Howard Moon: Secret Agent

This is on a need-to-know basis.
Move over, Bond. The name’s Moon, Howard Moon.
And that is all you need to know…

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Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Although it was only a few moments in Noir’s embrace, Moon found himself wishing it could be an eternity—he was lost in a paradise of caresses and pliant lips. But suddenly he came to his senses, pushing himself away from the lithe body that twined around him.

“No, sir! My apologies, but this is all wrong….!”

Noir sat back on his heels, adjusting his cat-suit at the shoulders where Moon’s wild, wandering hands had pushed the fabric aside. His eyes were hooded, but a smile quirked at his lip.

“What’s up, tiger? I don’t usually get many complaints about my floor-show…”

Moon rose, and adjusted his own clothing further.

“Howard Moon does not kiss men, sir. Please forgive my momentary lapse of concentration, but I emphatically state, Howard Moon does not kiss men!”

“Oh yeah?” Noir dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. “Look, Howard, if that’s your momentary lapse, let me know when you’re on your next half-hour tea-break. ‘Cos you have serious potential.”

“That’s potential I don’t need unleashing…” muttered Moon to himself, turning towards the unconscious Big and the wall-safe.

Noir was on his feet now, and he drew close to the tall agent.

“I’m quite good with leashes, too…” he murmured in Moon’s ear. Moon shrugged him off.

“Look, I am extremely grateful for your intervention, sir…”

“‘M’name’s Vincenzo.”

“Vincenzo… Vincenzo? Oh, okay, Vincenzo. But I really need to concentrate on the business in hand.”

Noir scrunched up his brow in a frown.

“Really? I thought that was what we were doing…”

Moon ignored him.

“I need to get this safe open. Stand aside, sir… Vincenzo, I mean. I don’t want innocent bystanders injured.”

In response, Noir drew even closer, peeking over Moon’s shoulder as the agent stepped over the prostrate body of the multi-millionaire to square up to the safe with its combination lock. A loud snore from the other side of the room confirmed that the gorilla was still out for the count.

“You gotta number…?”

“Indeed I do, sir” whispered Moon, stroking the large knob gently.

“No, I mean your ‘phone number…”

“Step aside, Vincenzo!”

Noir sighed theatrically and moved back. But as Moon placed his ear to the safe and listened to the tumblers fall as he manipulated the knob, he felt Noir pressing close to him again, craning over his shoulder. And there was something hard jutting against his buttock. He froze.

“Vincenzo, what’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That.” Moon gestured blindly, eyes averted.

Noir’s gaze followed the pointing hand.

“Oh, that’s my thing…”

“Pardon me?”

“My thing. Sorry, it’s always getting in the way. It’s a bugger to conceal in a cat-suit, let me tell you.”

He registered Moon’s doubtful look.

“It’s my thing to operate my fly-by-wire.”

Moon huffed.

“Just stand clear, please, Vincenzo.”

But he felt resigned more than irritated as Noir bundled up again, pressing close against the agent’s back. They both heard the final tumbler click, and the small door sprang open. Two pair of eyes—one blue, one brown—peered into the little safe.

“Wow,” breathed Noir. “What a lot of boring things…”

The safe contained nothing but a bundle of papers. Nevertheless Moon grabbed them and scanned them with a look of triumph. He swept clear a space at Big’s desk and laid the papers flat. Then, from the heel of his shoe, he produced a miniature camera.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Just a few snaps, Vincenzo,” replied Moon distractedly. “Then the plans can go back in the safe and it’ll seem like nothing’s been disturbed…”

“Won’t the unconscious gorilla be a bit of a giveaway?”

Moon looked up. Noir was smirking. Moon frowned in return.

“Microfilm is… umm… easier to carry. Look, just keep watch, will you? While I finish up.”

Noir pouted and sauntered to the door.

“What’re they plans of, anyway?”

“If I’m right, they’re…” Moon hesitated, and gave the spangled figure, now lolling casually by the door jamb, a penetrating look.

“Look, Vincenzo, you’re a civilian here. Best you don’t get involved.”

Noir inspected his nails.

“Oh, okay then. Helping secret agents escape from a pincering’s all in a day’s work for me…”

Moon opened his mouth to protest, but suddenly Noir jerked upright, his eye pressed to the edge of the door. Still in that position, he started signalling frantically to Moon.

“What’s the matter?”

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Noir flew across the room, leaping over the snoring Bollo, and grabbed Moon’s arm.

“It’s Sable!” he hissed, cheek to cheek with Moon. “Big’s right hand man! He’s a sadistic psychopath—even worse, he can be ever so sarcastic! Come on! We gotta get outa here, Howard!”

