Speaker 1: Hello, listeners, how are you. I hope you're well. I
have a little news for you, which I'll deliver later on,
you know, after the story bit in the short ad break.
It's especially interesting if you're interested in how TV shows
get pitched to the companies that make them. Oh that
sounds possible, Yes, doesn't that. It's especially useful if you're
thinking of writing a show yourself. Maybe you are, I
don't know. Anyway. This episode follows on not exactly from
where we left off last time, but in the time
leading up to it. You may recall last time we
left Underwood, David and Elizabeth Daventry leaving Rose's place on
Surrey Street to be met by helicopters in gunfire up
on the street. How those things came to be there
is what we're about to discover picking up Claire Redmond's story.
But before we do, a quick reminder of past events
from the recap on this episode at Patreon. In it,
I refer to the original Patreon podcast Underwood Finch Underground
episode fifty four, which in this podcast, the one you're
listening to is season six, episode nine. Here we go.
This episode you're about to listen to carries on from
where we left Claire Redmond last, namely with her driving
off in a Brighton taxi from her place where Miguel,
working with d c Anna McKay tried to kill her. Now,
as you may recall, after that murder attempt failed, Mackay's
phone rang and it was Coleridge, the OCU boss, calling
to check with Mackay to see how it had all
gone down. Claire played along, pretending to be Mackay so
that Coleridge would keep talking, and he did, revealing that
he too was part of this attempt on her life,
and that he too is working with the mysterious Master Vampire.
And not only that, but that he has managed to
track down one of the so called immortal vampires, those
who've been around for a very long time. To Surrey Street. Yes,
that's where Rose lives. Where he's awaiting back up. Before
taking further action, I'll just give you this little reminder
from the end of episode fifty four to set the scene,
and then we'll go right into episode fifty eight. I
hope you enjoy it. Where where are you, sir? I'm
at the strand Surrey Street, just down the road from
the old Old Witch underground station. Who is it? You found?
No one I'd heard of before, but apparently he's one
of the immortals. What Bob Jeffreys like to call a vampire? O?
G oh my, Claire started, before switching to a more
authentic mackay like response, fucking hell. What's his name?
Speaker 2: It's Underwood, Lord Daniel Underwood.
Speaker 1: Underwood and Flinch Season six in Tenebrous Written and performed
for podcast by Mike Bennett. This podcast is intended for
an adult audience listener discretion as advised. Episode twelve, Redmond
drove the Brighton taxi along Victoria Embankment towards the turnoff
for Temple Station. To her left, the wide, dark River
Thames was at low tide, and the cool morning air
that blew in through the open window was rich with
the smell of black mud and the thick green weed
that coated the banks below the waterline. It wasn't something
she would normally registered during the day, when the miasma
of vehicular pollution hung over the city, but in the
still silent hours of the morning, when the roads were
almost deserted, the smell hung heavily. She turned off away
from the river and onto Temple Place, which according to
the taxi satellite navigation, took her past the bottom of
Surrey Street, her destination where Coleridge claimed to have cornered
an immortal or o G vampire. She slowed as she
drove past the junction with Surrey Street and scanned it
for signs of life. It was a straight street on
a gradual incline up to where it met the wide
thoroughfare of the Strand. On the left side, beyond the
modern university building, were tall houses, perhaps Victorian, while on
the right were more modern buildings, glass fronted that could
be home to offices or were perhaps part of the university.
