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2057, October 3rd.
The city was always at its best when night fell and cast its dark shadows across the metropolis. The pavements, wet from an earlier shower, glistened under the combined efforts of the streetlights and the moon. The buildings in the area were lit up like golden beacons of various sizes. Big Ben was easily the tallest. The big face illuminated the roman numerals as the dark hands ticked away the remaining minutes of the day. Cars, buses, vans and taxis drove past, their headlights piercing through the darkness, their rear-lights adding much needed colour to the tableau.
Penelope left it all behind her as she descended into Westminster’s Underground Station. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d used the Tube. A woman of her position and notoriety was often advised to not use public transportation where possible. But she wasn’t planning on riding any trains tonight.
She wore a knee-length black duster coat over the top of a standard black top and black jeans. A dark grey scarf was wrapped around her throat to help combat the chill in the autumn air, and her boots had been chosen to match. Her outfit was designed to be unseen, designed to be forgettable, and Penelope hoped that it was enough when she passed through the ticket barriers and continued her descent.
The smell of oil and fumes filled the air. Her nose crinkled. One would have thought that, by the year 2057, even the London Tube would have thrown away the diesel stock engines. Clearly someone found money far more interesting than they did the climate, or people’s health for that matter. She’d have to look into that, see if there was something to be done.
Penelope was about to step foot onto the escalators when a gloved hand grabbed her by the upper arm and tugged her back. She was about to turn and strike when she realised who it was.
She sighed. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that it was dangerous to grab a woman like that? I was two seconds away from stomping on your instep, Sam.”
Sam, who was also dressed in clothing that matched his jet black hair, grinned. “Good to see you too, Penny.” He nodded his head backwards. “Come on, there’s place for us to talk this way.”
His hand slipped down her arm to catch her hand. Her fingers curled around the soft leather of Sam’s glove and allowed his initiated soft informality—it wasn’t like he knew better.
Penelope followed Sam through the winding hallways that made up Westminster Station. She was fairly certain that he’d double-backed a few times, no doubt to ensure that no-one would be following them, before he eventually opened a creaky, old rusted gate. He ushered her inside and closed it behind them, leading them both further down the new hallway.
This one was far different to the rest they’d ventured down because, unlike the rest of the station that was open to the public, this one was clearly part of an abandoned part of the station. It was dark and dreary. The bare brick walls were covered in something wet that dripped from the arched ceilings. Sam lit a torch and then pressed on, Penelope following close behind.
“Where are we going?” She asked after a few more minutes of twisting tunnels in the dark.
Sam’s hand squeezed hers once, reassuringly. “You don’t trust me?”
“Should I?”
He smirked but said nothing.
After what seemed like an age of nothing but endless walking, Sam stopped in front of an old door. Penelope could tell that it had once been white from the chipped paint, but had since been covered with grey dust and soot. A poster that had faded with age warned of Danger Ahead. Penelope eyed the sign curiously.
“Don’t worry about it,” Sam explained. “I put it there to make sure no-one comes snooping.”
He unlocked the door.
“Who would want to come snooping down here?” She asked. “It’s positively ghastly.”
With a hand gesturing her forward, Sam grinned. “Ladies first.”
Penelope was in two minds to just bolt. There was still time for her to get out before she got too involved. At this point, her father wouldn’t even have to know. It wasn’t too late to leave. Crossing the door’s threshold changed that. Once she went inside, once she’d seen everything, there was no going back. There was no leaving. And her father would inevitably learn the truth about her midnight rendezvous and of her various trips to the city that had been increasing steadily over the last few months.
She inhaled deeply—regretting it terribly because the stench of an abandoned Underground tunnel was unbearable, it seemed—and decided to take that first step in.
Unlike the tunnels that had led them to the room, the room itself was lit up brightly by an overhanging light. Three folding chairs surrounded a large makeshift desk had been set up in the centre of what, Penelope quickly realised, was once a relatively large supply closet. Some of the shelving units were still present and were now holding boxes and boxes of documentation. On the far side of the room (which was not more than twenty paces from the only door, and thus the only exit) was a large cork-board. It was empty, save for only a few colourful pins stuck into the cork. The desk, too, was empty.
Sam had given her one last chance to turn back. To change her mind. He understood the steps she was taking (to some degree at least) and he’d wanted to give her that one last out, should she have needed it.
But Penelope’s mind was set.
She wanted to do this. She had to.
“I didn’t come all this way to look at an empty room, Sam,” she quipped.
