Transitory Evils

Part 14 – Definitions of Evil, Part 5


Nineteen hours after Part 13


As the Scoobies disembarked from the jet, they followed the clearly marked lines and signs toward British Immigration. On their arrival, Giles and Wesley separated from the rest, heading towards the “British Subjects” line, while everyone else waited in the significantly longer “Foreign Nationals” line. The line crawled forward as everyone made small talk, shuffling and uncomfortable as people always are in unavoidable queues.

Eventually, Willow reached the head of the line, with only Spike behind her. Everyone else had already passed through and were awaiting them. The official, dressed in a deep blue uniform, looked up at the little redhead. “Miss Rosenberg,” he began, “I’m afraid that before you can enter England, you need to speak to some people.” He indicated a pair of chairs to Willow’s left. “Could you take a seat, and I’ll arrange your meeting.”

Willow looked very surprised, but nodded, and indicated, with a helpless shrug of her shoulders, to a very worried Spike that she had no option other than to comply.

Spike advanced confidently to the counter and proffered his passport. The entry officer took one look and immediately asked Spike to join Willow. Realising he had no other real option, Spike nodded curtly and went to sit next to Willow.

* * * *

Both Willow and Spike were very confused. They had been greeted within five minutes of taking their seats, immediately escorted to a Jaguar with dark tinted windows and driven into London. Now, Willow saw, they had stopped in what appeared to be a junkyard. Perhaps most disturbing of all to her was that, when she woke Spike, he didn’t react as expected when she said they were in a junkyard. Instead of the usual expostulations and complaints that she had grown to expect from him, he had simply asked, in a frighteningly quiet voice, if she had seen a sign with the company name at all. After her negative reply, his face became completely blank.

The door of the Jaguar opened silently and a well-modulated English voice said, “Please step out and follow me.”

Spike and Willow complied, simply not knowing what else to do. They followed the large, well-set man who had already turned away to lead them deeper into the junkyard. Willow looked around curiously, while Spike scanned everything in detail. They turned a corner, and ahead was a sign that read: “C. Hunter & Co., Pty. Ltd. Scrap metal Merchants.” As soon as Spsaw saw the sign he started to swear under his breath.

Willow looked at him, shocked. Not by the profanity but simply because she could see no reason for it. “Spike, what’s wrong?” she asked him.

“Pet, if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. But it won’t be long before you find out. I think we’re about to meet Charlie.”

“Who’s Charlie?”

“A cold hearted bugger who would make Angelus look like a new-born innocent.”

“A vampire?”

“No kitten, a human.”

Willow’s eyes bugged out. “A human worse than Angelus?”

“You’ll see, luv.”

By the time they had been led inside, Willow had moved past cautious, through apprehensive and nervous and had reached scared. Then, just to totally confuse her, a door opened and they were ushered into a beautiful Victorian-era wood panelled room. The furnishings matched the mahogany panelled walls beautifully; although the elderly woman sitting at a nineteenth-century desk loaded with two computers and seven telephones initially appeared out of place.

“Spike! It’s been so long! How wonderful to see you!” The elderly woman almost squealed as she rose from the desk and walked briskly over to the bemused blond vampire.

He looked carefully, and then broke into a smile. “Liz? Are you still here? Bloody hell, luv! Give us a hug.” So saying, he embraced the woman fiercely and kissed both cheeks.

“Er … Spike,” Willow began, “who’s this and what’s going on?”

Spike sighed. “This’ll take a while, kitten, but it’s like this. First, this is Liz. I knew her about … oh … thirty years back. As for the rest … it’s bloody hard to explain properly.”

Liz chuckled quietly and then spoke. “So finally you saw that sanity is far more pleasant than lunacy. It’s well past time you did, young man.”

Spike grinned. “Allow me to introduce you. Willow; meet Liz, who I worked with briefly. Liz, this is Willow, who’s taken far more of my heart than Dru could ever have done.”

Willow and Liz smiled at one another, Liz openly and Willow in nervous puzzlement. “You worked in a junkyard?”

