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 Six

Chapter Six

Sable bent down and hauled Noir up by the collar of his jacket.

“Good,” he said. “Not before time.”

The man looked dazed, eyes glassy from the blows. Sable spun him so that he collapsed face first against a filing cabinet, limp. Moon knew that it was time for decisive action. He reached into his shoulder-holster for the Smith and Wesson, and found it… gone. At that very same moment he spotted the gun lying on the floor below by the filing cabinet where he had left it in a moment of imbecility.

Oh no. No chance of a tricky shot to take out Sable before he could terminate Vince Noir.

Horrified, he watched as Sable pressed the Heckler and Koch against Noir’s head. Then he trailed the gun through Noir’s hair and down his back, licking his lips. Moon could see Noir shiver at the touch; he shivered too.

The gorilla cleared his throat noisily.

“Boss, we gotta timetable to keep…”

Big, bored with the drama, had been staring dreamily at his coloured maps. He turned his head back.

“Too right, Bollo, an’ that means no time for any of your kinky stuff, Sable. A straight bullet to the back of the head will do.”

Moon bit his lip hard. He grasped at the sides of the ceiling panel, full of indecision. Betray his presence to stop the cold-blooded murder of one man, or live to warn colleagues about the likely massacre of many, many more? In a fraction of a second his memory played over moments from the last twenty-four hours. Noir was certainly a loose cannon, but there was one constant. There had been plenty of times when he could have left Moon to be picked off by Sable’s men—in Big’s office, on the roof, at the Orangery—and moreover he’d had a direct order for Moon’s execution. All right, so maybe he had thought that keeping Moon alive might help get to the bottom of the whole mystery, but, truth to tell, Moon couldn’t have been essential to Noir’s plans, and yet the man had spared him time and again.

Mind made up, Moon gathered himself for a crashing entry through the ceiling panel when Sable turned to Big with an ingratiating smile.

“Indulge me, sir? It would be a real pleasure to give Mr Noir here a fine send-off tonight. Putting him in lights, shall we say?”

Big adjusted his turban.

“All right, I s’pose, as long as it don’t louse up the schedule.”

“Sir,” intoned Sable. “The last packages are nearly ready to be transferred. You and Bollo can leave almost immediately. All I need to do then is set the explosives here—Noir can be left in the middle of it. It won’t affect the schedule at all.”

Bollo huffed his disapproval, muttering “Loose ends…” but Big flicked his hand dismissively.

“All right, Sable, you can have your fun, but the time stays set for 2 o’clock. We’ve done a lot of calculations about how long the fire services will be deployed here. I don’t want timing problems here messing up tomorrow morning.”

“I assure you, sir, Wandsworth will never have seen the like!”

Big slapped Bollo on the back.

“C’mon then, you hairy half-wit. Sort Sable out, get the rest of the packages finished and then we can go.”

He walked towards the controls under the blank screen on the other side of the room and hit a button. The screen lit up—it was in fact a huge window, giving a panoramic view of the factory operation, the ovens and vats spread out on the floor some thirty feet below.

“We’re state-of-the-art here, Vince,” said Big conversationally. “Needs very little manpower. The trucks simply unload the oats and stuff at the conveyer belts outside, and at this level the sacks get hooked up onto the cables. Then they can go to whatever vat needs them and just get emptied out. See?”

He pressed another couple of buttons and machinery whirred. An empty hook on a chain motored past the window. Big pressed another button and it whirred back again. He made it do this a couple of times, smiling absently at the show.

“See?” he repeated. “Simple. Two men…” Bollo coughed “… two workpeople can run this factory on their own. I’m very pleased with it. It’s been a very good operations centre as well for this current enterprise. Shame it has to be blown up, but that’s the way the flapjack crumbles…”

He ambled over to the cabinet where Noir still lay sprawled, his arms stretched out in front of him, Sable’s gun at his head. Big patted the shapely arse.

“Nice knowing you, Vince. We all enjoyed your fly-by-wire. Pity it was one tour only…”

He turned to Bollo.

“Help Sable with Noir, then join me in the factory.” And the little figure wandered dreamily out of the office.

Moon was in a quandary again. Sable and Bollo together would be too much to deal with. He’d have to follow them.

Sable dragged Noir’s arms off the cabinet and, swiping him across the head again with the side of the gun, he gestured to the gorilla.

“Get him into the conveyer room. We’ll deal with it there.”

Through the ceiling panel Moon could see Bollo lift Noir and the progress of the latter’s legs as he was dragged across the room, putting up no resistance. Sable followed with the gun still trained on him. They disappeared from view.

