Tunnels 05 - Spiral

didn’t and Parry spoke again, “Well, I’m pleased you’re taking your training seriously. I expect you could do with some food now?”
    Both Will and Chester nodded eagerly.
    “Thought so. I’ve left some soup on the hob and there’s a fresh loaf to go with it. Sorry there isn’t more, but I’m rather busy at the moment. There’s something going on.”
    Opening the door to his study, Parry hurried inside. But before the door slammed shut, the boys caught their first glimpse of the interior.
    “Was that your dad in there?” Will asked. Before the door closed, the boys had spotted Mr. Rawls standing over what appeared to be an old-fashioned printer from the loud clattering it was making.
    “Yes, I saw him, too. I thought the study was off-limits to all of us,” Chester replied. He shrugged, then knelt down to remove his plimsolls. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen much of Dad lately — maybe he’s been in there all the time?”
    “And I wonder what Parry was talking about. Do you think it’s you-know-who up to their tricks again?” Will posed. It had been several months since the attack on the financial district in the City of London and the explosions in the West End, but then the Styx seemed not to have continued with their offensive against Topsoilers.
    “If there’s anything going on, it’ll be on the news. Let’s grab our food and eat it in front of the TV,” Chester suggested.
    “Sounds like a plan,” Will said.

    Due to the security precautions, there were long queues to get into the special performance of
La Bohème
at the Palais Garnier in the 9th arrondissement of Paris. The additional precautions had been laid on because the French President and his wife were attending that night.
    As the gendarme used handheld scanners to check each member of the audience before they entered the foyer, a woman stood patiently in line.
    “
Bonsoir
, madame,” a gendarme said as her turn came, and she handed him her clutch bag to inspect.
    “
Bonsoir
,” she replied, while his partner ran the scanner over the full length of her body, back and front.
    “
Anglaise
,” the gendarme observed casually as he made sure her ticket was valid. “I ’ope you enjoy the performance.”
    “Thank you,” Jenny replied, then the gendarme waved her through. As she went in search of her seat, she walked like someone who was wading through thick fog and couldn’t see the ground in front of her. She eventually found her place and sat there quietly, waiting for the curtain to go up.
    The woman, Jenny Grainger, had raised no red flags as she passed through the scanner and the security checks at St. Pancras International before boarding the Eurostar to Paris. And neither did she do anything to arouse suspicion during the rest of the journey, although her face was drawn and perhaps a little jaundiced, and most of the time she seemed to stare straight ahead with unblinking eyes. But if anyone had paid her any attention, they would most likely have assumed that she was suffering from fatigue.
    But now in the Palais Garnier, as everyone rose to their feet while the French President and his attractive wife were shown to their seats, Jenny began to fidget with her bag. The lights dimmed and the curtain was raised.
    In the seat next to her, Jenny’s neighbor became annoyed as Jenny continued to fidget, whispering frantically to herself. As the man watched her more closely, he saw that she appeared to be in some difficulty. She had her hand on her abdomen and was pressing it hard. As he was a doctor, it was natural for him to inquire if she needed help. But when he spoke to her, she didn’t reply, her whispered ramblings only becoming louder.
    Jenny suddenly jumped to her feet. Disturbing everyone in the row, she made her way hastily to the central aisle. However, instead of turning right in the direction of the exit, she dropped her clutch bag and began to run toward the stage. Toward the French President.
    She never reached him, but the explosion killed over twenty members of the audience.
    A number of witnesses stated that one second she’d been there, and the next there’d been a flash of blinding light and a massive bang. But while some thought she’d tripped on the carpet, others swore that a member of the President’s staff had intercepted her. This couldn’t be substantiated because the man had been killed outright. Whatever had stopped her, Jenny never reached her target, and the President and