Catacombs of Terror! by Stanley Donwood Read Free Book Online Page B

Martin. I’m hoping to get some sort of story out of this. Assuming you don’t upset too many people. You’ll meet a Council official called Mario Murnau in the lobby of City Hall.” He hung up.

Chapter 9
Wet Handshake
    I was punctual. I always am. My suit was still looking reasonably sharp, despite the drizzle I arrived in. I climbed the steps up to City Hall and pushed open the double doors. The lobby was spacious, all marble and Victorian civic ostentation. There was a secretary behind a lonely desk that looked tiny and out of place in the chilly vastness.
    “My name’s Bob Jones. From the paper. I’m supposed to be meeting Mario Murnau,” I said. I hoped I sounded polite. I couldn’t tell. Well, yeah.
    “I’ll just page him. Is he expecting you?” Icy cold. Professional, I supposed. But not very welcoming. Well, yeah. What did I expect? Air kisses and a hug?
    “I have an appointment for eleven thirty.”
    “Well, it’s only eleven twenty-five. Would you take a seat?”
    I bit back a few choice words and sat down. I sat still and I looked around until I’d looked around about as much as I cared to. It wasn’t very rewarding. Murnau turned up a quarter of an hour later. I got up and extended my hand, but he didn’t seem to like the idea of shaking it. He walked towards the door. I followed.
    “Bob Jones? I’m Murnau. I take it you’re here to talk to the CCTV chappies.” Mario Murnau was tall, with horn-rimmed specs, and a polished, vaguely Etonian accent. His name sounded exotic, but he didn’t look it. There was something a little odd about him, though. I couldn’t quite tell what it was. We were outside now. The rain didn’t surprise me. I was used to it. Murnau didn’t like it at all. He hurriedly unlocked a black wrought-iron gate, and led me down some steps below the pavement. I’d never noticed them before.
    “They live down here, Bob. The men behind our electronic eyes! Night and day, twenty-four hours, they never stop. Shifts, of course. Ah, could I just see your press card? Good, good. Have to be careful, you realise. Where was I? Yes, indeed, the system is never unattended. Never! Round the clock safety and peace of mind for the good citizens of our city, eh? Anyway, it’s all pretty sensitive stuff, so I’ll stay with you while you speak to the chappies. Don’t mind me.”
    We had entered a subterranean control room beneath City Hall. It seemed unnecessarily dark. There were banks of switches and two walls of TV monitors, both colour and black and white. Figures moved across them. I could recognise most of the locations. There was a reek of body odour and instant coffee in the stuffy atmosphere. Murnau took a couple of steps back into the murk of the corner of the room. He was proprietorial. Watchful. And not entirely at ease. There were three men scrutinising the screens, their faces lit up by them. One of them, a bulky crew-cut guy in some sort of pseudo military pullover, turned on his swivel chair and extended a meaty hand towards me.
    “Morning. I’m Robinson. I take it you’d like to know a little about the system?” Robinson. No first name. He seemed friendly though. Almost keen. Probably welcomed the chance to see someone from outside. A reporter, no less.
    “Bob Jones.” I shook his hand. His handshake was moist. Not too firm. I didn’t like it. Handshakes are one of the things that I tend to judge people on. Not fair, I know. Yeah, well. Anyway.
    “I’m from the paper. I’m working on a piece about twenty-first century crime and prevention. Credit card fraud, Internet scams, that sort of thing. Then moving on to DNA testing, ‘smart water,’ and of course video surveillance. Which is where you guys come in. All right to smoke in here?” I had my cigarette already in my mouth.
    “I’m afraid not, Bob,” said Murnau. I put my cigarette back in the packet.
    “Well,” said Robinson, “basically, we inherited this system from Rentokil. The Council reviews