“One last page…”

“No time! Come on!”

Moon pushed the agitated figure aside and the camera clicked again. Noir immediately grabbed the papers, hurled them back into the safe and slammed the door.

“Satisfied?” he snapped. “Honestly, do you not know the word ‘timing’?”

There was a rap at the ornate doorway. Noir and Moon held their breaths. A pause, then a voice, deep and monotonous.

“Sir? It’s Sable, sir. They’re waiting for you in the orangerie.”

Two snores were the response; a snort from the gorilla and a huff from the now turban-less figure huddled under the safe, a picture-frame around his neck.

“We haven’t really left this room as we found it, have we, Howard?”

Moon looked sideways at his unexpected sidekick. He had no idea at all, this cat-suited idiot. It was all a great game to him. He didn’t realise that Moon’s expert eyes, scanning the room, had detected only one escape route.

“Come on,” he hissed, exasperated. “Through the windows!”

“Are you kidding? It’s a twenty foot sheer drop to the terrace. Which is swarming with security.”

Moon gaped at him.

“I… ummm… happened to notice when I was on the wire…”

There was a further rap on the door.

“Sir? Sir, are you all right?”

There was no answer to that.

The door burst open. On the threshold stood a tall man clothed from head to foot in black—black hat, black suit, black shirt. And he was black. His eyes were like pieces of jet, their stare piercing. Behind him stood yet more black-clothed henchmen.

“Sir!” His gaze took in the prone figures of Big and Bollo, and the tall, shirtless agent standing in the centre of the room, in the embrace of a wild-eyed beauty. He did a double-take.

“What the…?

Noir!

Noir squeezed Moon’s arse with his free hand.

“Oops, spotted! Hold on Howard, here we go!”

And suddenly Moon found he was being hoist upwards, held fast by Noir’s surprisingly strong arms, the dancer himself being pulled skywards by his fly-by-wire mechanism.

In the room, all hell broke loose. The many henchmen rushed in to revive their boss and his gorilla, whilst the man in black reached inside his jacket and pulled out a Heckler and Koch handgun. Moon recognised it immediately. A good choice of gun, well-balanced, an attractive shade of charcoal gray, and available with a free silencer in a very good deal currently at GadgetsWorld.

“Shit!” muttered Noir as bullets started to zip around them. He swung the cable so that they twisted away from the gun’s aim. Moon made a mental note; clearly the balance on this gun was not as good as the advertising claimed, if their assailant was unable to hit them at such close range…

The skylight was in reach. Moon scrabbled for the edge of the roof and pulled away from Noir, just as the other elegantly twisted to deposit his shapely arse on the edge of the window and scramble to his feet. Bullets still whined through the opening.

“Genius!” He reached down and pulled Moon to his feet.

“Come on, Action Man! Let’s get you and your happy snaps out of here…!”

And Howard Moon, secret agent, found himself running over moonlit rooftops hand-in-hand with a man he had only just met. He felt an adrenalin rush unlike any other, despite his numerous brushes with danger. There was something special about this assignment, he could tell. Just what that was there was no time to establish. Lights were appearing on the terrace beneath, and he could see men running about madly. The tall man in black strode purposefully among them, scanning the rooftops. He heard him shout:

“There they are! Fire at will!”

Immediately, bullets started zipping around them again. Moon lurched forward, pulled by Noir’s grasp.

“Where the hell are we going?”

“This is how I came… arrived, I mean! We can get back to the orangerie this way!”

“But then what? We’re three storeys up!”

The cat-suited figure turned unexpectedly and Moon cannoned into him. Noir grabbed Moon’s waist and Moon held Noir’s shoulders, steadying each other. Noir’s extraordinary face was lit dramatically by the moonlight, and he was grinning from ear to ear.

“You’ll think of something, Howard!”

He ducked his head forward and planted a quick kiss on Moon’s lips. Then suddenly he was off again, dragging a dazed Moon behind him.

The roof was a maze of turrets and mock-Tudor chimneys. Noir charted an expert course between the obstacles, nimble and sure-footed despite his heeled boots. Moon’s attention, when it wasn’t taken up with spotting the progress of their pursuers, was concentrated on keeping pace with the lithe limbs and rounded haunches of the figure in front. He wished he had more opportunity to enjoy the view.

From the roof. The view from the roof, he meant. Of course he did.

