The day of the gala arrived with a blanket of oppressive grey Essex sky. Their world had shrunk to the four walls of the grim motel room, which now looked like the last stand of a doomed resistance. Printouts of the gala's guest list, architectural plans of the country estate, and satellite maps were spread across every surface, a chaotic collage of their desperate, final plan.
DI Miles Corbin, his mind sharpened by grief and rage, was in command mode. His injured arm throbbed in its sling, a constant, dull reminder of their last failure. He would not allow another.
"Right, listen up," he said, his voice low and focused. He looked at DC Harris, who was staring at the floor, his face pale and drawn. "The plan is twofold. Harris, you're on tech. Your official reason for being there is as part of the auxiliary security team's comms support. You'll have a pass. Get yourself into the security or AV room. I need eyes on every CCTV camera. Watch the entrances, the service corridors, the perimeter. You are my eyes and ears."
"And you, Guv?" Harris asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"I'm on the floor," Corbin said. "I'll move amongst the guests. My job is to get close to Dame Eleanor Swift. She's the Conductor; the ritual can't happen without her. I'll watch who she talks to, who she's introduced to, who is watching her. I will identify the true masterpiece before they can make their move."
He saw the tremor in Harris's hands. The boy looked haunted. Corbin put it down to the immense stress, the horrors they'd seen, the raw grief for Evelyn Reed. He felt a pang of responsibility.
"Stay sharp, son," he said, his voice softening slightly. "We will get through this. We will."
Harris just nodded, unable to meet his gaze.
Later that evening, the grim reality of their mission took on a surreal quality. Harris returned with a suit carrier from a formal hire shop in town. In the dingy motel room, amidst the maps and scattered papers, the two hunted policemen began to dress for a black-tie gala.
Corbin struggled with the buttons on his dress shirt, his injured arm making the simple task agonising. Harris stepped forward wordlessly and did them up for him. As Corbin fumbled with his bow tie, Harris gently pushed his hands aside.
"Allow me, Guv."
He stood before Corbin, expertly looping the silk, his fingers nimble. For a moment, they were just two men getting ready for a party, a boss and his loyal junior. The intimacy of the moment was almost unbearable for Harris, a quiet, final betrayal. He could smell the faint scent of Corbin's aftershave, see the weary lines around his eyes, and all he could think about was the boathouse by the lake.
They drove to the country estate in silence. Long avenues of ancient oak trees lined the driveway, leading to a magnificent manor house, blazing with light against the encroaching darkness. Bentleys and Rolls-Royces purred past them as they parked their beat-up Ford Fiesta in a distant, shadowed corner of the car park. The sound of a string quartet and the murmur of polite laughter drifted towards them on the cool night air. It was another world. A world of power, elegance, and secrets. A world where their monsters could hide in plain sight.
In the car, Corbin did a final check of the small, concealed earpiece that linked him to Harris.
"Remember the plan," he said, his voice low and intense. "Find the victim, protect them, and find a way to get them out. Do not, under any circumstances, engage the killers directly unless you have no other choice. We are outgunned and alone."
He turned to his partner, the man he trusted more than anyone else in the world right now.
"I'm relying on you, Harris. Completely."
Harris's face was a pale, sweating mask of terror in the dim light of the car. He could only manage a single, jerky nod.
They got out of the car and began the long walk towards the light and the music, two ghosts slipping into a party they were never invited to. As they approached the grand entrance, Corbin put a firm, reassuring hand on his young DC's shoulder.
He looked at Harris's pale face and felt a surge of pride. The lad was terrified, but he was here. He was loyal.
Together, he thought, we might just have a chance.