More doors. She’d lost track of which corridor they were in, F or E, but that didn’t matter because here they were, in the room they’d seen on the monitor, with its rows of newly assembled shelving, and crates packed in what looked like cages, as if the information they contained was savage, and needed to be kept behind bars. A lot of it probably was. At the far end of the room, visible along the aisle between the rows, Ben Traynor was by the far set of doors: he’d erected a barricade, and was standing on an overturned cabinet, sighting through a fraction of a porthole window. His gun hung loosely by his side, but on their arrival he spun round, aiming it in their direction.
River and Louisa leaped in opposite directions, taking cover behind caged crates.
Traynor lowered the gun. “What the hell are you doing?”
River emerged, hands raised to shoulder level. “Was about to ask you the same thing. Where’s Donovan?”
The sound of a box file hitting the floor betrayed his position.
Traynor said, “I thought I told you to go.”
“And I thought you said you were after the Grey Books.”
Louisa joined River as he lowered his hands. “Are they showing signs of coming in?” she asked.
He hesitated. Then said, “There’s a room a few yards down the corridor. They’re in there at the moment. I imagine they’re planning their next move.”
Which presumably involved all-out assault, thought Louisa. That or surrender, which didn’t seem likely. “Have they got guns?”
“Maybe one or two of them. They haven’t fired any yet.”
Another box file hit the floor.
River said, “If he’s going through them one by one, we might be here a while.”
“We know what we’re doing.”
“They won’t need guns. They can just wait for the hinges to rust off the doors.”
Louisa moved down the aisle towards Traynor, and stopped when she reached the row where Donovan was. There was something incongruous about the scene: like watching Rocky play librarian. In his hands was a box file. Before she opened her mouth he’d dropped it and was reaching for the next one.
She said, “I found your online musings.”
“BigSeanD,” he said, without stopping what he was doing.
“BigSeanD has a thing about the weather,” she said. “He seems to think They’ve weaponised it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Wasn’t too clear on who
“I expect They’re the same crowd putting chips in people’s heads to track them when they’re abducted by aliens.” He looked at her briefly. “They get up to creepy shit, They surely do.”
He’d reached the end of the row of box files; next up were manila folders, of varying thickness; some bound with ribbon, others paper-clipped closed. They had catalogue numbers stamped in red ink on the cover; Donovan checked each before unbowing the ribbon, discarding the paper clip. A quick glance at the top sheet seemed to be all he needed, and the folders joined the mess on the floor.
“You have to admit,” he said in a conversational tone, “it doesn’t sound that far-fetched. If the weather’s not being controlled yet, you can bet your life someone’s trying to make it happen.”
“But you don’t care about that, do you? You were just building a legend to get you access to this place.”
“What’s the matter, don’t I fit your image of a conspiracy nut? What have you been told we look like?”
“I gather they come in different sizes,” River said. He stood in the aisle, with a sight line on both Donovan and Traynor. “But whatever you really want, we can’t let you take it.”
“Is that so?”
“Making a move now,” said Traynor.
“How many?” River asked.
“Six. More. I have limited vision here.”
Donovan looked unmoved. He said, “You might want to leave. One or two of them have real guns. They even know which way to point them.”
River said, “You took Catherine Standish. Sent me her photo.”
“I took her,” Donovan said. “But it was Monteith sent you the photo.” He plucked another folder from the shelf. “And I think you’ll find he’s outside your jurisdiction.”
A glance, the barest shrug. The folder hit the floor.
“You knew her from the old days,” Louisa said. “Back when she was at the Park.”
Donovan opened another folder. He looked at the front page, seemed about to drop it, then looked again, more closely.
“But what I want to know,” Louisa said, “is how come you knew about Slough House?”