It was almost a romantic sight. The full moon bathed the whole mansion in its milky rays, so that the shadows in their path were dark as ink and as sharply defined as a knife-edge. Stretched out all around were the twinkling lights of that fashionable part of South London—he could see Crystal Palace with its tower winking provocatively, Thornton Heath, Norbury… even as far as Purley. All those genteel homes, with their comfortable law-abiding inhabitants, thought Moon. They had no idea of the evil skullduggery being perpetrated in their midst.

A hail of bullets from the evil skullduggers put paid to his reverie.

“Shit! They’re ahead of us!” yelped Noir.

There were shouts now, closer than before.

“And behind us,” added Moon, spotting dark shapes now threading through the chimney maze. That was not a whimper, he told himself sternly.

“Okay, change of direction!”

His hand was grabbed again. He didn’t complain. Well, there wasn’t time, was there?

Suddenly, Noir braked sharply with a shriek, arms outstretched. Moon only just avoided hitting him. He found himself teetering on the brink of a dark chasm. It was a split in the roof between two halves of the building. They could see nothing beneath them, and the next part of the roof was a good six feet away.

Moon gulped.

“How do we…”

Noir glanced back with frantic eyes, gauging their lead. Then he looked at Moon.

“We gotta jump, Howard.”

“I don’t think…”

“Come on, Sundance! It ain’t that bad!” The grin was still in place but the dark eyes were serious. He squeezed Moon’s hand.

“Put the wire on your belt, okay? It’s attached to me. It either of us slips….”

“… then we’ll go down together” finished Moon automatically, less than enthralled by the prospect.

Noir only tutted.

“Howard, just try to keep focused, yeah? Plenty of time for that later.”

Then he drew back as far from the edge as he could squeeze between the masonry and ran into the darkness. Moon braced himself against a chimney, his hand on the wire.

Moon was convinced he saw him fly; the moonlight glittered on his spangles, his boots were a blur of silver. There was the sound of something hitting tiles, a yelp, and suddenly Noir was facing him across the chasm, panting, but with his grin still intact.

“Easy peasy! Come on, Howard, time to fly!”

Moon saw Noir lean back against the bricks on the other side, his hand tight around the cable. He scrambled back along the roof. His heart was in his mouth. The chasm looked enormous. There was nothing in his current stash of gadgets that would help with this. The digital semaphore flags, the combined GPS device and calculator, the laser beam pocket torch, the Swiss Army Stiletto (complete with tool to remove the stones from horses’ hooves)—none of these were designed for this predicament. The prototype personal glider came closest, but he simply wouldn’t be able to get enough height. There was only one thing for it…

“Howard, you fruit loop, jump! They’re coming!”

He ran at the gap and launched himself into space. He saw Noir’s eager face, and his hands reaching out for him. Bullets whined past him and he flinched in mid-air. And missed his grasp completely.

He landed heavily, on his stomach on the very edge of the roof. Winded, he immediately slipped downwards into the chasm, only his fingers holding him back from certain disaster. Dazed, he hung there, hearing shouts getting closer.

Then suddenly Noir was in his field of vision, face determined. Strong hands lifted him by the arms, hoisting him upwards and dragging him back into the cover of the chimneys. Being manhandled by Noir like this was getting to be a familiar feeling. And oddly, Moon had ceased to question it.

One last heave, and Noir collapsed on his back, pulling Moon on top of him. And Moon came face to face, so to speak, with the bulge in Noir’s cat-suit that was his thing. And he saw the fly-by-wire device as well.

He looked up. Noir had an eyebrow raised.

“You gotta one-track mind, Howard…”

“I… ummm… excuse me, sir, but I didn’t… “

“Come on, you spanner…”

They were up and running again. The glow from the lighted orangerie illuminated the night sky in front of them. Behind, they heard the muffled cries of the henchmen foiled by the gap in the roof. Breathless, they edged out onto the last parapet overlooking the main courtyard.

Sable and his men were already there, looking upwards. Even from where he stood, Moon could see the sarcastic smirk on the black-suited man’s face. His blood ran cold. There was no telling what someone like that would do if he got hold of either of them.

“Shit,” said Noir flatly. For the first time that night, his voice sounded less than cheerful. “What now, Indy?”

Moon gauged the distance. His car was parked beyond the orangerie. If they could get to that, they were home free. But getting to the orangerie was the next step. And they also had to outwit Sable.

Time for Gadget Number 12: Prototype Personal Glider.

He turned to Noir and started to undo his belt. The other’s eyes widened.

“Howard, I know the situation’s hopeless but to tell you the truth, I’m not sure I’m in the mood…”

“Shut up, Vincenzo. This….” he teased a length of fabric out of a compartment in the leather belt “… is the Prototype Personal Glider. With the right climatic conditions…”

“You’re going to climax?”

