Tunnels 04, Closer

quiet of the basement beneath the warehouse, Drake was working at a computer he'd set up on one of the benches. As his fingers moved in a blur over the keyboard, he spoke without looking up from the screen. "How's he doing?" he asked.
    Eddie walked into the light. "He's a bit frayed around the edges, as you'd expect," he said, as he approached the bench. "I had to give him something to help him sleep."
    "I'm not surprised. Poor kid hasn't had many breaks lately," Drake replied, his eyes still not moving from the computer screen. "It might've gone a little easier with him if you'd held off telling him about Martha's meals for two in the garden shed."
    Eddie gave a small shrug.
    "Ironic really, as it's your old gang -- the so-called Hobb's Squad -- who have the reputation of being corpse-munchers." Drakes expression was neutral as he continued to work on the keyboard. "And how was he around you? I thought he might have had a problem after what the Styx put him through."
    "He warmed to me after I'd said I'd buy him a PlayStation, and get him a cheeseburger and chips when he woke up."
    "At least he's not completely off his food, then," Drake mumbled, preoccupied with what he was doing.
    "Mind if I take a look?" Eddie asked, already stepping around the bench so he could see.
    "Sure," Drake replied. "I'm just compiling the last line, and... voila, it's done!" he exclaimed as he hit the Return key with great flourish. A box of rapidly scrolling characters opened up on the screen, then cleared to leave a cursor and a line of text proclaiming that the program was ' Locating ...'
    "It's been a while since I've written code like this, but... we shall see what we shall see," Drake said under his breath as he waited for the program. "Ah, here we are." A map opened up in a new window. "That's north London -- somewhere in Highgate," he noted. Then another map opened over the first. "Central London -- the West End. Let's have a closer look at this one, shall we?" he said, maximizing the window and zooming into where a red dot pulsed. "Got you!" he announced as the name of the street came up -- the dot was clearly located within a specific building. "Well, what do you know -- it's
    Wigmore Street
    ."
    "May I ask what you're doing?" Eddie ventured.
    "Remember what I told you about the tubes I stripped out of the Dark Light? How they each emit a particular wavelength, and how the cumulative output from all four gives a unique signature? Well, this morning I connected wirelessly to several masts I've rigged up on buildings round here, so I can triangulate any emissions at this precise frequency." Drake patted the side of the computer screen. "With this hardware, I'm able to pinpoint it anywhere in the London area."
    "So you're telling me that a Dark Light is being used right there, right now," Eddie surmised, indicating the flashing dot.
    "Yes, and I wonder who the victim is?" Drake said, looking thoughtful.

    * * * * *

    The car had drawn up on a double-yellow line in full sight of a parking warden, but the driver didn't care -- the passenger in the back was far too important and influential for him to be concerned about something as trivial as a fine.
    "Action stations," the brawny protection officer next to the driver muttered as he got out. Having checked both ways along the pavement, he gave the driver the thumbs up, then went to the rear door of the car and opened it.
    "Er... we're here, sir," he said tentatively.
    The Prime Minister looked up from his papers. "So soon? Yes, right," he acknowledged. "I was miles away." Closing the file on his lap, he straightened his jacket, tugging at one of the sleeves. He was a big bear of a man and always appeared a little awkward in his suits, as if he'd forgotten to remove the coat hanger. "I just don't have time for this," he grumbled, passing his hand across his forehead to brush his fringe to the side.
    The protection officer escorted the Prime Minister across the pavement and up the steps into the building.
    "Sorry I'm late -- got held up at the Commons," he announced to the receptionist, without sounding the slightest bit sorry.
    "Good morning, sir," she said, putting on her breeziest smile. It was no surprise to her that the Prime Minister was behind schedule -- he always was, so she'd taken the precaution of blocking out the following appointment to make sure other patients weren't inconvenienced.
    "In here?" the Prime Minister began, turning toward the waiting room.
    "No, no need for