We've been robbed. Isn't it great!" His voice is giddy with excitement. "Why's it great?" "The police have gone! And the press! And that horrible TV woman, whatever she was! All gone, all of them!" "Who will we tell?" asks Spike, a tremor of fear in his voice. "Now, now, Spike, calm yourself." The man looks toward his wife. "Why don't you two go upstairs and have some of that nice stew your mother made. There's a lovely little pub across the street with a dart board. That's what you young people need, a proper pint." He speaks loudly, to anyone who might be listening. "Thank you, sir," he says, and then, as quickly as they arrived, they leave the place. Alfie sits on the step. He feels as if he has just been caught cheating at cards. He doesn't understand what this place is all about. When they step out into the street again, the cold air gives a jolt to his senses. He can feel that his father is holding on to his mother. "Where's your hat, Alfie?" "I left it in there." "Good boy, Alfie. Well done, I say." ## 3 The police car turns off into an alley and accelerates down it, and then turns left, where it stops in front of a big door. The police car is blue and gold and shiny. Its tires don't make any noise at all on the cobblestones, but then again, nobody makes noise when they ride their bicycles on these streets. They use their bikes to get around here. The policemen walk straight through the open door. The one driving the car opens the boot and pulls out a big leather bag. The other one carries a big briefcase. They go through the double doors and set off down a wide corridor, and all along the way the doors are open, because there are so many offices down here. Some of the men from the police station are already in there, and they can be seen through the glass on the doors. Inside, the rooms are empty. It is so cold and empty in this building that the very air feels as if it could turn to ice. The driver turns to his partner. "What do we do if she's not in there?" he asks. "She has to be in there," the other one says. "But it's like she's a ghost. No one has ever come into here before and taken her away." "No." "What if she's dead?" "Then we go away." "What if she's dead and buried in here?" The men look at each other and then carry on walking. There is a large room with a row of chairs in it, and all around the walls are shelves that are full of books. There are only four other people here, and two of them are asleep. One of them snores. It is quiet, but as soon as the policemen walk into the room, it gets quieter. The men in the chairs look up and then turn their attention back to their papers. "Are you following us?" They turn their heads around to look at the policemen in the doorway. They all look very surprised. Nobody ever follows them here, but of course everyone knows about the empty building and the secret way in. The police come in here when there has been a major incident that has been dealt with. There has to be a lot of papers about it to make it look real. They walk down the corridor to a metal door at the far end, walk into the room, and stand looking around. There is a map on the wall with every street, lane, and alley in the city written on it. "The main switch box is here," one of the policemen says. "Then there's the whole system of power lines, and then there's the big power station. That's at Hanger Lane. Then we get a cable up into the roof space of the building next door, and then we go through there. One man stays up there. We've got a van outside. He's already picked up Alfie's bike and the helmet. He'll be down here to meet us. Anybody in there that will be of use, we grab them and send them with them in the van. We're working fast here, so whoever has anything to do with the girl in this office is going to have to be dealt with fast. This area will be closed off to the public for a while, so whoever comes will have to enter through the back door in the alley." The man with the white hat is at the window. He puts his face right up against the glass. He puts his hand on the glass. It's very cold. It's freezing. The window is very thin. The air inside is cool and smells musty, a sort of dry, old smell. It's cold and it smells bad and dirty. The man thinks that in order to make this office look real, there should be blood on the carpet. He looks around the room to see if there are any stains on the carpet, but there are no stains, only dust. But then there is a man at the window, a white man in a police uniform, a white hat with a wide brim, a belt, and a shiny brass whistle on a chain. The man with the white hat looks at him with sad, blue eyes. The face is clean. There are no stains on his uniform, either, only a sort of shine where it touches his skin. It's the same as the shine on the whistle on the chain. The man from the window watches as they drag a man through the doorway. He is about to shout to them, "Stop!" But he realizes that there is no need. "Keep it down," he says. "I'm going to try to get you in." "No," says the policeman, "we've got you out." "But this has been going on for five years." "So what?" "It's our home. We love it here." "You'll have a new home," says the policeman. "Why are you doing this?" The policeman looks at him. His eyes are cold. "We've been told to make sure you never show up again. You'd be surprised by what happens to the people who annoy us." "It's the only way," says the man from the window. "Otherwise it's not real." The policeman nods. "We've had a tip-off about this place. The owner of this house is in a psychiatric home. That's where he's been living these past few years. So, all that stuff about a psychiatric home in Hampstead? Just a cover story, as you can imagine. His real address is his hospital ward in Wandsworth. The whole place is full of people that we've picked out and trained to play our part." "And there's no one in this office, is there?" "This is the first time it's ever happened. You people need to pull your socks up, all of you." "This is crazy," says the man from the window. "What if someone wants to know what has happened to us? That's why I was trying to get your attention." "There is no one here," says the policeman. "We're only leaving a few men for the moment. It's possible that someone might show up later, or someone might hear us and put two and two together. But that's a risk we've got to take. It's a risk we've been prepared to take from the first day this job came into existence. Look, they all know that this has happened. There are just a few people who aren't aware that it's all been an elaborate set-up. Otherwise the people in Wandsworth wouldn't be too pleased." "What about all the people who have been taken from all the streets around here?" "I know. It's bad, but we have to do this." "What do you want me to do?" asks the man from the window. "Get dressed and get out. If you're still in the area at eleven o'clock this morning, we'll send someone round to collect you, but the way things are at the moment, if you go off the streets, you won't ever be seen again. Understand?" "No," says the man from the window, but he has not stopped talking to him. He talks into the policeman's face as he talks to him and into the man's face when he talks to the man. "It's all too risky." "This is the thing about us," the policeman says. "We can do whatever we have to do to make things work. I mean, let's face it, what's the alternative, eh?" "I don't know." The policeman turns and walks back along the corridor toward the big office. "Who's that man?" asks one of the men in the room. "One of the ones we've captured," says the policeman. "He knows our names." "What do you mean, you captured him?" "That's right," says the policeman.