Liz was openly surprised by Willow’s question. “Spike, I’m impressed. You’ve kept security for all these years?”

Spike just nodded.

“Security?” Willow was completely bewildered.

Just then, a door opened and an exceptionally slender man of about sixty walked into the room. He was impeccably dressed in a Savile Row suit, and wore a Marylebone Cricket tie tie—a rather hideous combination of maroon and amber diagonal stripes. “Good evening,” He said before anyone could speak. “My name is Hunter, but my friends call me Charlie.”

Spike just sighed, as Willow stood, and quickly said, “Hello Mr Hunter. Could you explain …” Her question was cut off by a raised hand. “Please, Miss Rosenberg, call me Charlie. And yes, I can see I need to explain, since Mr … Blood has been far more reticent than we expected him to be. Now, I assure you that I’ll explain everything quite clearly. For now, though, would you care for tea?”

Spike grunted, and then added grudgingly, “Least your manners are a bloody sight better than some of your predecessors. ‘Do It!’ was their motto.”

Hunter smiled. “I think you’ll discover we’ve become far more civilised in the last few years. Now, I suppose I should explain myself to you both. Now, Miss Rosenberg, I may digress onto tangents at times with your friend, Mr Blood—I like that name, it’s so apposite—but I will make sure that you understand everything. Is that acceptable?”

Willow nodded uncertainly.

“Well … how can I explain this … the scrap metal business is really just a cover, although it does generate some revenue, our real job here is to … lubricate the wheels of government. Let’s assume for a moment that an unfriendly diplomat is doing something inappropriate. The government of the day will call us in to … discourage that diplomat. Using whatever means may be needed.”

Willow nodded, concentrating on what Hunter was saying.

“In the past, we’ve had a few occasions to call on William’s specialised services, so we tend to keep ourselves abreast of his location and circle of friends.”

“You spy on us?” Willow was shocked. “Like the CIA?”

“That would be making a bit much of it all, Miss Rosenberg. We simply have a friend bring us up to date from time to time.”

“So who is bloody reporting back to The Section?” Spike demanded. “I bet it’s that young idiot.”

“William, we’ve never kissed and told before, so I’m unlikely to start now. I’ll just say that it’s no-one in your little group. Let’s leave it at that and move on. Now, you’re here not to reminisce but because we need some assistance.”

Spike stood up and began to pace. “It was the same thirty bloody years ago! You lot haven’t soddin’ well changed a bit!”

“Please! William, sit down. There’s no use in getting distressed. You’ve known that we may wake you up. Ever since you helped us the first time.”

Spike slumped back into the chair. It was his almost instant compliance, more than anything, worried Willow. Just who were these people, she wondered.

“So, William, as I was explaining to your charming companion, we are used by our government to carry out those tasks which they need to be able to distance themselves from.”

“Yeah, pet,” Spike interrupted. “Normally that means killing people.”

Willow looked at her lover, startled, as Hunter continued. “Sometimes, unfortunately, yes, it does mean that. Much more often though, we simply convince people to change their minds about something, or carry out functions that the government wishes to be able to openly deny.”

“So,” Willow asked, “what do you want us to do?”

“It’s really very simple. There is a gentleman—and I use that term advisedly—who wishes to leave the employ of his country. Since they are opposed to that, we have to make sure he can do so clandestinely. Oh, he continued, you mentioned your CIA earlier Miss Rosenberg.” In response to Willow’s nod, he continued. “Well, every nation has their own version of the CIA and also the FBI; but they also each have their own version of my little clan. In general, we’re tucked away in a very obscure government ministry. Some years ago, we were part of the Pensions Office. We aren’t any longer, of course.” Hunter laughed at that legal fiction, and even Willow’s lips quirked at the perhaps deliberate irony there.