The street itself was deserted, save for the parked cars
dotted along its length on either side. Had she got
here ahead of Coleridge's back up, or had the operation
already begun, she hadn't known quite what to expect in
terms of the numbers required for a vampire rate. She
knew Collridge had called in at least two people, which
to her seemed light. She would have opted for ten,
at least preferably more. Collridge had told her that Falconbridge
was understaffed, but by the looks of things, that might
have been the understatement of the century. However, that was
so much the better for her purpose. The fewer they
were of them, the easier it would be for her
to get to Collridge. Quite what strategy she was going
to employ to achieve this, she hadn't decided. It was
impossible to strategize when you had but a slender grasp
of what lay ahead and the variables involved. All she
knew for sure was that somehow she was going to
arrest Coleridge tonight, maybe before the operation, maybe after it,
But it had to be tonight before he found out
what had really happened at her flat, because once he
knew the truth, it would be him coming for her,
and God only knew who or what would be coming
with him when he did. She drove on a short distance, parked,
and hurried back to the junction on foot. At the
bottom of the street, she stopped. She drew Mackay's gun
and tested the heft of it. Was this the best approach,
she asked herself. Maybe it would be better to wait wait,
her mind replied, for what for the call to come
in that told Coleridge that Mackay was dead, and she
d c I Redmond was missing. No, The single advantage
she had on her side was surprise. There was no
time to wait. She took her breath and then turned
the corner. Immediately she clocked Coleridge's black BMW parked on
the other side of the street, last but one from
the end. She guessed that he had arrived first, and
that the silver Audi parked behind him was the backup
he'd pulled from outside her place the officers he'd identified
as Hallam and Crook. The dark windows of the cars
reflected the street lit scene outside them, but from what
she could see, they were empty. She crossed over both hands,
holding her gun low before her. She skirted around the
back of the Audi, quickly confirming it was empty. She
touched the bonnet, still warm. Then she moved on to
Collridge's BMW and bent to look inside. It too was empty.
She noticed a laptop on the passenger's seat and something else.
She cupped her hand to the glass to block any
reflected light and saw it was a pocket digital camera.
She made a mental note to retrieve both once she
had Coleridge in handcuffs. She straightened and looked up and
down the silent street from no building residential or business.
Did any light shine? Where were they? If they had
already gone in after the vampire? They were being very
quiet about it. She continued up the street, her eyes
scanning back and forth for any sign of movement. Just then,
with a clatter of wings, a seagull landed in the
middle of the road. A short distance ahead. It began
strutting around, the early bird, looking for the proverbial worm
on London tarmac. Whatever its chances of finding a meal,
the bird was a sure sign that the dawn can't
be far away. It let out a screech and cry,
and a string of cows that must have been audible
for half a mile around. Claire walked past the bird,
continuing to monitor the windows and doors of the houses
opposite for signs of life. On seeing none, she turned
her head to check the shadows of the entrance to
the office building beside her, and then she saw him,
his reflection in the darkened glass, perhaps three meters behind her.
He held a gun trained on her back. She stopped.
He followed the direction of her sideline and met her
eyes in the window, put it down Claire. Claire didn't move.
I will shoot you. I suspect. You know that, so
put down the gun nice and slow. Slowly, Claire knelt
and placed the gun on the pavement. Thank you. Now
back up your feet, hands above your head, place a
foot lightly on the gun, and shove it back to me. Me.
Claire did as he said, and the gun skitted back
to Coleridge's feet. Keeping his gun trained on her, he
bent to pick up the weapon. This isn't the one
I gave you. It's Mackay's. She won't be needing it anymore.
He paused, taking in her meaning, then nodded, ah, I
see turn around, will you. Claire turned to face him.
Your impersonation of her on the phone was pretty good,
by the way. You almost had me fooled until that
last touch of improvised swearing you threw in at the end.
It sounded ad lived wrong. I couldn't be sure it
was you, of course, but I thought, while I was
waiting for backup to arrive, it might be prudent to
assume it was. Then, when I saw the Brighton taxi
drive past, I knew for sure. Oh, how sir, the
vampire who came to call on you, Miguel, He told Mackay,
all about his means of transport, bragged about his fascination
of a brightoned taxi driver. So it was you who
sent him? Coleridge considered for a moment, then said yes.
Even though Claire had accepted his involvement in her attempted murder,
his confession came as a blow. The sorrow she had
been repressing since hearing his voice on Mackay's phone now
fought to overwhelm her. She set her jaw against it.
