto the palm of his withered left hand.
‘I do not need it, I told you.’
‘Suit yourself,’ he muttered, then carefully placed the pills back into the container, shoved it into his dirty overalls and went back to his mopping.
I sped up to catch up with Dieter. ‘What do you need pills for?’
‘Oh…it is nothing. I do not need it anymore.’
‘Oh…okay,’ I replied, mostly out of fear he would hurt me if I went further. Dieter led me into a lift, and raised a plastic cover over a red button marked with a ‘S’ on the top of it. He pushed the button with his thumb, which glowed to a bright red at his touch.
‘This looks like a public building, doesn’t this button get noticed?’
‘Oh, of course!’ he explained. ‘We did a deal with the head of this establishment to whom George holds a strong and stable relationship with: the employees are not permitted to touch the button. Doing so, they face being fired.’
Dieter turned to me, an eyebrow raised. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘What-no, I meant ‘ouch’ as in: it’s harsh…like not letting a starving man eat for a month while being locked in a room full of food…or whatever.’
‘An odd example.’
‘Yeah, well I wasn’t expecting to give one.’ I replied quickly.
Just then, the lift shuddered into life, and began to descend. Cheesy lift music sprayed dust from the old speaker system, thus destroying the awkward silence between us. I looked up at Dieter, noticing beads of sweats forming on his temples. He looked longingly at the dull, grey doors, as if longing for the door to finally open.
‘What?’ Dieter barked, taking this question offensively.
‘In a lift.’
‘Oh…I…umm…descend from a long line of claustrophobics, and the stairs do not go down further enough to where we want to go.’
‘Tell me about it,’ I replied, rolling my eyes.
‘Very well, I lived in Stuttgart in Germany…umm…five years ago; my father often locked me in small cupboards after finding out about my phobia.’
Dieter turned his eyes towards me, but then turned back to the doors, remembering the meaning of this. ‘Yes,ouch!What about you, eh? Got any fear to confess?’
I hesitated for a moment, but then realised and knew that I was in good company, and if the question was reversed Dieter would have answered without question. Dieter craned his head towards me, giving me an ‘I told you mine; now tell me yours’ look.
‘I’m afraid of…well…Iwasafraid of the Bogeyman…grabbing me from…under my bed,’ I admitted, my cheeks blushing. Dieter only laughed, revealing a pair of pearly white teeth.
‘Ah yes! The Bogeyman (then he shot me a serious gaze, making my heart leap), but really, an actual fear.’
‘Well…where to start really…I guess, when I was younger…I was afraid of thunder until these bullies from my old primary school locked me outside during a thunderstorm, when I went to one of their houses for a sleepover. I forced myself to walk back to my house on my own and then I just stopped being afraid. But now, I guess my big, main fear is probably…Fiends.’
Dieter gave me a piercing look at the mention of the very word. I may as well have said ‘Amyas’ yet he wouldn’t have given me such a stare of such savagery. His kind blue eyes returned to two, bright amber eyes, like two burning suns.
‘What do you know about Fiends?’ Dieter snarled.
Ting!The lift made an abrupt halt, clumsily shoving me into Dieter’s arms. I looked up and quickly collected myself, then moving myself out of there quickly, as Dieter locked his killer gaze on me. He stepped out of the lift and grabbed me by my arm.
‘What do you know about Fiends?’
‘I ran into one,’ I said, shivering. ‘With George and Am- you know who.’
Dieter let go of my arm. ‘So he was not joking. You actually did experience a Fiend attack,’ then he walked past me.
‘I’m sorry for falling on you by the way.’
‘It is okay, you are not my type.’
Dieter let out a big sigh. ‘I guess…since we are discussing the latest Fiend activity anyway, I am sure you could make a friendly contribution from…well some of us call people like you normies.’
‘It is just what we call…people who are outside of the organisation. Anyway, I am sure if you contribute your experience of your attack, we will be glad to exchange confidential knowledge with you.’
We walked down a long corridor. The gold wallpaper sparkled like diamonds against the light from the lamps hanging from the ceiling, as if diamonds had been crushed and embedded into the paper, and the floor had been adorned with beautiful red carpet that looked like it much have been taken care of and cleaned daily so that it could properly excel to its fully potential of beauty and splendour. Along the walls, there were many framed pictures, some photographs, some paintings, of attractive looking people, all with the flawless benefits of youthful beauty. Below their pictures was a name, date of birth and death.
‘Who are these lot?’ I asked.
