The Shadow Project Read Free Page A

older, liked his food, nice open face, lazy eye, friendly grin, shapeless suit. They could both actually be cops, Danny thought. Especially the woman. He could imagine her in uniform, pounding the beat, poking her nose in where it wasn’t wanted. And the man might be plainclothes gone to seed, close to retirement.
    Danny tried to get his fear under control. He knew from past experience he mustn’t show he was scared—that only encouraged them. But the bad news was, he really was scared. This wasn’t like any of his previous brushes with the law. He was in some sort of huge underground complex, like nothing he’d ever seen before. This wasn’t law enforcement: the cops didn’t have enough money to build something this size. It was far too big to be anything but government.
    Danny worried about that, worried about that a lot. He didn’t know for sure what he’d gotten himself into, but his money was on some sort of secret agency. It was the only thing that made sense. And he was old enough to know that British secret agents weren’t nice gentlemen like James Bond, whatever they said in the movies.These characters really were licensed to kill and weren’t afraid to do it, either. The question was, would they kill somebody just because he’d found their hideaway?
    â€œWhat’s your name?” Bad Cop demanded.
    â€œLester Thomas, ma’am,” Danny told her. He opened his eyes wide and tried to look innocent. With luck she might think he was too stupid to lie.
    â€œWhere do you live, Lester?” asked Good Cop mildly.
    â€œSixty-eight Rigby Villas,” Danny told him. It was the home of a dealer he knew. If these freaks ever came calling, they were in for a big surprise. Lester was a hard man and so were his friends.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” asked Good Cop, still mildly.
    â€œSir,” said Danny earnestly, “your front door was open—somebody must have left it off the latch by accident—and I heard a noise inside and I came in to tell you, to warn somebody. I mean, just last Wednesday my old gran got her handbag nicked.” He blinked his eyes, took a deep breath to steady his nerves, and added, “Can’t be too careful.”
    â€œIs that why you assaulted Michael?” Bad Cop cut in, glaring.
    That was admittedly a weakness in his story. Michael had to be the boy he’d kneed in the nuts. He stared ather with wide-eyed innocence. “You know him, then? Thought he might be a burglar.”
    â€œHe’s an African prince, you young—” Bad Cop started to get out of her seat, and for just a second Danny thought there might be a bit of grievous bodily harm coming.
    But then Good Cop waved her back with a quiet “It’s okay, Fran, the boy’s just a bit nervous.” Then to Danny he said, “Actually, we do know him.” He had an interesting accent, a bit upper crust for a copper, but country rather than city. Danny filed that away, along with the information that Bad Cop was called Fran, probably short for Frances.
    â€œYes, well, he was running straight for me,” Danny said. “Seemed like he was up to no good.”
    â€œThe door wasn’t really open, was it?” said Good Cop suddenly. He smiled a little sadly to show there’d be no hard feelings if Danny decided to tell the truth. Danny opened his mouth to tell another pack of lies, but Good Cop hadn’t finished. “Or, if it was, you thought it might be an opportunity to look around, see if there was anything worth…borrowing?” Fran glared, but Good Cop’s smile never wavered. “I understand,” he said. “I know what it’s like to be short of money.” Danny blinked. It looked like it had been a long time since Good Cop went short of cash. “It makes you do things—onimpulse—that you mightn’t otherwise do. Now, you look like a decent enough lad to me.”