Why does it matter? Yes, it fucking matters. You sent
a vampire to kill me. He held up a cautionary finger. Ah, Now,
let's get one thing straight. Yes I knew about it,
and yes I sent him, but I didn't want to.
I've been trying to keep you safe from them your
whole life, and I did a pretty good job too,
until you wound up getting called to those bloody murders
the other morning. But even then I tried, Claire. I
took you off the case assigned Valentine, put you once
again out of harm's way. But you had to come
back into it, didn't you. You wouldn't leave it alone.
Lydia called me, Remember I didn't call her? Yes, but
you could have passed it on to Valentine like you
were bloody well supposed to, couldn't you. You could have
gone home and kicked back with a bottle of wine
and just forgotten about the whole fucking business. But oh no,
you couldn't stay out, could you? And now he shrugged.
Here we are. I tried, Claire. When he told me
to send that mcguel character round to your flat, I
begged him not to, but he said it would be
the perfect way to end the whole London vampire fracas.
And of course he was right. If you'd killed him,
as I hoped you would have done, then wonderful you'd
have cracked the case and we all could have gone
back to our regular duties. Or if he'd killed you,
mackay would have killed him, same result, just with well,
not the ending that I wanted. By the way, she
she is dead, isn't she? Just to be clear, Yes,
she was going to shoot me. Oh and that's unfortunate.
She wasn't supposed to do that. What was she supposed
to have done? She was only supposed to let the
vampire in point him to where you were, and then
keep out of it. That way, if you'd killed him
and survived. She could have passed as his poor fascinated victim,
unable to come to your aid, and so quite blameless.
So what went wrong? Let's just say that your vampire
wanted to do more than just kill me. Mackay got
impatient and intervened. Coleridge shook his head in disgust. Jesus,
what a fucking I knew it. I said to the Master,
we couldn't trust the buffoon responsible for the skip murder
to do anything right. He should have been put down
as soon as we knew who he was. But he
said that the same incompetence was precisely what would make
the plan work in your favor. You'd get the better
of him, blow his head off, and that would be that.
But he shrugged. I suppose, for all the Master's powers,
he isn't clairvoyant. How inconvenient for you both, How inconvenient
for all of us, Redmond, do you not see if
things had gone the way I wanted, we'd be at
case closed by now. You'd have been the hero of
the hour, the brave inspector that'd gunned down the demented
psychopath that had come to kill you because you were
so close to unmasking him. God, it's perfect. The media
would have eaten it up. You would have got a promotion.
I would have seen to that, and then just gone
back to your regular duties, never to worry your head
about the oc you again, because trust me, in the
unlikely event that something like this ever happens again, I
won't be calling on you at this. He pointed at her. Ah,
I know, so why did I ever let you into
the OCU fold at all? Isn't that what you're thinking?
It wasn't But she nodded yes, because, as you said,
Lydia had made a thrall of you, and once I'd
released you from that thraldom, that made you our best
chance of catching her that and you'd already as good
as figured us out anyway, hadn't you. He shook his
head regretfully. Damn it, Your dad, God rest his soul,
should never have engaged with you on this topic when
you were a kid. Christy shouldn't even have had that
box of fucking souvenirs lying around in his house. Were
you divide in the first place? But I don't know.
We all dealt with the horror in our own way.
I suppose oh, and how did you deal with it
by joining up with this master of yours? No, Coleridge
stabbed his finger at her. I didn't choose to join him, Claire,
I had no choice. I was his thrall. What do
you mean? I mean? He fascinated me like Lydia did you.
I was under his spell for years, and to this
day don't remember. For a moment he seemed troubled, as
if he were searching for his memories in an inner void.
I don't know there there are a lot of gray areas.
Then he shrugged, returning from within, but then probably no
words than anyone else my age. Oh well, that's convenient.