Sam loitered for a moment in the doorway, examining Penelope was a look she was unable to pinpoint. Curiosity? Amusement? Pride? It only lasted a moment, and then he was closing the door behind him and crossing the room to the cork-board. With a single pull, he turned the board around to reveal many things pinned in place. Photographs, letters, confidential memos, handwritten sticky-notes.
Penelope unconsciously took a step forward, her eyes scanning the details. There was far too much for her to decipher in such a short amount of time, but that didn’t mean she stopped. Sam allowed her to look, busying himself with some of the boxes on the supply shelf. He took a couple down, placing them on the table, and then began pulling out various files. They were laid out across the metal of the table in a systemic order. When he was done with the boxes, he replaced them on the shelves behind him.
“Take a seat.” He offered with a wave of his hand.
It took Penelope a few seconds to tear her eyes off the board in front of her. She took the chair nearest to her. Sam pulled his closer, opening up the first file.
With no clock in the room it was hard to decipher exactly how long they’d been there. An hour, perhaps? Time passed by differently when one was tucked away in a secret hideout, looking through a whole host of secret information with a secret friend.
All Penelope knew was that the files that were in front of her contained far more details than she’d ever have expected.
Sam had chuckled when she’d voiced that naive opinion out loud. “Did you think we’d have no intel? Your father is very thorough.”
Her jaw tightened. “You know?”
He rolled his eyes. “Penny. Come on, what do you think I’m paid for? Sitting in a damp room on the Underground with loads of papers?”
“Maybe.” She allowed herself to smile.
“My whole thing is gathering intelligence. I’ve known who you were from the first time we met.”
“And my father? What does he know?”
Sam shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “He knows what he needs to know. Compartmentalisation is very important in our work.”
So, no. He didn’t. Penelope breathed a small sigh of relief. If her father knew where she was, what she was doing… He’d have a fit. Lord Hugh Creighton-Ward was a very progressive man, but Penelope wouldn't have put it past him to lock her up in her room in the manor if he was to find out what she was doing before it was too late to stop her.
“Did you want him to know?”
“No!” Penelope blurted out. She cursed herself. “I mean, it’s better for him to not know. For now, anyway. I’m sure he’ll find out soon enough.”
Sam nodded once. “So, what’s your opinion?” He shifted in his seat and waved towards the cork-board behind them. “Now that you’ve seen everything we have, what do you think is their big plan?”
It was a test, she realised. In fact, this whole evening had been a test. How far was she willing to go? How much did she trust her new partner? How long would she last before she ran away from the truth?
She hoped she’d passed with flying colours so far. She hoped she’d proved that she was willing to go all the way, that she trusted her new partner as much as she was supposed to in this job, and that she wasn’t about to go running out that door because the truth frightened her too much.
She was Penelope Creighton-Ward, and she was born for this job, whether her father agreed with her or not. She’d pass this test, too.
Once again, Penelope scrutinised the board, but only one answer seemed obvious.
“The City,” she answered confidently. “They’ll hit the City first. It’s big and bold, and whilst everyone is running around, trying to douse that fire, they’ll hit the smaller places. They’ll work their way down, until nobody is watching HQ.”
Sam’s brows furrowed. “I wouldn’t call HQ a small place, Pen.”
“Compared to the national tragedies they’ll be wreaking elsewhere? They’ll make sure that it will be seen that way.”
He nodded once again, his lips curling into that familiar shape Penelope had come to recognise as one of pride. “I’ll get on the phone with Wolf, let him know what our thinking is.”
As he stood, Penelope pulled one of the files towards herself, opening it up to reread the details. He barely made it to the door when she stated, “You already knew all of this.”
Sam stopped with one foot out of the threshold.
“You already knew but you were waiting for me to give you the answer.” Her eyes didn’t leave the papers she was flicking through, but Penelope could sense his hesitation.
“I wanted to know who I was going to be working with.”
“We’ve already worked three jobs—”
“Not officially,” he answered softly.
Penelope looked up at him then, her blue eyes piercing like ice. “I don’t need to be mollycoddled, you know.”
“This isn’t me mollycod—” Sam sighed. “I just wanted you to have the chance to prove you were meant to be here, Pen. This way, we can work it together.”
She bit back the urge to retort, to argue that she was able to prove her worth on her own.
“I didn’t mean… Listen, I know you’re capable. That’s why I’ve pushed for you to be here, Pen. I’ve only ever wanted what was best. You know this.”
Penelope didn’t answer. She glanced back at the papers in front of her, and allowed Sam to go make his call.