‘Thislot,’ Dieter began, ‘are some of the greatest Searchers that ever graced these halls with their presence. They all fought for the cause, and died for it, and so their portrait is hung up on these walls to commemorate their spirit. Some of these people lived thousands upon thousands of years ago, decorating the history of the Searchers Organisation. Once you have got your face on these walls, it is eternal glory and moral fibre for you.’
We stopped at the last two pictures of two figures that somehow grasped my attention the most out of all of the portraits firmly. The woman on the left looked the mirror image of me, and the young man on the right had my eyes and dark hair.
‘Are they….are they my parents?’ I asked, examining the pictures closely and with great detail. Below the woman’s picture, engraved along the bottom of the gold frame was:
Jayne had to be the mirror image of me, with long dark brown that sat neatly on her shoulders, with eyes like two chocolate buttons. At the time the photograph had been taken, she had looked somewhere in her early twenties. She had worn a long white summer dress embroidered with pink roses, with a blue sapphire hanging from her golden necklace. And below the man’s picture, also engraved along the bottom of the gold frame was:
My father, if it was my father – Ianto Ward – during the time this photograph was taken had the appearance of a twenty something, with hair that I couldn’t point out because the photograph had been printed in black and white, but I assumed it was a very dark brown hair, like mine, which had been spiked up nicely at the front, wearing a black leather jacket over coating a plain white shirt, reminding me of Callum for a second.
‘Yes, Jayne and Ianto Ward were a huge credit to the team. It was also easier to chart the City and the surrounding area. Shame, what happened to them,’ Dieter said, approaching a large steel frame door that looked as if it needed something very, very powerful in order to knock it down.
‘What…what happened to them?’
Dieter looked at me worriedly. ‘You-you have not been told?’
Dieter shot back to the door. ‘Oh, I am sure you will be told soon.’
‘Why are you talking like this as if it’s just a small minor thing?’
Dieter ignored my question, muttered something, again in German, under his breath, as he punched in the numbers into the keypad at the side of the door. A comforting beep followed, and the screen of the keypad went blue, the correct code flashing on and off. The steel door lifted upwards, disappearing from side. Dieter stepped in, pulling me in as he did, and the door behind us slammed shut, with a loud BANG!!
I pulled my arm for his sturdy grasp. ‘Dieter! Did you hear what I said?’
‘That information…is strictly confidential!’
‘They’re my bloody parents who I haven’t even met! I suppose you’d want to know what happened to your parents if you never met then.’
Dieter looked over his shoulder. ‘I know my parents. Their cares would be elsewhere. Especially my father.’
He approached the second door, a clone of the first, and typed in the same code into the keypad but this time, a large eyeball suddenly shot out of the door, attached to wired machinery. It eyed us both, one by one, with its blue iris constantly changing into lighter and darker shades, applying the most attention towards me.
‘That is the greatest security system ever created, and the most advanced piece of technology on this earth. He is called PATCHES, which stands for Private Aid to Central Headquarters and Enhanced Security.’
Dieter turned to me, as if I had just said something stupid. ‘You actually believe in aliens? This is the real world.’
‘Hey, give me a break. I’ve just discovered only a few days ago that werewolves and weird shape shifting monsters exist! Now tell me about my parents!’
‘Greetings, friend,’ PATCHES interrupted, in a clear, monotone voice. ‘Would you care to state your identity or die?’
On that note, a small metal tube ejected from the wall besides the keypad, and pointed it at Dieter, who didn’t seem to flinch at all.
Dieter rolled his eyes. ‘My name is Von Rathskeller Dieter Fastred. Born in 1892 on the 1stof July in Stuttgart, Germany, and employed to the cause in 1914. I am a primary werewolf.’
‘Hang on, you’re a werewolf?’
‘Yeah, I am a werewolf. Let us not go too down into this.’
‘And wait, you told me that you lived in Stuttgart five years ago.’
‘Well…I lied. Just shut up, and you will understand soon.’
PATCHES turned towards me robotically.
‘Greetings, friend,’ PATHCES repeated. ‘Would you care to state your identity, or die?’ He pointed the weapon at me.
‘My name’s Ward D-’ but PATCHES interrupted me, as a straight, emotionless shout of rejoice sent an ear-piercing shriek through my ears.
‘Oh joy!’ PATCHES exclaimed tonelessly. ‘Mrs Ward!’
But Dieter butted in, waving his hand over PATCHES’s eye.
‘No! No! PATCHES, this is not Jayne Ward. This is the daughter of Ianto and Jayne Ward.’
The next move PATCHES made sounded similar to an internet search scan, which really old 90s computer would have sounded like. The sound of the repeated clicks made Dieter twice, but he looked on.