“I said ‘the right climatic conditions’. Given those, I should be able to achieve a smooth glide over the orangerie and from thence to the car park. That’s where the Focus is waiting…”

He started strapping the fabric to his arms.

“Howard, I think that look went out of fashion in about 1902. When people realised you actually needed an aeroplane to fly…”

“Not at all, Vincenzo! This had been rigorously tested by our gadgets department. I’m told it unfolds and refolds perfectly. It’ll be easy to pack up later.”

“But has anyone actually flown it yet…?”

Their eyes locked.

“Ah… ummm.. Thing is, it’s tested for one….”

A pause.

“Oh.”

“Vincenzo…”

“No, ‘s’all right, Howard. I’ll take my chances back across the roof…” Noir looked away, biting his lip. Suddenly all his sparkle seemed to fade; even the cat-suit looked dull.

Moon felt he had been punched in the gut. He rallied. This was not how a field agent should be behaving, for god’s sake… But the man had saved his life. And, somehow, continuing this eventful night without Noir seemed completely out of the question.

“Vincenzo…” He held out his hand.

The other looked up from under his fringe, then his face split in a wide grin.

“Genius!”

He leapt into Moon’s arms, and, staggering from the blow, Moon launched them both off the roof slightly earlier than intended.

Not that it would have made much difference. Immediately they were tumbling earthwards. Wind rushing past his ears, Noir’s face pressed into his neck and arms squeezing him tightly enough to crush his ribcage, Moon caught a glimpse of the triumphant look on Sable’s face as they plummeted downwards. But then suddenly the specialist material kicked in, inflating enough to produce some lift. Moon’s arms stretched out, trailing the fabric, and as it filled they began to glide, soaring out of Sable’s grasp at the last moment. Guns were wielded again, but to no avail; Moon and Noir were already sailing upwards out of range.

But sluggishly. Very sluggishly.

“Don’t think…” gasped Howard “… we’ll make it beyond… orangerie… Too heavy…”

He got a dig in the ribs.

“Speak for yourself, porky. There’s not an ounce of fat on me…”

Their flight stuttered, the fabric started to tear. The glowing panes of the orangerie roof were beneath them, and beyond they saw the lights of the dance floor and the DJ booth. Crowds of people were dancing. They looked at each other. There was no need to speak. Howard closed his arms, and they crashed through the roof.

The multitude below parted like the Red Sea as glass fragments showered on them from above. People started running madly for the exits, screaming “terrorists!” and “performance artists!” with equal degrees of fear. The music blared on and the dance floor lights flashed over the strange intrusion from above.

With the glider snagged on the broken panels of the roof, Moon and Noir hung suspended, twisting and spinning, the spangles on Noir’s cat-suit turning them into a giant mirrorball. The sight was enough to quell the panic. People stopped running and started to point and applaud instead. Until, that is, the main doors crashed open.

Sable marched in, his gun at the ready, his henchmen packed behind him, a gorilla by his side. An extremely pissed-off gorilla, if his expression was anything to go by.

Noir and Moon gazed down between their feet at the upturned faces. Then they looked at each other.

“Only one way to go, Howard. We can’t go back up…”

“He can’t shoot us in front of everyone…”

“Huh, wanna bet?”

Moon looked up.

“I need to slash…”

“Try to hold on, yeah?”

“No, I mean slash this cord. Hang on….” He reached down inside his trouser leg, Noir’s eyes widening again, and pulled out a slim weapon.

“My Swiss Army Stiletto! Which also has…”

A bullet zipped past his ear.

“Fuck’s sake, Howard! Cut it now[!”

Moon’s arm flashed upwards, cutting the cord, and once again they tumbled towards the ground, clutching each other, neither bothering to stifle his howl of panic.

Moon squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the fatal smash on the marble floor. And then he hit something soft, breaking his fall, and he felt himself bounced back up and then sideways to land smack on the marble, Noir on top of him. They both scrambled up to see a prone gorilla lying next to them. The crowd erupted, clapping and cheering, pushing forward with shouts of “Bravo!” and “Encore!” to slap the pair on the back, overwhelming Sable and his team in the process.

One man shoved a business card under Noir’s nose.

“Splendid performance! Never seen the like! I’d be happy to represent you. Do you have an agent?”

Noir grabbed Moon’s arm.

“Yeah, I do, thanks. This is him. And we gotta go. Bye!”

And Moon felt himself dragged through the ecstatic crowd.

“Which way?” he shouted.

