Free The Liberators by Philip Womack

Miranda retreated back to the sofa. ‘I met your nice friend Ivo today,’ continued Olivia.
    â€˜He is nice, isn’t he,’ said Miranda, and then said, ‘Ow!’ as Felix kicked her.
    â€˜Miranda fancies him,’ said Felix.
    â€˜I do NOT!’
    Their mother got up, slightly awkwardly, and pushed her hair back. ‘I’m off up to the study,’ she said. ‘Lydia wants you to meet these Luther-Ross people. I’ll tell you when, OK?’
    â€˜OK, Ma,’ they both murmured, and she went out. Felix then turned to Miranda. ‘Why did you say that to Ivo?’ he asked. ‘I mean about me agreeing with you? I don’t.’
    â€˜You mean, when Ivo stopped you from going into that frenzy? Are you mad?’
    â€˜No!’ said Felix, his eyes glistening. ‘I felt it . . . I know what it is – I think I do, anyway – and I want to know more about it!’
    â€˜But Ivo says it can kill people!’ said Miranda, shrinking from her brother.
    â€˜Yes, yes,’ said Felix. ‘But if harnessed properly . . . just think!’
    â€˜Well, I think you’re crazy,’ said Miranda, and pushed him. ‘I’m going to watch TV. You can come if you like, but I think you need to calm down.’ And she left him, long arms crossed over each other, eyes alive with fire.
    Felix waited for a little while, and then, checking that no one was around in the hall, slipped upstairs. His father had a small study right at the top of the house – an attic, basically, with little more than a small table, an old computer and a few books in it. Felix slid into it. It was dark outside, street lamps casting their dim glow upon the ground. He didn’t turn the light on. He switched on the computer, which took a few minutes to warm up, and sat down at the desk, one spindly leg dangling. He rubbed his hands in the cold. They never turned the heating on up here. Eventually, the screen lit up, and Felix tapped in the password that he’d found in his father’s papers. His face took on an unhealthy green light. The system blinked, and up came the government data centre. Felix smiled, showing his long teeth, and continued his searches. He kept his ears strained for the slightest of noises. After a while he went to the door and looked out; then came back, and soon there was something wheezing out of the ancient dot-matrix printer. He’d found the plans for the tunnels, and, as yet, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do with them. He folded them up and put them in his pocket, turned off the computer and went back innocently to the sitting room to join his sister.
    Dancing flames threw shadows on to the walls. A large mastiff lay in front of the fire, its tongue hanging out; it raised its eyebrows slightly as a door opened and two men walked into the room. Outside it was night, the freezing sky picked out with stars, the orange glow of lamp posts tainting the pavements with a sickly hue. Inside the room it was sweltering, but the two brothers did not seem to notice. Their faces were very similar, looking almost as if they had been carved out of wax, devoid of any colour.
    They sat down in heavy armchairs, on either side of the fireplace. The mastiff placed its head back on its paws, whining slightly; one of the men aimed a kick at it.
    â€˜Don’t kick my dog, Strawbones.’
    â€˜I will kick it, if it whines.’ He ran a hand through his thick blond hair.
    Julius sighed. ‘You are starting to annoy me,’ he said. The flames flickered light over his face; smoke billowed, but neither man coughed. The dog whimpered and padded to the door; they ignored it. Strawbones leaned forwards, and lit a candle that stood on the table in between them; then he held the candle up to Julius’s face. Julius tapped long fingers on the side of his face; his nails were long, and pointed, and very, very clean. ‘Do you have to be so blatant