Interlude Forty-Five: Molly Pemberley (Patreon)

The two guards snapped to attention as she walked in.

"He's in there?" she asked.

"Yes, Commodore," the senior guard said. "He's been restrained as well."

"Lock the door behind me," she ordered. The men saluted as she stepped into the cell.

The prisoner seemed calm. Shackled hand and foot to the table, his shaggy beard flecked with specs of grey, an orange jumpsuit that seemed a size too small for a man of his size.

His eyes, however, told a different story. They burned.

Pemberley seated herself opposite him. "Inzamam Mehmood. Former Major in the Pakistani Army. Cell leader in the PUF. Wanted on charges of murder, sabotage, and terrorism."

"Molly Pemberley," the man replied, deadpan. "Sandhurst class of '63, deputed to MI5, multiple commendations for valour and merit, promoted to Air Commodore for outstanding leadership during the Battle of London."

"You've done your homework."

"We still have mutual friends, you know."

Molly sighed. "It didn't have to be this way, Inzamam."

The prisoner smiled. "I remember a young cadet, full of vim and vigor, ready to welcome the newest recruits from the Commonwealth nations to the officer exchange program."

"I remember an enthusiastic young officer on his first foreign trip. Excited to see the sights and sounds of London. We've both come a long way since then."

Inzamam held up his hands, the chains clinking. "Some of us further than others, perhaps."

"You could have joined the Stratospheric Guard. Been part of the real fight."

"And would you stand aside and fight aliens, if it was England torn apart?"

Molly shrugged. "It hasn't helped you much, has it? You chose to attack a critical defence production facility, one guarded by an ultra. You failed. Your assault force was captured or killed. The bomb you set did minimal damage to the premises, and the agent who set it was captured by the local police - alive.” She flipped a page on her tablet. “It says here that he gave you up within fifteen minutes.”

“A mistake, I admit,” the terrorist acknowledged. “It’s hard to find decent help these days.”

“What’s interesting is the device we retrieved from the agent. A masking cowl. Makes him practically invisible, allowing a single man to slip in and deliver a bomb to the facility. Not very easy to lay your hands on.”

“Surely you don’t expect me to give up my sources.”

“I’m simply saying that the PUF doesn’t have the kind of funds required to procure an inventech stealth device. And you have a track record of not trusting ultras. What’s different about this one?”

Inzamam shrugged. “You can continue to air your theories. I’m as good a sounding board as any.”

“Your inventor friend isn’t coming to help you, Inzamam. Maybe you shouldn’t think of him as your friend.”

“Maybe I invented it.”

“Try again. We both know you’re no ultra.”

“And if I answer your questions, will you let me go? Hand me an apology?”

Pemberley smiled thinly. “It might affect how hard we go after the PUF. They’ve been a minor nuisance on our radar so far. An attack on a strategic facility changes that.” She leaned forward. “Do you really want the full attention of MI5 focused on your comrades, Inzamam? You know exactly how much we can do.”

The man on the other side of the table smiled gently. “Ask me something I can tell you, Molly. Don’t bother with the questions we both know I won’t answer.”

“Fine. Why did you attack the factory?”

“Could I get a smoke?”

Wordlessly, Molly handed over a self-lighting cigar. Inzamam quirked an eyebrow. “No matches?”

“Limited ignition and a controlled burn rate. You won’t be able to throw these in my eyes and escape.”

The prisoner snorted. “I see we both remember our training. Not that I could break out of these.” The manacles rattled. “Or this.” He glanced around at the bare brick walls.

“So then. Why the factory?”

Inzamam puffed away at the cigar. “We thought she might be there.”

“Agni.”

“The demoness herself. Did you know that your boy Belessar’s been holed up in his lab every night? Never leaves, never takes the time to go out for a night on town. With his partner half an ocean away, the boy should play, no?” He puffed. “Had spotters in most of the pubs nearby, looking for a tall foreigner.”

“You planned to abduct him.”

“Imagine our surprise when he never left the premises. That's when we figured why he wasn’t going shopping. Because he already had a source at home, probably in the lab. I wonder what you’ll find if you peek in there?”

“Agni’s still in the United States. We’ve confirmed that.”

“She’s dressing the same as the rest of his harlots, isn’t she? The one in the suit isn’t the real Agni. The witch is somewhere here.” Inzamam puffed at the cigar. “How does that make you feel, knowing that she could set your city ablaze any moment?”

Pemberley kept a lid on her temper. “An interesting description you have for Phoenix Company.”

“Don’t mistake me, I have nothing against women in the military. But those women? You don’t put prostitutes in uniform.”

“Those women have been through their own special hell to get where they are. They gave their lives to protect the world. You’re in no position to judge them.”

Inzamam cocked his head. “You say that with so much confidence. Tell me, is not Britain the leader of the Commonwealth?”

“... Of course.”

“So you’re committed to human rights, equality, democracy and all that for your former colonies.” The prisoner took another deep puff on the cigar. “You know, Duraid wasn’t a bad man. He did what was needed to protect our people. To get us out of sixty years of debt, to purge the corruption and the criminality of the political class…. Do you know, no President has seen as many corruption cases successfully prosecuted as Duraid?”

“In the context of Presidents of Pakistan, he wasn’t too bad.”

“He was a great man, you know. The best we’ve had in a century. Even your King conferred honors on him, when he came to London years ago.” Inzamam squashed the embers of the cigar on the table. “So where was your Commonwealth, when that criminal Shah tore out his spine?”

“It wasn’t…”

Inzamam jerked forward suddenly. “Don’t. Don’t say it wasn’t your responsibility. You British stood by and watched, as our people were slaughtered by a traitor and a spy. Our friends, our families, our children. All burned to ash.” He slammed his hand on the table. “My wife. My children. My brother, my nieces, my nephews. All dead. All ash in the wind, and that witch still roams free. So tell me, officer of the British Empire, why do you honor our killers? Why do you sing songs of praise to the witch and her puppet?”

“Her… puppet?”

“Do you think it’s a coincidence?” Inazmam laughed. “My, how trusting MI5 has become. A two-bit inventor with less than two years of fighting suddenly becomes strong enough to smash four of the kaiju? The witch herself stands by his side, lending him aid? Who is the leader and who the pawn here, do you think?”

“You think Agni is controlling him somehow.”

“I know it. And you’d know it, if you weren’t so blind. She has her tentacles dug deep into the belly of your nation, Commodore. Take care, or you may find yourself strangled.”