‘Username, invalid!’ PATCHES announced.
PATCHES aimed the small gun at me. I started to retreat my steps, only to bump into the door behind me. A purple gas hissed from the weapon, and spread fast!
Dieter growled in fury, as if this had meant that he would have to miss his favourite programme since he didn’t have Sky Plus, and threw his hand over my mouth and nose.
‘Whatever you do, don’t breathe it in!’ he growled.
‘What about you?’ I mumbled, allowing just a fragment of oxygen so I could talk.
‘Doesn’t matter!’ he muttered. ‘Just shut your mouth!’
I did so.
Dieter’s grip against my mouth grew greater as the gas concealed us in a purple torpedo until finally it had finally loosened a few seconds later so that his hand only cupped itself over and around my mouth, allowing me to fill my starved lungs with delicious oxygen. PATCHES tilted his round, dome-like head to the side in confusion.
‘Von Rathskeller Dieter Fastred, born in 1892 on the 1stof July in Stuttgart, Germany, and employed to the cause in 1914 and primary werewolf, what is the meaning of this intrusion?’
Dieter waited until all of the gas had disappeared, and then spoke:
‘Darcy Ward is a guest of Olsen.’
PATCHES’s dome eye lowered; if he had a human form, he would have been blushing.
‘Apologies, Von Rathskeller Dieter Fastred, I must have overlooked Olsen George Adrian Francis’s notice. It will not happen again. Please go through.’ PATCHES insisted.
Staring at PATCHES’s miniature gun the whole time, I, nervously, stepped through the door with Dieter.
‘Are you okay, Dieter?’ I asked, looking over his shoulder.
‘I am well,’ he muttered, ‘and yourself?’
‘Yeah. What was that stuff?’
‘It was a gas George discovered when he was researching in the Cloud Jungle in Mount Kinabalu in Borneo. He managed to contain the gas somehow before it could spread to any villages close by. It is deadly.’
‘And you survived it?’
‘Yeah, I have this…immunity – it does not matter now. Come on.’
I stepped through one more steel frame door, resembling a door you would see on a navy ship or submarine, and my eyes widened.
‘Welcome to Searcher Headquarters,’ Dieter announced, standing next to me and admiring the view for himself. ‘It looks better when it has been tidied up though.’
The Headquarters was nothing like I had seen before, and exceeded all my expectations, with my expectations being a dark room at the bottom of a council estate. Despite being underground, the ceiling seemed to go on forever. In the circular room, there were steel doors, like I had seen before, leading into other compartments. The walls were made from red bricks of Victorian design, with the word ‘SEARCHERS’ painted in black, next to the entrance. Crowding the middle of the room were many computers, linked to each other and flashing on and off as if they were experiencing technical errors.
I couldn’t find the right words; I had been too shocked and in awe to speak. Dieter tried to stifle a laugh.
‘Always happens to the new people,’ Dieter muttered. He walked over to the computers and climbed onto a stool, facing a computer, which I assumed was his. He typed something into the computer, and the flashing on his computer stopped immediately. He caught me as I looked at the flashing screens with concern.
‘Don’t worry about the flashing. You’re not epileptic, are you?’
I shook my head.
‘Oh, good, and the flashing means that the computer is in temporary recovery mode.’
All of a sudden, the green leaves of the plant, next to Dieter’s mouse, started to twitch and move, as if it had a mind of its own.
‘Err…Mr…Von Rathskeller-’ I began.
‘Please,’ he interjected, silencing me with his hand, ‘Mr Von Rathskeller was my father. Call me Dieter. It’s like Peter but with a D instead of a P.’
‘Okay….but Dieter, I…I think…I don’t mean to sound…stupid…b…but I think that plant just moved…can wind get this far underground?’
Dieter raised an eyebrow. ‘If we opened a window maybe.’ He looked over towards the swerving leaves on the stem of the plant, as if an invisible wind had been affecting it. Dieter swivelled on the stool towards another computer, punched the enter button on the keyboard and a bleeping sound could be heard from above.
Suddenly, a girl fell from above, just inches away from me. I covered my ears to hear the crash, but no sound came. Gingerly, I opened my eyes again and gaped in wonder. The blonde girl was ‘levitating’ above the ground, with her face only inches from the steel floors.
‘Oh…my God,’ I called out. ‘Is she okay?’
‘She’s fine.’ Dieter replied, staring back to his own computer screen. ‘Probably just trying to get attention.’