“Make for the stage!” gasped Noir. “We can get out through the wings and into the car park!”

Onward, onward; people parting grudgingly to let them through. The stage at last; they leapt up, scattering DJs. Disoriented, Moon looked round for Noir and caught sight of a round arse pointing skywards as Noir rootled around behind the drum-kit and instruments still in position on the other side of the stage. Exasperated, he marched across to extricate him when a sudden surge in the crowd caught his eye. People were recoiling back in distress to let one man stride through; Sable—and his gun was pointing direct at Noir.

For a second, Moon froze, eyes locked on the sarcastic psychopath on the dance-floor. He could see the man’s trigger finger pull back….

Noir was upright now, a bowler hat in his hand.

“Knew it was here somewhere, Howard!”

Howard leapt for him. He grabbed the bowler from his hand and with a vicious flick of the wrist he propelled it towards the crowd. It sliced through the air, skimming over countless heads, to hit Sable square on the forehead before he could fire, or even duck. It knocked him out cold. He toppled backwards, and the bullet went through the roof.

Noir gaped at Moon.

“That was my hat!”

The agent just grinned. Noir looked delighted.

“So the bowler’s a multi-purpose accessory? Genius! I tell you, I’m bringing the bowler back. It’s an uphill struggle, but I’m committed now!”

The gunshot created further panic—the crowd erupted again. People were running everywhere and now the remaining security guards from outside were rushing into the orangerie to join their colleagues. In the midst of the disarray, Noir and Moon slipped out through the backstage area to find themselves in the car park. They raced over the gravel to where the Focus stood gleaming in the lamplight.

And stopped short. Moon’s car rested on its wheel rims.

“I take it, Howard, those tyres were not like that when you drove here?”

“They were onto me,” muttered Moon. “Onto me from the start…”

He gave Noir an apologetic look.

“We need some more transport, I’m afraid.”

Noir grinned.

“Leave it to me.” Then he had Moon’s hand yet again, dragging the agent off to a remote corner of the car park where a dilapidated VW van sat huddled against a fence.

“My van! Or rather, our van—the band’s. Okay, yeah? Come on, Howard, let’s go!”

“What about the rest of the band?”

“Oh, they’ll still be back there trying to pick up the bar staff. Don’t worry about them.” He swung himself into the passenger seat.

“Don’t you…” began Moon.

“Nah, I can’t drive. I’m the frontman.”

Frowning at that non sequitur, Moon jumped in. Noir produced keys from the glove-box. In a second the engine was revving. Not powerfully, but revving nonetheless.

“Hold onto your hat, Vincenzo!”

Noir opened his mouth to remind Moon that his hat was back on the dance-floor when the force of van’s acceleration drove him back into the passenger seat. Gravel spat from under the tyres. The headlights cut the darkness and lit a path to the main gate. Noir clung on for dear life. The van had never gone so fast.

The gates were in sight. Moon gunned the engine more.

“We’re gonna crash, Howard!”

“I’m bluffing them—they’ll open up, just watch!” grinned Moon, a wild delight in his eyes as he grasped the steering wheel. A delight which quickly faded. The staff at the gate showed no sign of moving.

His foot hit the floor as he applied the brakes and the van slewed to a halt in a cloud of dust and stone chippings. Four burly guards advanced on them, guns at the ready. Moon gulped.

He felt Noir lean over him and saw him flick the headlights to full beam. The guards threw up their arms, suddenly blinded. Then Noir was leaning out of the window.

“Open up, you fools! It’s Mr Sable!”

Moon looked at Noir in amazement. It was a passable imitation of the henchman’s clipped accent and deep tones. Though he was beginning to think Noir could get away with anything, he surely wouldn’t with this?

But the guards were already rushing back to the gate. Moon wasted no time in hitting the throttle to power through the widening gap as the gates were hauled open. The van picked up more speed, taking corner after corner on two wheels, tearing through Big’s parkland and into the night.

Suddenly they were on the open highway, tarmac purring under their tyres. Moon glanced anxiously in the rear-view mirror, but there was no sign of pursuit.

He looked at his companion, who already had his feet up on the dashboard. They exchanged delighted grins.

“Right, squire, where to?” asked Moon playfully.

Noir twinkled at him.

“Take me to the ends of the earth, Howard! To infinity and beyond! To heights of ecstasy we’ve never before encountered…”

“Well, I… er… ummm…”

He looked over. Noir was smiling the broadest smile imaginable.

A smile that made his stomach flip, in a way no agent’s stomach should ever flip….

“‘S’all right. Howard! First we better get to Shoreditch. I’ve got a hideaway there.”