Moon shuffled desperately round in the ceiling space and started to head in the same direction, careful not to keep too close in case his scrabbling could be heard, but at the same time anxious not to lag too far behind.

He heard a door open and close below him, and in the ceiling void he found himself balanced on some particularly large joists at the edge of an expanse of roof space that had a completely different, and far less complex, configuration of wires and pipes. Here the ceiling housed the upper parts of heavy machinery and steel cable—presumably the system of pulleys for the sacks that Big had described. It was far easier and quieter to move through. He tracked the sound of movement and muffled voices below and, locating another removable ceiling panel, he crouched down to get a view.

He could see into another long but spartan room, dominated by a row of conveyer belts leading from the back wall. Each belt ran to the wall opposite where large openings gave a view of the factory floor beneath. This would be where the sacks would be hoisted out over the factory floor to be transported to the vats.

Sacks. And Vince Noir.

Noir was lying on the conveyer belt, struggling feebly, Bollo holding him down while Sable strapped plastic webbing around his wrists. With a vicious twist Sable finished the job and hauled Noir’s arms above his head to loop the webbing over the first available hook in the pulley system. Immediately the mechanism, automatically gauging Noir’s weight, whirred into life to pull his body upwards. He hung suspended, his toes only just grazing the conveyer belt beneath him.

Sable’s face wore a grimace that he probably called a grin. Bollo looked at the prisoner and then at his colleague.

“Huh. Why you do this?”

“What, Bollo?” asked Sable absently, not taking his eyes off Noir.

“This. Hurtin’ people.”

“Because it’s fun, Bollo old friend, because it’s fun.”

Sable turned and patted a furry shoulder. Moon could see the gorilla flinch slightly.

“Now run along and finish the pallets for Mr Big. I’ll be down shortly.”

Bollo shuffled out. Moon braced himself; now, maybe, was the chance to take Sable. But his foe was speaking again.

“You comfy there, Vincenzo?”

“Fuck you, Sable” came the muffled reply. Noir’s head came up from his chest. “If you’re gonna kill me, just do it, yeah? And stop wasting my time…”

Sable laughed unpleasantly.

“Oh, I intend to, sweetheart. But you’re going to have to wait for that. I’ve got some other priorities.”

He reached out with the gun again and trailed the barrel down Noir’s cheek, his throat, and through the buttons of his shirt, opening it to reveal the skin underneath. Moon clenched his fists in silent frustration. He saw a sharp intake of breath from Noir as the gun passed over his right side. Sable paused, and shifted the material aside. A wide bruise showed purple across the white flesh.

“Oh sorry,” he purred. “Did that hurt?”

And he drew the gun back a fraction and slammed it down again on Noir’s ribs.

Noir gave an animal-like howl of pain and twisted on the hook. Sable was laughing. Noir pulled his head up again and Moon could see his eyes—blazing with anger.

“That’s right, you nonce,” he hissed. “Laugh it up. But we all know the real reason you need to do this, yeah? You pretend the ladyboy disgusts you, don’t you, big macho man and your big macho gun? But we both know you want me and always have, and it drives you insane ‘cos you never will…”

Sable moved swiftly again, and Noir’s speech was interrupted by another yelp. Breathlessly he continued.

“You fuckin’ hypocrite. I wouldn’t let you anywhere near me…”

Sable pulled the wire taut and pushed his face close to Noir’s, gripping his chin tightly.

“In case you haven’t noticed, slut, you don’t have much choice right now.”

Their eyes met. And Noir spat at him.

There was a flurry of movement below; Noir’s legs twisting violently, Sable’s arm thrashing, a medley of harsh cries. Moon was at his wit’s end. He pulled at the ceiling panel…

Then suddenly an echoing shout came from the factory below.

“Sable, get a move on! Wha’s keepin’ you?”

The tussle below stopped, Sable stepping back briskly. Noir’s shirt was wide open, and an ugly red weal showed across his stomach. His nose was bleeding, but Sable was mopping at his own cheek. From the satisfied smirk on Noir’s face, he must have bitten him.

“Just finishing up, sir” shouted Sable after a pause. He glared at Noir.

“Not to be, sweetheart. Your loss. Now I have to plan your departure.”

He gestured to the factory.

“See down there? Those pallets are the last shipment from this factory. As well as luscious apple-and-sultana, cherry-coconut and rum-and-raisin flapjacks, those pallets contain high density plastic explosive, enough to bring a building down. We’ve been developing this variant here especially. Shipments of flapjack bombs have been dispatched to every government building in the capital, so the Civil Service can snack away while the MPs are all on their summer break. Then tomorrow, explosions all over town will signal the beginning of a coup, and our takeover of this country.”

Noir sniffed.

“Oh yeah? You and whose army?”