Suddenly, the girl made a strange gesture with her hands, and suddenly she levelled herself to a standing position. She beamed. Definitely wanted to get some attention.
‘Darcy, this is Angel. Amyas’s (a name to which he said behind his teeth with a sharp inhale) little sister.’
At ‘little sister’ Angel pouted, and folded her arms. Angel held an appearance that immediately reminded me of a modern day Marilyn Monroe, from her short and curly blonde hair, with a wavy fringe that slightly curved over her bright blue eyes. She had the appearance of a seventeen year old girl, yet her eyes suggested she was a lot older than that.
‘Nice to meet you, Angel,’ I said politely, and gave out my hand to shake. Angel only looked at my offered hand, smiled and then grabbed my face, and kissed me on each cheek, as if we were in France or Greece.
I blushed. Dieter noticed this.
‘Don’t worry, Darcy, I think that is her way of saying hello,’ Dieter consoled, his eyes still boring into the computer screen.
‘You think or you know?’ I enquired, watching Angel levitating the plant pot. ‘And why can she levitate that…plant pot?’
Abruptly, a square object shot out of the side of the computer, and into the air like a rocket. Dieter caught it single-handedly, and handed it to me.
‘Here’s your ID card. I’ve already inserted your biogenetics into the system, so next time, PATCHES won’t mistake you for a Fiend,’ Dieter explained.
‘Because PATCHES is very, very good at what he does.’
‘No, I mean, how did you get my biogenetics?’
Dieter only smiled, then tapped his nose. This only worried more even more, and set even more questions wild, so much that I thought it would explode at any second. Jarring me out of my thoughts, Angel grabbed my hand. ‘Come on, Darcy! I’ll show you around.’
At this, she giggled, like an excited four year old on the way to Toys R Us, as we ran over to the closest steel frame door. She dialled the code number, and then PATCHES shot out of the wall.
‘Greetings! State your identities or die?’ PATCHES enquired, in the same monotone voice. Angel inserted her own ID card, which hung from her neck, into the slot next to PATCHES’s eyestalk.
‘Mitchell, Sarah Angel Louise. Born on the thirteenth of August 1927 in Fulham, England. Employed to the cause in 1944.’
‘Your name’s not Angel?’
‘I like the name Angel better than Sarah.’
‘Username accepted (PATCHES turned to me and blinked twice) State your identity.’
I copied Angel, and pushed the card into the slot. ‘Ward, Darcy Jane. Born in 1994 in Liverpool, England…err…and employed into…the cause…in 2011.’
I managed to stop myself from adding in the occasional ‘I think’ and ‘like’, so I wouldn’t have to face being choked to death by gas. PATCHES closed his giant eye again.
‘Username accepted. Please enter.’ PATCHES confirmed, opening his eye, then returned our ID cards, then returned back into the wall. The door swung up, and we stepped into the room.
‘This is the artillery sector. This is where me and my stupid brother Amy are sectioned, but he also has the medical sector cos he’s so bloody greedy and stupid. I organise all the weapons from smallest to biggest whilst Amy just lays there, being stupid like the lazy, inconsiderable thickhead he is!’ Angel explained unexpectedly.
The Artillery sector was quite the contrary to Angel’s speech. All of the ammunitions and magazines had been littered across the strained, camouflage carpet, and the weapons on the shelves looked as if they had been shoved as far back as possible. To my left, a small desk had been left untidy, with sweet wrappers crowded one half of the table while an unfinished game of solitaire covered the other.
‘When was the last time you organised this place?’
Angel rolled her eyes. ‘Ugh! You sound like George!’
‘Speaking of George, where is he? I didn’t see them when I come in,’ I asked.
‘Well, you wouldn’t, would you? George and Amy went to Paris a few hours ago. They’re keeping a lookout for two secondary werewolves, who have disguised themselves as tourists. I’ve always wanted to go to Paris. I’ve always wanted to climb the Eiffel Tower, and see all the catwalks. Do you think I’d look good walking down one?’
I chuckled, and was about to add in a sarcastic remark, until the intercom, shoved into the top corner of the room, blurted out, coughing out a rain of dust.
‘Mitchell and Ward, please report to the briefing room!’Dieter’s voice announced.‘Mitchell and Ward, I repeat, please report to the briefing room!’then the intercom switched off with a loud click!
Angel walked me out of the sector and towards the briefing room, our arms linked with each other, like BFFs. ‘I’ve always dreamed of meeting another Ward, especially the offspring of ‘the’ famous Wards of the Searcher Organisation!’ she said gleefully, as we walked.
