The Resistance

her. Immediately an action plan had been decided, contacts within Pincent Pharma rallied.
    The man nodded and slipped a roughly drawn map into Pip’s hand. ‘She’s being kept on the other side of the building, storeroom 48. But there’s a guard outside.’
    Pip nodded thoughtfully. ‘What about the blackout?’ he asked. ‘What’s the word?’
    The man looked at him curiously. ‘I thought that was you. They’re saying it’s the Underground.’
    Pip frowned. ‘Thank you,’ he said sincerely. ‘We’ll be in touch.’
    The man nodded briefly, then walked quickly away, back to work. He had risked his life and Pip knew that – cameras had probably picked up their exchange; within hours he might be questioned, tortured. But those hours would give Pip the time he needed. He had to think of the big picture. All of them did.
    Adopting the gait of a guard, Pip walked off down the corridor. It took him several minutes to reach the services area where the storerooms were located on the other side of the building. His eyes scanned the numbers on the doors. He could hear the muffled sound of a baby crying, a sound which nearly stopped him in his tracks. Room 48 was just ahead; as his contact had warned him, a guard was stationed outside the room.
    ‘Thought you might want a tea break,’ he said to the guard.
    The guard looked straight ahead. ‘I’m not to move,’ he said. ‘Orders from Richard Pincent. Who are you, anyway? Don’t remember seeing you around.’
    Pip smiled. His hypnotic eyes looked steadily into the guard’s, charming the look of suspicion from his face. ‘Got brought down here to bolster security. Because of the blackout,’ he said. ‘Just thought you might want to stretch your legs.’
    The guard looked at him, a flicker of temptation crossing his eyes, then he shook his head. ‘Not worth my while,’ he said, raising his eyebrows. ‘But cheers, all the same.’
    ‘No problem. No problem at all.’
    Pip smiled wryly, his eyes taking in every detail of the guard, of the door. Then he turned around and walked away. It was never going to be that easy, he thought to himself ruefully. But it had been worth a try.
    The guards had to literally drag Peter through the warehouses, down the steps, down the corridor. At every stage he wrestled with them, cursed them, dragged his feet, protested.
    ‘You know what they’re doing up there?’ he asked them, through gritted teeth. ‘Do you know what Pincent Pharma does behind closed doors?’ But the guards didn’t seem interested; they stared resolutely ahead, kicking or pushing him every so often when he struggled too much, when irritation got the better of them. Eventually, Peter gave up; angrily, he looked down at the floor, the only place he could bear to look, the only place where he would not be met with posters proclaiming Longevity’s wondrous properties, with whiteness, with the purity that permeated the entire building, purity that Peter now saw as the lure of the devil.
    ‘Lifts are out,’ one of the guards sighed. ‘We’ll have to take the stairs down.’ They dragged Peter towards the stairwell, then pushed him down in front of them, chuckling when he stumbled, looking at him blankly when he turned to remonstrate with them.
    As they reached the second floor, Peter heard footsteps beneath him, on their way up. A check over the banister revealed another guard, coming towards them. Could he trip him, Peter wondered? Could he create enough of a diversion to escape? Then he shook himself. Anna. He had to protect Anna. He had to do what his grandfather said. With a sigh, he continued to walk; seconds later, he came face to face with the approaching guard. The guard stopped; Peter stopped too, allowing his eyes to register the polished shoes, the dull grey uniform, the gold buttons. The eyes . . .
    Peter felt his heart skip a beat as the familiar blue eyes registered surprise for an instant. He stared into them, feeling their questions, their reassurance, their acceptance, their warnings all at once, each message received perfectly by Peter.
    ‘This the lad?’ Pip asked.
    ‘The lad?’ The guards looked at him uncertainly.
    ‘Peter Pincent,’ Pip said, his voice a sneer. ‘I’m to take him downstairs. Apparently there’s more trouble upstairs and you’re needed.’
    ‘What sort of trouble? Mr Pincent told us to lock him in one of the storerooms behind reception,’ one of the guards said.
    Pip raised an eyebrow. ‘All I