“Why, us and Mr Big’s army, of course. Thousands of specially-trained troops recruited from Big factories all over the world, currently waiting for the word at Mr Big’s island retreat…”

Moon couldn’t help a gasp of realization. The map… the golden light in the sea off Land’s End…

“You see,” continued Sable gravely, “it’s the Big Scilly Army.”

“You said it, mate,” muttered Noir.

In his ceiling hideaway, Moon shook his head. Those poor islanders; first they have Prince Charles to contend with, then TV vicars, and now this….

Sable pressed a conveyer belt button and the pulley started to whirr.

“The explosions will be seen as a terror attack. But with the MoD, the Admiralty, the Treasury and the Department of Work and Pensions all destroyed, the country will be in disarray. So in steps Mr Big, as a public-spirited saviour, to restore calm, confidence and order with his private army…”

“And take over,” muttered both Moon and Noir, in unison.

Exactly,” smiled Sable. “Good plan, isn’t it?”

He tightened Noir’s bonds again.

“But we’re getting rid of this factory, just in case any discredit could fall on Mr Big later.”

“Oh, as if it could,” sneered Noir quietly.

“And so,” concluded Sable triumphantly, with a final vicious tug at the fastening, “tonight at two a.m. this factory with be razed to the ground by a positively cataclysmic explosion involving all our spare flapjack bombs. It’ll divert the attention of the fire and rescue services and will mean that the capital will already be in a right state before the real offensive in the morning. South West Trains and the District Line will be seriously disrupted for starters…”

Noir rolled his eyes.

“A big shock to everyone, I’m sure…”

Sable wasn’t listening. He beamed at Noir.

“And you? You will be dangling your bollocks right over that bomb. All right, sweetheart?”

Moon saw Noir glare back at Sable, and then swivel his eyes towards the floor beyond the doorway. As well as the three pallets awaiting transportation, directly beneath the observation window was a black cube a foot or so across. Various wires and mechanisms were protruding from it. Noir turned back, still looking defiant.

“You’ve not reckoned on the Service, Sable. We’re on to you. You’ll never get away with it!”

Sable stroked the gun down Noir’s jaw again.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart. The Service is ours. Your Chef de Chefs has been very helpful all along. This wouldn’t have worked without his involvement. In fact, on his suggestion we’re taking those last three packages to your beloved Service HQ, as a sort of insurance measure. Not that we’ll need them—our plan is foolproof.”

Moon closed his eyes in despair. Noir had been right—‘B’ was a traitor, and Moon had played right into his hands.

Sable pressed another control and the pulley wound Noir out of the doorway. Moon watched him disappear, his heart in his mouth. Noir’s departing glare at Sable was soon replaced by an anxious look down between his dangling feet at the hard concrete far below, and the box of explosives.

Sable peered out of the doorway and flipped him a salute.

Sayonara, Vincey…”


Moon waited for the sound of the door closing. There were still voices in the factory but a quick check of his watch showed that it was only one-fifteen. Once Big and his team were clear, he could winch Noir back in and they could get out in time to beat the bomb and alert the authorities to the impending coup. After a quick peek to check no-one was still around, he pulled away the ceiling panel and uncurled his long body to drop stiffly, and a bit awkwardly, feet first into the conveyer-belt room. He crept to the pulley doorway and, pressing flat against the wall, he peered out.

Big and Bollo were standing over the far pallets, Big gesticulating; Sable wasn’t in sight. Noir was twisting this way and that on the chain, looking down and around him.

“Vince,” he hissed. “Vince!

Noir looked up and back at the doorway. Astonishment, delight and horror swept across his face in split-second succession. It was the horrified face that started mouthing words back at Moon, illustrating with gestures to make up for the absence of a bellow.

Howard! (hair toss) Go, Howard! Go! (hair toss, hair toss, with something like a silent snarl).

Moon mouthed back.

Don’t worry! (happy grin) When they’re gone (point downwards) I’ll (point to chest) get you (point to Noir) back in here! (point to floor).

Howard! (cross-eyes) Get out! (hair toss) Get police…

“HOWARDLOOKOUT!”

Noir’s yell echoed around the factory. Moon waved his arms frantically. Don’t shout! he tried to mouth, when something whacked him over the head.

He landed on his back on the conveyer belt. Through wavering vision he gazed up at a tall, black figure towering over him, holding Moon’s own gun.

“Well, well. I did wonder who owned the Smith and Wesson,” smirked Sable. “Thought it wasn’t girly enough for…” He looked up at the figure on the pulley.

“Your boyfriend’s here, Vincenzo” he called pleasantly. Then he raised the gun again, and with a snarl brought it back down on Moon’s dazed head.