Gilded Cage (Dark Gifts #1)(50)

No point wondering, Luke Hadley. Angel was out of his league by every measure he could possibly imagine.

If this rescue mission succeeded, would she be impressed?

If it failed, would she come and break him out?

‘I was just telling the Doc that I’m ready,’ he told her. ‘And I’ve fixed the vehicle. For you. It’ll give you no problems.’

He really, really hoped that was true.

Jackson’s earpiece was hissing, the lines at the corner of his eyes crinkling as he concentrated on what Asif was saying. Then he looked up.

‘There’s a low-footfall window in twenty-eight minutes. So here’s what we’re going to do.’

It was nearly nine o’clock when they reached the detention centre. Oz was being held separately from the others on the high-security corridor of the remand wing. That was good, because there’d be less general traffic to notice them; but also bad, because anyone they did encounter would be there for the same reason they were – to see Oz.

Renie slipped into the darkness as they reached the entrance.

‘Good luck,’ she muttered. ‘See ya soon.’

Then they were in – just him and Jackson.

Security, like the Administration workers, weren’t slaves. The architects of the system had been careful to ensure there’d be no common cause between the slaves and those keeping them in line. That meant there wasn’t a gate registering the chips of those passing through. Instead, an entry team used handheld devices to check either the wrist cuffs that stored Security IDs, or the flesh-embedded chips of slaves brought in as prisoners.

‘There are two different scanners,’ Jackson had explained. ‘They’ll see the Security uniform and use the one for the cuffs.’

Luke’s legs were as wobbly as that time he’d taken Daisy to an ice rink and made a tit of himself falling over. As though they might shoot in opposite directions and dump him on his backside with no warning at all. Keep it together, he thought, tensing his muscles to remind himself they were still there.

‘We’re here for Walcott G-2159,’ the Doc told the guard at the entrance, holding out his right arm for scanning. Worn by all Millmoor’s free workers, wrist cuffs were attached at the slavetown’s outermost entry stations as workers arrived, and removed as they left. Luke wondered how the club had acquired the two he and Jackson were wearing.

‘Didn’t think you looked familiar,’ said the guard. ‘You’re specials from the MADhouse. What’s it like servicing the glorious leader herself? Nah, don’t answer that. Don’t want to know.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘We had word someone was coming for Walcott. Didn’t know exactly when, though. Don’t reckon the Overbitch’ll get much joy from him tonight, the state he’s in.’

The man laughed again, as if this observation was equally amusing. Did they deliberately recruit people who’d had compassion bypasses, or did doing this sort of job make you that way?

Luke obediently held up his wrist to be scanned too. So they’d been expecting someone to come for Oz. Was the club so good that they’d already planted false authorizations in Security’s system?

But it didn’t seem so, because as they passed into the detention centre’s corridors, Jackson’s face was drawn tight with concern. Luke heard him cup his hand and mutter a few words that would reach his earpiece. The crackling response had him shaking his head in frustration.

The building was sterile and pitiless. The floor was polished concrete and echoed so loudly beneath their boots that Luke cringed. His brain started up a traitorous chant in time with their footsteps: Break. Out. Break. Out. He was half astonished that no one else could hear it. Surely they couldn’t hope to get away with this?

But no. He remembered a conversation with Asif. The guy was a tech whiz who’d been building his own computing arrays from childhood. Technology, Asif had told him, was a simple thing that everyone had convinced themselves was complex. It was fallible, but everyone believed it to be faultless. People had delegated their better judgement – and the evidence of their own senses – to the power of technology. If you could fool the tech, you needn’t worry about fooling the people.

So their uniforms and ID cuffs saw them through a second manned door, and then a third verification point. Here they had to press the bands against a panel set into the wall. The last stage was the entrance to the high-security wing.

‘You lot are keen,’ said the guard there, as he took out a set of old-fashioned keys. They unlocked two sets of double-bolted barred doors, like wild animal cages. ‘Only got the final say-so ten minutes ago. So where’s the lord and master – waiting back at the MADhouse with your boss, eh? Guess he decided doing it here wasn’t to his liking. Too near the common folk, eh? At least using his Skill he won’t have to worry about getting blood on her carpet. Though I daresay Daddy Jardine’s got enough money to pay for a new one.’

Thankfully the guy was bent over the locks as he spoke, because even Jackson’s composure slipped. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he tried to make sense of what had just been said.

Luke’s brain was whirring, too. The name ‘Jardine’ had been distracting, making Luke think of Kyneston and his family, but one thing was clear from the guard’s words and the Doc’s reaction. They weren’t the only ones coming for Oz.