streets and elegantly dressed couples danced through the night.
This part of town was an area that Ruby loved – it was exciting somehow to lose one’s self, to become anonymous, in the crisscrossing streets; ant-like to someone looking down from the top of the gargantuan architecture.
Hitch parked underneath the building known as the Schroeder, in a single empty space among the seemingly endless rows of stationary cars. There was nothing to indicate that this one lone parking spot had been reserved for Hitch’s silver convertible, but Ruby got the impression that somehow it had. The car park ramps spiralled down below them and Ruby wondered just how many vehicles were sitting under this vast building.
‘1,500,’ said Hitch, as if reading her thoughts. ‘1,517 if you count the maintenance team’s trucks. All parked on three underground levels under seventy-seven floors of concrete, steel and glass. Makes the mind boggle, doesn’t it?’
‘Makes the mind wonder if you shouldn’t get out more,’ said Ruby. ‘Maybe call up some of those “fun friends” of yours, live a little.’
They climbed out of the car and walked across to the elevator. Someone had scratched a tiny image of a housefly next to the ‘down’ button, and there was a trail line etched into the steel of the doors as if the fly had just buzzed out. The doors opened and Ruby and Hitch stepped in. Hitch snapped open what seemed to be an invisible panel, pressed some digits and the doors behind them closed and the doors in front of them opened. They exited. On the other side was a dusty old service elevator. Hitch clanged open the concertina metal gate and they stepped into the rough wide box, punched the button marked “−8” and a second or seven later they began to move unsteadily towards the bottom of the elevator shaft, the dark lit up by a single naked light bulb that swung above them, casting eerie shadows as they descended.
How many would guess that this tired-looking elevator with its mean light source might lead to one of the world’s most sophisticated intelligence operations? Well, Ruby Redfort might; she had seen it all before.
WHEN THE DOORS OPENED THEY WERE IN A VERY DIFFERENT SPACE: huge, subterranean and sleek. No dust, no cobwebs, no bugs – of either variety.
‘So what exactly does our boss want to talk to me about?’ asked Ruby.
‘It’s not my business to say,’ said Hitch.
Ruby hadn’t seen LB, the head of Spectrum 8, since before the whole Blue Wolf mission had kicked off.
The thing was, by the time Ruby had been helicoptered off Wolf Paw Mountain and rushed to the emergency room, LB had had her own crisis to take care of; she’d been called away on urgent duty and unable to attend Ruby’s official debrief. That task had been passed to another agent.
‘Will she be in a good mood dya think?’ said Ruby, knowing this was about as likely as LB showing up in a pink trouser suit – LB only ever wore white.
Hitch didn’t answer. He just pointed to a waiting area, with sleek white chairs.
HITCH: ‘Wait here kid.’
RUBY: ‘OK.’
HITCH: ‘Here? You got that?’
RUBY: ‘Uh huh.’
HITCH: ‘That’s a yes, right?’
RUBY: ‘Uh huh.’
HITCH: ‘You’ll be called in about fifteen, OK?’
RUBY: ‘OK.’
HITCH: ‘Don’t move.’
RUBY: ‘Got it.’
Fifteen minutes, thought Ruby. Enough time to drink a soda. And, she walked off in the direction of the Spectrum canteen.
She got herself a can of Fizz and sat down on one of the stylish chairs arranged around one of the many cool-looking tables, all lit by low hanging lights. The effect was cosy and conspiratorial. The Spectrum canteen was no ordinary work cafeteria – like all things Spectrum, it gave the impression of being very pleased with itself.
Ruby took out her book of Rules, a small magenta pink notebook with the word RULES printed in bright red letters across the front.
She’d had this book of rules since she was four years old and it had grown into quite a list over the years. Seventy-nine of them in fact. Now she had a new rule to add.
DON’T STAND ON A WINDOW LEDGE IF YOU AREN’T COMPLETELY SURE WHETHER THE WINDOW OPENS INWARDS OR OUTWARDS.
OK, it was quite a specific rule. But a useful one. She’d improve on it later, give it a bit more pizzazz.
‘You look better.’
Ruby looked up to see Dr Harper, the Spectrum medic who had treated her when she was brought in from Wolf Paw Mountain.
‘Better than what?’
‘Better than what you looked like the last time I saw you.’
‘Yeah, well last time you saw me, I had the flu, plus an injured foot, a broken arm and I’d nearly died of being burnt to death.’
‘Yes, your hair doesn’t look so good,’ said Harper, making a face. ‘Still a bit. . . crispy. So is the arm giving you any trouble?’
‘Nah, not really,’ said Ruby. ‘But it itches like crazy.’
‘Yes, that’s healing for you,’ said Dr Harper. ‘Itchy.’
‘Anything you can give me for it?’ asked Ruby hopefully.
‘Yes,’ said Dr Harper reaching into her top pocket. ‘This.’ She handed Ruby a yellow pencil.
‘Thanks,’ said Ruby, ‘does it come with any directions?’
‘Yes, avoid the sharp end,’ replied Dr Harper.
‘How about my foot?’
The doctor gave it the once-over and declared it ‘good to go’.
‘You sure?’ asked Ruby.
‘Trust me, I’m a doctor,’ said Harper.
‘And there I was thinking you might be a comedian. What about my arm?’
‘Oh,’ said Dr Harper, ‘that’s healed too. I’d cut you out of that cast right now but I got to be somewhere.’ She looked at her watch anxiously.
‘A medical emergency?’ asked Ruby.
‘A
