Scorpia

emptystretch of road that ran for about fifteen metres before coming to a dead end. Mrs Rothman and Nile climbed out of the car and Alex followed, examining his surroundings with a sinking heart. It looked as if they hadn’t taken him to the dishes after all. There were no tall buildings in sight, not for at least a mile around. The street – almost as wide as it was long – ran between two rows of dilapidated shops, the lower floors boarded up, the windows broken and discoloured. The street itself was covered with rubbish: scraps of newspaper, dented cans and old crisp packets.
    But it was the building at the end that commanded his attention. The street led to a church that would have been more suited to Rome or Venice than London. It had obviously been abandoned long ago and had deteriorated badly, yet still it struggled to be magnificent. Two huge, cracked pillars supported a triangular roof over the main entrance. Marble steps led up to huge doors made of solid bronze, but green now rather than gold. The great bulk of the church rose up behind, surmounted by a dome which glinted in the afternoon sun. Statues lined the steps and stood dotted across the roof. But they had been brutalized by time and the elements. Some were missing arms; many had no faces. Once they had been saints and angels. Two hundred years standing in London had turned them into cripples.
    “Why are we here?” Alex asked.
    Mrs Rothman was standing next to him, looking up at the church. “I thought you’d like to witness the conclusion of Invisible Sword.”
    “I don’t know anything about Invisible Sword.” Without giving himself away, Alex was searching for any sign of the satellite dishes. But there didn’t seem to be anything on the dome and, anyway, as impressive as it was, it wasn’t tall enough. The dishes had to be higher up. “What is this place?”
    Mrs Rothman looked at him curiously. “You know, Alex, I’d swear there was something different about you.”
    Alex quietly closed his mouth, hiding the brace. He looked at her quizzically.
    “Nile? Did you search him from top to bottom?”
    “Yes. Just like you told me to.”
    “I would’ve thought you’d have trusted me by now,” Alex protested, but this time he looked away so she wouldn’t see his teeth. “I did exactly what you told me to. And I nearly got killed.”
    “I don’t trust anyone, Alex. Not even Nile.” She paused. “Since you ask, this building is the Church of Forgotten Saints. It’s not actually a church; it’s an oratory. It was built in the nineteenth century by a community of Catholic priests living in the area. They were rather odd. They worshipped a collection of saints who have all fallen into obscurity. You’d be amazed how many saints there are who we’ve completely forgotten about. St Fiacre, for example, is the patron saint of gardeners and taxidrivers. That must keep him busy! St Ambrose looks after bee-keepers, and where would tailors be without St Homobonus? Did you know that undertakers and perfume makers both have their own saints? They were worshipped here too. I suppose it’s not surprising the church fell into disuse. It was bombed in the war and it’s been empty ever since. Scorpia took it over a few years ago. As you’ll see, we’ve made one or two interesting adjustments. Do you want to come inside?”
    Alex shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
    He had no choice. For some reason, Julia Rothman had chosen to bring him here, and presumably he would still be here when the terahertz beams were fired across London. He glanced at the dome again, wondering if the surface would be enough to protect him. He doubted it.
    The three of them walked forward. The car had left. Alex looked at the shops on either side. Not a single one was occupied. He wondered if he was being watched. It occurred to him that anyone wanting to enter the church would have to come this way, and it would be easy enough to keep them under surveillance with hidden cameras. They reached the main entrance, which sensed their arrival and opened electronically. That was interesting. Mrs Rothman had spoken of adjustments and it was already clear that the oratory wasn’t quite as derelict as it first appeared.
    They entered a grand hall, rectangular in shape,that served as an antechamber to the main body of the church. Everything was grey: the huge flagstones, the ceiling, the stone pillars that supported it. Alex looked around him as his eyes grew accustomed to