So I don't suppose you remember what happened to my dad,
what really happened? I mean, actually I do, I remember
that all too well. Are you sure? Maybe your memories
aren't your memories at all? Maybe your master planted them.
Coleridge gave a nod acknowledging her point, but replied, now,
much as I wish they weren't their mine, I remember
it like it was yesterday you murdered him. No, never,
what I told you yesterday is true. Volkman fascinated Harry,
and he really did die of a heart attack while
we were trying to deprogram him. Although what I didn't
tell you is that in the subsequent investigation, Volkman got
to me too, and after that I became his eyes
and ears in the OCU. God knows what I did
back then, but I was powerless to resist. You know
what it's like. I was fascinated, was fascinated past tense.
So you weren't fascinated when you agree to have me killed.
You're not fascinated now, he shook his head slowly. No,
not anymore. I am now his loyal servant. We all are.
He owns everything, Claire, the OCU, the Mallius, it's all his.
And he would have owned you too. I told him
about you earlier tonight, first chance I got back there.
When I went outside at Hobin, I had to report
in on what had happened, you know, with Varentine, Whitmore, Sloan,
the escaped suspect, the whole fucking mess. Anyway, when I
told him about you, he asked me if you could
be turned, and I said, no, not a chance. And
I was right, wasn't I Claire nodded. I knew it.
He knew about you, of course knew you were Harry's daughter.
I managed to keep you off his radar all your life.
That's why I never told you anything about your father
and us in the OCU. Why I kept you away, Jesus, Claire.
I didn't even want you to join the bloody Force.
You know that. Yes, I know, your dad begged me
to keep you safe from him, from them, and I did.
I did the best I could. His eyes seemed to
plead with her for understanding, for forgiveness, but Claire could
only stare back at him with cold disgust. On realizing
as much, he scoffed quietly and never mind. He looked
at his watch. His men should be here soon. They'll
take you away, and soon you'll forget all about tonight's unpleasantness. Instead,
you'll remember something more agreeable, like the version of events
I mentioned earlier, where you shoot Miguel and end up
with the medals. That'd be nice, wouldn't it. What are
you saying? I don't understand? Oh, I think you do.
You're going to be fascinated again, Claire, But this time
it won't be by a novice like Lydia. This time
it'll be much deeper. Undoably so, and when it's all
over the reality of the past couple of hours will
have been wiped from your mind forever Fascinated by who Volkman,
he smiled and shook his head. Now so another vampire.
He looked at his watch. Who That really doesn't matter, Claire,
Will I remember anything the OCU. That's not for me
to decide, but I think i'd preferred if you didn't.
I think that would be best, not just for us,
but for you too. Maybe we'll take you all the
way back to your childhood and wipe away everything that's
been compelling you to find out what happened to your dad.
I mean, the last thing any of us needs is
you figuring us out all over again, isn't it, Because
next time even I won't be able to save you.
He shrugged. I don't even know if I can. Tonight
he may say no, in which case you'll kill me.
Not me, no, someone else. But it'll be made to
look as though it was Miguel. We'll fascinate you, take
you back to your flat, have Jeffries in this team
forensically arrange you so as you look as though you
died fighting, And then someone wills shoot you there. That
way we get the blood spatter right, you know. Jeffries,
Bob Jeffries. He's one of you two. He's Oh SeeU, Claire,
haven't you been listening. We're all one of us, We
are all him and he is legion. That phrase again,
thought Claire. Mackay had said exactly the same thing. Coleridge
saw something over her shoulder and waved a hand to
someone to signal everything was okay. Claire turned and saw
a man at the top of the street in the
act of waving back. Is at your backup? Yes? One
of the guys who was outside your flat got the
other one covering the strand entrance to Aldwitch, just in
case our vampire tries to make a run for it
that way. What so he's down in the old station
and there's just three of you coming up against him.
