Hellboy: Unnatural Selection(80)

"With respect, ma'am, you don't." Hellboy stared at the minister, impressed that she was able to return his gaze. She was nervous, he could see that, but she was also very much in control. Confident of her control, at least. His job was to blow that confidence out of the water and get some action, not words.

"Heathrow was a disaster, I'll admit that, and I'd like to offer our government's official thanks for your help."

"It was nothing."

"But I assure you, the conference will go ahead. I can't go into details, but the security arrangements for it are very stringent."

"Those police marksmen on the rooftops?" Hellboy asked.

"Yes, those," the minister said. She took a drink from her cup of tea, averting her eyes for the first time.

"Hmm. Pretty good. And the army guys hiding out in warehouses across Docklands? Tanks, helicopters ... that does sound stringent."

The minister raised her eyebrows, but she was not na?vé enough to ask how Hellboy had come by his information.

"And those SAS guys? Now, they're good. Dealt with them once back in the seventies. Impressed the hell out of me. No pun intended."

"I won't ask how you know the more refined details of our security arrangements, Hellboy. It doesn't surprise me. You're not ... normal. No offense."

"None taken." Hellboy pursed his lips and sat up straighter. His tail whipped at the floor and pulled threads from the ministers expensive carpet. What's normal? he thought. You see normal when you look in the mirror every morning Minister?

"But this is our security operation. We're acting in close liaison with several foreign governments, including your own, and everyone's happy with our arrangements."

"Have you polled them again since your largest airport was almost wiped out by dragons?"

The minister glared at Hellboy. Again, he was impressed. She's hard. Or maybe just stubborn. Sometimes the two get mixed up, and they mean very different things.

"What do you want from me?" she said.

"I want you to admit the possibility that you're not as well prepared as you thought."

The minister snorted, and Liz cut in. "Your Tornados got to Heathrow very quickly," she said. "I'm impressed. They were obviously on standby for any trouble."

"And?"

"The missiles they did manage to fire missed the dragons and destroyed Terminal Three. How many of the hundreds dead are a result of that? Friendly fire, I think they call it."

The minister stood and walked to the window. Hell, she is big, Hellboy thought. Six-two if she's an inch.

"I've heard about you, Miss Sherman," she said. "I don't trust you. You killed your family."

Hellboy raised his eyebrows and glanced at Liz, sensing the heat of rage simmering beneath her surface veneer of calm anger.

The minister turned to Hellboy. "And I don't trust you either."

"And what's my special reason?" he asked, voice as cold as an Arctic night.

"You're from hell."

The room fell silent. The minister and her bodyguard stood behind the desk, waiting for Hellboy and Liz to leave. Hellboy stared at the minister. A clock ticked, and somewhere ice chinked in a glass. She never offered us a drink, Hellboy thought.

He stood. The bodyguard moved slightly, bracing himself, hand already disappearing inside his jacket. Hellboy smiled at him, and the guy's face paled. "Ma'am," he said, "I understand your doubt, and I'm used to not being trusted. But if you don't get your head out of your butt, very soon you'll all know what hell is like." He strode from the room, feeling Liz burning with anger behind him.



* * *



They met Jim outside. He was leaning against a wall smoking, watching the cars crawling past in the never-ending London gridlock.

"No joy?" Jim asked.

"What do you think?" Hellboy said. He lit a cigarette and stood next to Jim.

"People just can't get beyond the norm," Jim said. "They see the surface of things, and if that's acceptable, they have no inclination to go deeper. Too much trouble. Too much thinking involved. And too much fear."

"Fear of the unknown?"

Jim shrugged, then shook his head. "Fear of knowing too much," he said. "Most people want a simple life. Look, over there. See that bus stop? Young woman waiting there, short skirt, leather boots, presenting a nice image?"