I stumble and go over on one ankle as I walk towards Pete. He’s saying something else now, something urgent, something about Basil storing his prey in the MAGIC CIRCLE OF SAFETY archive. I shake my head. Something is coming into focus, something huge and nasty and vile: Who added reviving MAGIC CIRCLE OF SAFETY to the training-wheels project list, I wonder? As if I can’t guess. More importantly, why did Basil do it? “We’ve got to get back to the New Annex,” I say. Then I remember I’ve got a phone. “Wait.” I pull it out but iPhones don’t work too well when they’ve been sprayed with blood and rolled around on. “Shit.” I turn and stumble towards the front office, past the guys who are apologizing to Alex as they apply the handcuffs and leg restraints, ignore that woman, shuffle past the dead security guard who is staring unblinking at the ceiling with gunshot-wound eyes, and see his phone on the desk.

I lean over the corpse and dial a number from memory, finger shaking so badly that I have to stop and start over twice before I get it right. It’s picked up on the second ring.

“Operations.”

“Howard here.”

“Transferring you now—” They’ve been pre-briefed.

Two seconds later, I hear a familiar voice. “Speak, boy.” It’s Angleton. He sounds distracted.

I dry swallow, trying to ignore the taste in my mouth. “Code Red,” I manage.

We don’t use Code Red very often. In fact, I’ve never heard of it being used before. Code Blue means there’s an off-site emergency, probable hostile action on our soil. Code Red means there’s on-site hostile action. Like the attack I expect Basil to have arranged, to take out everyone who might suspect his existence.

“You’re a bit late,” Angleton says laconically. I hear banging in the background. “We’ll talk later,” he adds. Then the line goes dead.

18.

A NAKED LUNCH, WITH VIOLIN

THE CATASTROPHE UNFOLDED IN MY—AND MO’S—ABSENCE. IT was rapid and devastating, and it’s quite possible that the only reason I’m around to record this account of the event is because I wasn’t there.