Do you like those hods? Oh? Dear me, No, that's
why we have more backup coming more. I thought you
were short of manpower at Falconbridge. Her heart leapt with
hope at the possibility that regularly police could be on
their way. Yes, we are. That's why he's sending us
some specialist assistance. You mean Volkman is yes, actually thinking
about it. It may be as well to have you
out of the way before they get here. Claire took
a step back. Oh, relax, Redmond, I'm not going to
kill you. Just cuff you and put you in my car.
The only thing is, though, I don't carry handcuffs, but
I'm sure you two may i He held out his
free hand, palm upwards. You want my cuffs? Yes, I'll
take the keys off you once they're in place. They're
in my jacket pocket. Claire inclined her head to indicate
her right jacket pocket. Oh no, I'm not riging in there.
You get them one hand, nice and slow. Please, No,
what do you mean? No? I won't ask you twice, Redmond,
if you cuff me and Volkman doesn't want me fascinated,
but out of the way for good. No. Sorry, I'm
not going to help you kill me. You want my cuffs,
you come and get them, or to shoot me now
and have done with it. You don't think I will
do you? Good old uncle Charlie would never gun down
his own god daughter in cold blood, would he? He
shook his head. Don't make that mistake, Claire, My fondness
for you is nothing compared to my fear of him.
Be that as it may. I'm not going to help you,
he sighed, all right, if you're going to be difficult,
he lashed out incredibly fast for a man of his age,
and pistol whipped her across the temple with the butt
of his gun. Claire reeled backwards, falling against the car
parked beside her. Her hand slapped against its smooth surface
as she tried to right herself, but her sense of
balance was shot. She dropped like a dead weight, the
back of her head striking the pavement, and the world
exploding into stars. For a moment or perhaps several, there
was no but then she became aware of a hand
rummaging in her clothing, the sound of metal clicking and clinking,
and then she felt her body being moved, her face
pressing down against cold stone. She wasn't able to think,
her mind blank as unconsciousness tried to pull her down,
but some part of her refused to let go. She
felt her hand take her right arm and pull it
around behind her back. She resisted the hand wrenched it
back painfully, so hard her whole body twisted with the force,
her eyes opened and reality rushed back into focus. She
was lying on her front, her face to the pavement.
Now she felt the cold touch of metal against her wrist,
the open handcuff clawing at her before Coleridge got it
into place and snapped the bracelet tightly closed. Then he
seized her left arm. She clenched her fist and pulled
against him stronger. Now that she was alert at the
danger she was in, she shifted, trying to draw her
legs up enough to crawl away, but they were blocked
by one of his feet planted between them. She looked
down and saw her advantage. She scizzored her legs, one
cutting his foot out from underneath him, the other pushing
his knee in the opposite direction. She rolled into the move,
twisting her body and using all her strength to pitch
him sideways. He toppled over, coming down on his other
knee with an impact that she felt resonate through the pavement.
He screamed again, dropping his gun and collapsing on to
his side to clutch at his knee. As he did so,
Claire's gun fell from his jacket pocket. Claire snatched it
up as Collridge, realizing too late what had happened. Unrolled
from his ball of agony and reached for his own gun,
which had come to rest against one of Claire's feet.
She kicked it away and it went spinning into the gutter.
In the next second, her gun was up and his
face in her sights. Don't Coleridge froze except for his
eyes which flicked to something beyond her. Claire noticed a
pounding of footsteps on the pavement behind her. She turned
to see the cop. It was Crook, though she didn't
know that. Running at her gun drawn, she brought her
gun round and fired three shots in quick succession at
his legs. He screamed and fell, tumbling to the ground.
Claire swung the gun back to Coleridge. His hands were
in the gutter. He had something turning now his gun, No,
she shouted. She kicked out a stamping motion that caught
his gun hand a second before he pulled the trigger.
