Free The Radical (Unity Vol.1) by S.M. Lynch Page B

emissaries tied up in an empty room, seemingly knocked out by sedatives or perhaps still reeling from the effects of Camille’s handiwork.
    Camille clapped her hands together and everyone in the room, perhaps around 20 people in total, stopped whatever they were doing and stared in her direction.
    ‘Everyone, you all know Sera ph, Eve’s niece. Two emissaries followed her, so we all need to pull together to ensure they don’t get a second chance. From Birmingham to Glasgow, get word out to everyone on the street, and I mean everyone. Our efforts need to be concentrated here, especially for tomorrow.’
    The team looked at me warily , as if I was the fly in the ointment, but Camille reiterated, ‘Snap to it, get to work. Most importantly don’t forget to monitor the perimeter of this building.’
    Camille went to speak to some members of her staff qui etly, leaving me to observe the scene. The staff rattled off messages here, there and everywhere. I wondered whether they would hook themselves up to their workstations if they could, intravenously drip-feeding information down the networks instead. I watched these people and realized they were elite professionals, a small band of geniuses who read the outside world via their quick ability to process tons of information. I had some notion of being smart myself but these others were… technical minds. So, no, this was no amateur band of resistance fighters. These people had form.
    The y had highly-sophisticated xGens hooked up to enormous monitors in front of them, while their devices had scrambling sticks to prevent Officium tracking their communications. A lot of the staff also wore tiny earpieces to be able to talk to not only each other, but anybody they decided to call up with the touch of a button. As each flicked between audio hackware, documents, messaging, GPS tracking and websites, I felt dizzy. It would probably take years to work out their practices.
    ‘Seraph, we need to talk. Now you’ve seen in here, let’s go up to Eve’s flat.’
    I nodded in a daze of compliance and followed Camille as she led us back out, gesturing to the operatives that she was going upstairs if they needed her.
     
    We climbed the rickety spiral staircase to the top floor of the bridal house, where Eve’s living quarters were exactly as I had imagined. Humble but tasteful. Dark, solid wood beams punctuated the mostly white ceilings and walls. The rickety wooden doors had old-fashioned metal latches and the ceilings were so low that I almost had to stoop. The furnishings were antique, but very well-kept. The living room was a mixture of block pastels and flowery prints. At its centre sat a large, cream, high-backed Victorian sofa with brass feet, covered in large cushions. The furniture, most of it solid oak, was tasteful and elegant – pieces not found so readily – the collection of a true fanatic. In front of the sofa sat a chunky coffee table constructed using railway sleepers.
    There were rows and rows of books, every space of wall available was used to hold a bookcase full of reading material against it. A huge oak writing desk resembling an accountant’s workstation was pushed up against one wall under the room’s windowsill; bits and pieces of paper poked out of multiple drawers both on top of the desk and underneath.
    In the bedroom an iron-framed bed was positioned at one end and at the other were huge wardrobes stretching across the entire length of the L-shaped room. The curtains were pink and a sturdy rocking chair sat in one corner. The spare room was similarly decorated with a simple single bed and flowers in the window.
    In the kitchen, a great surprise awaited me. This was one part of Eve’s flat that was modern, with completely white units, white tiled walls and flooring. Everything about it was generic, in keeping with contemporary living. Not even Eve could keep a kitchen spic and span for decades without having to have it replaced, and this style is probably