Rentboy

released him from the hug but continued to hold him loosely
    by the upper arms. “There was a man—or it might have been a woman; it doesn’t really matter—who
    was stuck on a roof as floodwaters rose. He prayed and prayed, and a boat came by. He called out. I
    don’t need the boat. I’m waiting for God to help me. Then a helicopter flew over, and he called up.
    I don’t need a helicopter. I’m waiting for God to help me. The long and short of it is, he drowned.
    At the pearly gates he said to God, Why didn’t you save my life? God said, I sent you a boat, and
    then I sent you helicopter. What more do you want? ”
    Fox sniffed loudly. “So you’re the boat. Now who’s the helicopter?”
    “I’ll get changed and show you. I could be an absolute idiot here because we may not be
    believed, but I don’t know what else to do right now.”
    Chapter Fourteen
    As dusk gathered, the heat of the day had cooled, which was a great relief to Godfrey. Being
    chubby helped in cold weather; it kept him warm. In the heat, he suffered horribly.
    “So where are we going?” Fox asked him as they walked side by side across Vauxhall Bridge.
    Godfrey pointed. “Right there. Eight-Five Albert Embankment.” The beautiful and strange-
    looking structure of the MI6 building rose up to their left.
    “Secret Intelligence Service? You’re kidding,” Fox said.
    He wasn’t kidding. It was definitely their best option. “The police will think we’re a couple of
    crackpots if we go to them. These people will be more discerning about something of this nature. At
    least I think they will. Have you any better ideas?” He looked at Fox, knowing that had the young man
    shown up here alone, he would likely be sent on his way. He belonged at a Halloween party in that
    outfit.
    “I don’t have any ideas except to keep Eddie safe,” Fox said.
    They walked up the steps of the main entrance and into the deeply recessed vestibule. Godfrey
    had passed the impressive construction so many times he barely noticed it anymore, but today it
    seemed important since he was going to walk in. “It’s quite the tourist attraction, this building, even
    though no one is allowed to enter without permission.”
    “The building was designed by Terry Farrell,” Fox told him. “It’s commonly known as Legoland
    since it resembles a structure made from Lego. I’d be terrified if I was Farrell in case they killed me
    afterwards to maintain perfect security.” Godfrey threw him a questioning look. “I did a course on
    architecture as part of my art degree.”
    “Oh. Excellent.”
    Inside the main doors was a security barrier with metal detectors. Being after hours, there was
    almost no one about, giving the building an empty, echoic feeling. Uniformed personnel homed in on
    them as soon as they entered. Godfrey had changed into gray trousers and a mauve short-sleeved shirt
    with his dog collar to give him the backing of the church. But Fox, eyes rimmed with black, hair
    gelled into spikes, and wearing his vampire outfit, was another matter entirely.
    He caught Godfrey looking him up and down and smiled apologetically. “I would have changed
    if I’d known we were coming here. The vicar and the Goth. They’ll laugh at us.”
    “Perhaps.” With his practiced broad smile Godfrey walked directly up to the security barrier.
    “We’d like to speak with someone about a pressing matter. A life is in immediate danger, and many
    more are in imminent danger.”
    The woman was taller than either of them and did not crack a smile when she said, “No
    kidding.”
    “I’d never kid about something like this. Please fetch the appropriate person.” Godfrey’s smile
    never faltered. He’d always had a ready smile and always found it comforted people who needed
    comfort and paved the way with those more hostile.
    The woman looked back and forth between them, appearing decidedly unimpressed. “Have you
    called the police? They are well equipped to take care of civil matters.”
    “This isn’t a civil matter. It involves international terrorism.”
    “Sounds ominous.” She pulled out a pad, though it was clear from the skeptical look on her face
    that she thought they were wasting her time. “Name.”
    “Reverend Godfrey Rooke.” He looked at Fox.
    “Afton Baillie. AKA, Fox. Tell your boss this is about Ogwambi Maputwa.”
    With one finger the woman pointed at a bench by the door. “Over there.”
    Like schoolboys, they trundled over and sat