The gun fired, the bullet ricocheting off the pavement and
whizzing past her head. Coleridge was now writing himself beyond
the range of her kick. Both hands around the pistol
grip the barrel rising to bear on her, Claire fired
and Coleridge screen as the bullet tore into the deltoid
muscle at the top of his right arm, but his
left hand held on to the gun. She squeezed off
a second shot, targeting his left arm. She hit it
just below the elbow, and the gun tumbled back into
the gutter through clenched teeth. Coleridge was roaring in agony.
He rolled onto his back and hissed, Jesus, your fucking bitch,
I was only going to cuff you. Put you in
the fucking car. Out of arms. Why. Claire scrambled in
between two parked cars and peered out up the street
to where Krook was trying to drag himself back to
wherever his gun had fallen. Yeah, she said, and then
let them wipe my memory if I was lucky, or
murder me if I wasn't sorry, if I seem unfucking grateful, sir,
But neither option really appealed. She aimed at Krook and shouted,
stay where you are, I'll shoot you in the fucking ass.
Krook looked back, saw he was in her sight, and
rolled on to his back, his hands raised at the elbows.
Claire got to her feet and reached into her pocket
for the keys to her handcuffs. You think this ends it,
Claire said Coleridge. You think the good guys are going
to come to the rescue now, Well you're wrong. The
bad guys are coming, and they'll be here any second.
Then I'll just have to take my chances, won't I.
She unlocked the cuff he had put around her wrist.
As she removed it, she considered cuffing Coleridge, but reasoned
that his being shot in both arms negated the need.
She put the cuffs back in her pocket and took
out her phone. She took a step into the gutter
and kicked his gun farther down the road as she
dialed nine ninety nine. As was the case with all
police officers, the emergency switchboard would recognize her number and
treated as priority. She then turned to look back up
the street to Crook. Her eye was caught by a
flash of movement on the opposit side of the street,
about thirty meters away, beyond the line of parked cars.
Then she remembered there were two back up cops. She
had shot one of them. The other one up on
the strand would have heard the shots Her attention was
drawn back to the phone as her voice answered inspect
to Redmond, go ahead, Assistance. I'm on Surrey Street, round
the corner from Temple Tube Station. Shots fired, two wounded Roger,
Assistant also sending two ambulances. Will that be enough? No,
Claire aimed her gun to where she had seen movement.
Send three, Roger that inspector. She hung up. You think
they'll take your word over hours, said Carleridge. You're delusional
if you do, shut up. Claire crouched behind the car
beside her and looked through the windows to the opposite
side of the street. For a moment, there was nothing.
Then a head appeared cautiously peering over the roof of
a car. Allum shouted Coleridge. She's seen you and she's armed.
Me and Crook are both down. Claire shot him a
filthy look, tempted as she was to return the pistol
whipping he had given her. She turned back in the
direction of Hallem. He's right, Hallum, but what he didn't
tell you is back ups on the way. That's my
back up, not your mother of vampire lackeys. So the
best thing you can do is just give up. No,
Colridge shouted, listen. Claire did and heard the rising roar
of fast approaching engines. She looked down to the bottom
of the street just as two black vans veered around
the corner. They stopped, one just inside the street, the
other at the end of it. The rear doors of
each flew open, and men in black tactical assault gear
jumped out. Then, using the vans as cover, the men
from the second vehicle began setting up roadblocks, closing off
the street entrance, while those from the first van rapidly
disappeared behind the cover of parked cars on both sides
of the street. Coleridge's phone rang, don't Claire hissed. I
don't need to, said Coleridge. Then he shouted to the
new arrivals. Here an armed police woman shot me on
one of my men. She's here. Shoot her, you fucking bastard.
You chose this way, Claire, it was your decision. The
sound of running boots from the opposite pavement. Claire peeked
out from cover and saw shifting shadows between the cars there. Then,
looking down to the end of the pavement on her side,
she saw a black masked figure looking back at her.