“Now, William, I suppose I should bring you up to speed on your contemporaries.” Spike looked surprised as Hunter opened a yellow manila folder. “Ah, yes. Of course. Firstly, Toby Meres. Well, dear Toby has passed over. Shot in Washington by a cuckolded Nicaraguan with diplomatic immunity. Such a waste, really. James Cross—also dead, but in the line of duty. Killed by a Ukrainian cousin who was hunting a defector. David Callan …” Hunter sighed. “Well, David was always the best of all; and he’s still alive. He owns a little militaria shop now. He’s still asleep of course, and we did have to re-activate him once. He was not best pleased, shall we say?”

Spike laughed. Given his previous demeanour, Willow was quite shocked, until she realised that the laughter had little, if any, mirth in it. “Yeah,” Spike acknowledged, “he’d just love being brought back into the family after getting out. Militaria huh? So he’s still wargaming then.”

Hunter laughed. “Oh yes. I can’t imagine anything other than death would stop David doing that. And you were right; he hated my predecessor for waking him up. So, that’s you all caught up on the gossip. I read the files, of course, and may I say that your current … friend appears much nicer than that other lass, Drusilla.”

Willow straightened and spoke. “Mr Hunter, I don’t understand why you want us to help; and I for one have no intention of doing so. I suggest that you let us go about our business immediately and then I won’t have to get nasty.”

Hunter just sighed. “Miss Rosenberg, you are an exceptionally powerful sorceress. Do you really think we would have invited you in without taking suitable precautions? I can assure you that none of your spells, either stored in those little crystals you use, or cast from memory, will be effacious here.”

Willow blinked. “How did you know about the crystals, and how do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Willow decided, then and there, to call his bluff. She slipped a crystal containing a truth spell into one hand, and dropped it, murmuring the trigger phrase as she did so. Instantly, her head felt like it was on fire, and savage lancing pains surged through her brain. She slipped from her chair, screaming so loudly that she tore some of her throat tissue. Spike was up in a flash and heading towards Hunter when he too collapsed, screaming in pain.

Hunter watched impassively as both Willow and Spike slowly recovered from the inexplicable attacks, ignoring completely Liz’s horrified looks. As they began to recover enough to regain their feet, he said. “I’m sorry that became necessary. Let me explain. Miss Rosenberg, the whole of this complex is encompassed by what my technical staff call a null-mana field. I think of it as a magical burglar alarm. Until just then, however, I was quite unaware of its effects on a sorcerer. William, I used this on you.” In explanation, he held up a small black box. “It triggers the chip that is connected to your limbic system.”

Spike nodded groggily. “Well, mate,” he began venomously, “I think you’ve put paid to any chance of either of us co-operating with you.”

Hunter merely chuckled. “I really think not. You see, if you and Miss Rosenberg don’t co-operate, then your friend Miss Summers will have a very unfortunate accident.”

Willow came very close to losing her temper completely, but managed to hold it in enough to snarl, “And if you do that, Hunter, I’ll hunt you down and do things to you that you can’t imagine.”

Hunter looked at the angry witch with complete equanimity. “Perhaps, but Miss Summers will be no less dead, will she? And there will always be another Hunter. Can you say the same about Buffy?”

The cold and ruthless logic completely undid both Willow and Spike. Sighing, Spike asked the question that he had feared above all others. “What do you want us to do?”

“Well, its like this …” Hunter began, “there is a chappie in the Kirghiz Embassy who would like to stay in London after his tour of duty here ends. Can’t blame him at all, Frunze is a ghastly place. Shocking weather, dreadful architecture, abominable food. Be that as it may, his government want him back desperately, so they won’t allow him to leave. And the ‘bodyguard’ they have with him is magically capable and also non-human; which really is cheating. So we need a pair of people with your particular skills to … assist both he and his family in achieving what they want.”

“What’s the pay?”

“Pay? Really, William, surely the grateful thanks of Her Majesty would be more than enough? It always has been in the past, after all.”

“But I’m a semi-married man now Hunter, I have responsibilities. And she’s never been My Majesty. My Majesty died back in 1901, and was succeeded by Bertie the Bounder!”

Hunter rolled his eyes dramatically. “All right, I’ll see what I can do.”

End part 14