‘It’s…err…always nice to meet a fan,’ I replied, blushing a little. Then, we appeared at a light blue, transparent door with the words ‘Briefing Room’ stretched along the middle of it, in bold lettering. I could see Dieter inside, wearing reading glasses, sorting out folders and files on a long table in the middle of the room.
Angel punched a finger at a small red button at the side of the door, making it slide to the left and out of sight.
‘Ah! Girls! Please, take a seat anywhere, and I will de-brief.’
We sat, and Dieter aimed a small remote at the ceiling, dimming the lights of the room. Now, the only lights were the small red light from Dieter’s remote and the bright blue from the television screen embedded into the wall.
‘Now, whilst George and Amyas are away, I will take place as Assignment briefer. So please, listen carefully.’
At the mention of Amyas, Angel made a coughing sound that sounded like the word ‘loser’.
‘Anyway,’ Dieter continued, ‘PATCHES has received several signals of Fiend activity which have breached the Perimeter-’
‘What’s the Perimeter?’ I questioned, raising my hand nervously.
‘The Perimeter is the borderline between our world and Delfan – the Fiend World, to which you had encountered when you were attacked by the Fiend with George and Amyas, and it has been breached. George managed to secure it in the late thirties, but unfortunately, it could only hold for so long,’ Dieter explained thoroughly.
‘Alright,’ I said, half understanding this, ‘let me just get one thing straight. I’ve been hearing all this…stuff about you being born in the 1800s’ and you, Angel, being born in the 1920s’. You lot are just messing around, right? I mean, none of you look older than I am. George too! How can he have secured it over seventy years ago?’
Angel chuckled, as if I had said something stupid.
‘It seems you don’t know much about George, or about us.’
Dieter did that move the doctors on television programmes did – if they had glasses – when they had bad news. He leaned forward against the table, talking of his glasses.
‘Darcy,’ Dieter said, gravely. ‘You know, this organisation is a…life changing…career – so to speak – and there are people who-’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, long story short. George’s immortal, I’m immortal, Dieter is and so is my stupid brother. We’re all immortal, and soon you’ll be immortal too.’
‘Soon enough,’ Dieter answered. I struggled to believe this. This was insanity. I pinched myself hard to make sure that this was some crazy dream. I actually hoped that I would wake up and find myself in Callum’s bed, with him drooling over me instead of this reality. This was cruel.
‘And what about my parents? When were they born? And, more importantly, tell me how they died!’
Dieter and Angel shot brief glances, and then Angel rested her warm hand over mine.
‘Darcy…’ Dieter muttered, and then he rubbed his brow, a sign that this was a subject that was far too delicate to be discussed at the current time, despite this being about my own parents from people who seem to know them more than me. ‘Let’s just get back to the assignment, okay? Now, these are the destination points around the City, shown by the red dots where PATCHES has managed to race the signal, although there are too many portals breaching at one time, and with less of us here, it might cause a problem.’
‘So? Can we call the SAS in to help?’ Angel suggested.
‘The Society of American Searchers, Angel, are currently on a hostile mission in Buenos Aires where some rogue…(he looked me, hesitating to say the next word)…primary werewolves have been killing civilians. Besides, I doubt Vanessa or Zack would want to close portals,’ Dieter answered, ‘and-’
‘Why?’ I butted in.
‘The SAS are called in when our organisation is in desperate need of aid.’
‘Well, isn’t this a desperate need of aid?’
‘I said this would cause a problem, Darcy, I didn’t say we were completely hopeless. The Perimeter is like the Equator, the further away from it you are, the less need to attention you give it. The Perimeter is the strongest over Los Angeles, so the SAS, who are based there, this is a minor crisis.’
‘Right, so what is a massive crisis to them?’
‘Oh…probably…wide scale vampires, Fiend or werewolf attack. They are very good at what they do. George holds a strong relationship with Vanessa, who runs the organisation over the Pond. They try to visit around the holidays if there is nothing going on.’
Dieter pulled a small phone from his pocket, flipped it open, began texting, and then shoved it back into his pocket.
‘Right, I’ve informed George and Amyas (yet another cough that resembled the word ‘loser’) of the current situation. They will be here as soon as they can.’
Even Dieter seem to be a little annoyed at this tiring comment. Was Amyas liked at all in this place? No wonder he kept to himself.
‘Right, Angel, will you please select the weapons for this assignment?’ Dieter asked politely, then walked out of the room, leaving me and Angel alone.
‘A thought just occurred to me,’ Angel began, watching Dieter go.
‘Why does Dieter stink of gas?’