“If we’re not alone down here,” said JC, “it’s got to be field agents from the Crowley Project. Has to be. There aren’t many people brave enough or crazy enough to go chasing after ghosts in the dark heart of a Code One Haunting unless they expected to get something out of it. Project agents would brave the fires of Hell itself to snatch away a single burning coal if they thought there was money or power or one-upmanship in it.”

Typically, Melody didn’t want to believe it.

“It could be commuters, travellers, left over from this morning,” she said. “Couldn’t it? Trapped down here and overlooked when the station was sealed off by our security people?”

“No,” said JC as kindly as he could. “I read all the reports; security were very thorough. They checked every corridor, every platform, all the maintenance ducts and crawl spaces . . . They brought out the living and carried out the dead; no-one was left behind.”

“What about the people trapped and carried off in the hell trains?” said Happy. “Some of them might have escaped.”

“Those were downbound trains,” said JC. “All the way down. I don’t think we’ll be seeing any of those people again.”

None of them said anything for a while after that. None of them liked to admit there were some things even trained Institute field agents couldn’t put right. One of Melody’s instrument panels began chiming urgently, and she leaned forward to check its monitor screen.

“Hold everything,” she said. “Long-range sensors are picking up something interesting . . . Someone is using very powerful and very nasty technology not far from here. These readings are . . . Damn. I’m getting definite traces of biotech—cutting-edge science with fully integrated organic components. Cybernetics’ dark and unnatural cousin. Strictly illegal, banned in every civilised country and a few that aren’t.”

“Are you sure?” said JC. “I don’t know anyone who’s actually encountered Frankenstein tech in the field before.”

“I’m telling you!” said Melody. “It’s here . . . and it’s operating. My machines can hear it screaming. If these readings are right, it’s screaming all the time. JC, we have to do something about this!”

“We will,” said JC. “Could this be Crowley Project tech?”

“Has to be,” said Melody. “They’re the only bastards hard-hearted enough to use it.”

“I want a gun,” Happy said immediately. “A really big gun. I want a fully functioning Death Star gun.”

“Not even if Godzilla himself were to show up,” said JC.

“Well, how about a big stick with a nail in it, to wave at them, then?”

“Brace up, man,” said JC. “Odds are they’ll be eaten alive by whatever’s down here long before they can cause us any trouble.”

“Strangely, I don’t find that at all comforting,” said Happy.

“Whatever is going on down here,” said JC thoughtfully, “it must be really important, or the Project wouldn’t risk sending agents into a site already under the control of Institute agents.”

“We have this site under control?” said Melody. “When did that happen, exactly? I must have missed it.”

“Normally, the Institute and the Project go out of their way to avoid direct conflict,” JC said patiently. “Because retaliations have a way of escalating. Neither side wants all-out war. So whatever we have down here, it isn’t simply another haunting gone bad. Not even another Code One Haunting. This has got to be something really special.”

“He’s getting enthusiastic,” Happy said darkly to Melody. “Never a good sign, when he starts getting enthusiastic.”

JC looked at Happy thoughtfully.

“Don’t look at me!” said Happy. “I was engaged for telepathy and light housecleaning. Nothing was ever said about hand-to-hand conflict with trained Project agents.”

“It’s your telepathy I want,” said JC, giving Happy his best persuasive smile. “Nothing too difficult, or too dangerous. Reach out and see if you can get a sense of who they’ve sent down here. You can back off if you even think they know you’re listening in.”

Happy sighed dramatically, but they all knew he was going to do it. He never could resist a challenge, especially if it involved being sneaky and underhanded. His face went blank, and his eyes became lost and far-away as he let his thoughts drift up and out, spreading silently and invisibly through the abandoned station. His mind was a cool, deep pool, calm and collected, entirely untroubled by all the pills he’d taken earlier. His hardened metabolism burned them up almost as fast as he could take them. His thoughts rose through the layers of stone and concrete and metal, slipping through the dark spaces, searching out the flaring lights of human thought. And then he winced abruptly, his hands curling unconsciously into fists at his sides.

“Oh, that feels bad. Really bad. Melody was right. They’ve made a computer out of a cat’s brain. Its thoughts are like razor wire . . . It’s been forced to See things the living should never have to know about. It keeps going insane, but the tech drags it back . . . Poor thing. Poor thing . . . Hold it; I’m getting human presences now. Two of them, a man and a woman. Very strong presences; the woman has a mind like a perfumed steel trap, and the man . . . Damn . . . His emotions run so deep they’re almost primal. Ow! Ow, that hurt!”

Happy clapped both hands to his head and shook it hard. When he looked at JC and Melody again, his eyes were back to normal.

“The woman’s a trained telepath—kicked me right out of there the moment she detected me.” He cocked his head slightly, as though listening. “No . . . That’s it. Can’t pick up anything now; she’s got major psychic shields in place. And, unfortunately, now they know we know they’re there.”

“I hate sentences like that,” said Melody. “You never know where they’re going to end up.”

“This new female telepath,” said JC. “Could she be interfering with your mind, Happy? Stopping you from picking up what’s really going on here?”

“No,” Happy said immediately. “I’d know. She’s good, but she’s not that good.”

“Did you get any names?” said Melody. “Knowing who they sent would give us some idea of how important they think this haunting is. Can’t be Red McCoy; he’s banned from the British mainland till 2018. And the Animal only operates out of Paris these days.”

“That still leaves Janus Scott, Meredith DeLancie, and Tetsuo Darque,” said JC. “All major players, all with previous experience of London hauntings, and all of them very much out of our league. Real A team people. And that’s only the usual suspects.”

“If that was a real A team telepath, she’d have fried my brains on contact,” said Happy. “I told you; she’s good, but I’m better.”

“Maybe all of the Project’s main players are busy somewhere else,” said Melody. “Like ours. And they sent the best they had available. Like us.”

“We can but hope,” said JC. “I’ve never actually gone head to head with a Project field agent before, and I think I’d like to keep it that way. I mean, yes, I’ve had all the proper Institute training, for physical and psychic combat; but I’m really not a rough-and-tumble kind of guy.”

“I’ve always been quite fond of a bit of rough-and-tumble,” Melody said demurely. “But I take your point. Project agents are trained killers and psychic assassins. I’m just tech support.”

“While I am a clinically depressed telepath and not at all a fighter,” said Happy. “I do not do confrontations. It’s in my contract.”

“We don’t have contracts,” said JC.

“Well, it would be in my contract if I had one,” said Happy. “God, we have got to get unionised. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually met a Project agent in the flesh.”

“Few do and survive,” said JC. “They’re nothing like us. The Crowley Project are supposed to be nearly as old as the Carnacki Institute, though they have gone through hundreds of different names down the years. The Project have always been very vulnerable to the cult of personality, to the Great Leader who wants to put his or her stamp on everything, including the organisation’s name. Like a dog marking its territory.”