From around the corner of a car, a tiny red
light glittering from the general blackness of his shape, a
laserscope from where she crouched. Claire seized Collridge by the
collar of his jacket and yanked him in front of her,
so his head and shoulders shielded her her body. Coleridge
howled in protest, Come on up, move it. What you're
not seriously thinking of using me as a shield. I'm
a wounded man and you'll be a dead man if
you don't move your fucking ass. Now get up. She
shook him again. All right, but you'll have to help,
he cried out in pain. As still gripping his collar,
Claire stood, hauling him with her. He floundered, but got
to his feet. God Jesus Redmond, it's not like it'll
do any good. These men are elite troops, special forces.
How fucking nice for them. Claire pulled him close to
her and started moving steadily backwards up the street, her
gun hand tacking left and right across numerous shimmering points
of red light, whose tiny target dots danced over her
and Coleridge and everything around them. Where do you think
you're even going? Asked Coleridge any moment now, there'll be
additional troops up on the strand and anywhere else you
possibly go. You're trapped. I don't need to go anywhere.
The real police will be here any minute. Despite his pain,
Coleridge chuckled, what do you think will happen then when
they see you holding a gun to my head? Me?
Chief Detective? Shut up. Claire jerked her grip on his collar,
choking off his sentence. She glanced up the street to
where Crook lay unmoving across the pavement about six meters away.
He looked unconscious, probably passed out from loss of blood.
Then she saw a brilliant red dot dancing on a
precise spot on her gun hand. She moved it sharply
and hissed in Coleridge's ear. Tell them to stand down.
It won't make any difference. They're not here on my orders.
Tell them anyway. No, what are you gonna do? Shoot
me again? He scoffed. I don't think so. You're right,
because fortunately I don't have to. She smashed the butt
of her pistol against Coleridge's shoulder wound. He screamed, his
legs almost giving way beneath him, but she yanked him
back up against her Tell them stand down, Coleridge shouted.
At almost exactly the same moment, a shot rang out
from the other side of the street. The bullets smashed
into the wall beside Claire, sending out a puff of
masonry dust. She spun Coleridge around to face the direction
of the shot, keeping herself behind him. She saw Coleridge's
other cop, Hallam Duck down behind cover again. He was
farther up the street than the assault team, probably acting independently.
Claire pressed the gun to Coleridge's temple. Try that again,
and I'll blow his fucking head off, inspec to Rdmund.
A voice called through a bullhorn from somewhere on the
other side of the street.
Speaker 2: This is your one and only warning. Release Collridge and surrender,
and I promise you.
Speaker 1: Will not be harmed, says ho. Claire called back overhead.
A loud drone waxed and waned with the direction of
the wind. A helicopter it was coming closer. There was
no way anything like that would have been part of
the response to her call for assistance.
Speaker 2: I'm giving you a count of five. After that, we'll
end this one way or another. And proceed with our
mission mission.
Speaker 1: Claire asked Coleridge. The immortal said, Coleridge, you're in their way. Claire,
just give up for pity's sake. The voice from the
bull horn started the countdown one. Claire stepped over Krook's body,
noting that he was still breathing. There was a bullet
hole torn in his trousers at the thigh, blood seeping
from him in a slow creeping flow. Coleridge didn't see him.
He tripped over. Crook, stumbled and fell. Claire ducked down
with him below the level of the car roofs two. Then,
from somewhere farther up on the opposite side of the street,
Claire suddenly became aware of voices, a man in chatty flow,
then the sound of footsteps ascending stone steps right, Claire
peered over the top of the nearest car towards the
sound of the voice. A man in a suit reminiscent
of something private walker in Dad's army might have worn,
was emerging into view from steps leading down to a
basement flat. He was followed by a woman, and from
somewhere behind her came a third voice, that of another man.
Claire shoved Coleridge aside and started running police, get back inside.
Underwood turned in the direction of the warning shout. A
woman with a bloody face and a gun in her
hand was running up the street on the opposite pavement.
Movement caught his eye. To his right, he looked down
the street to see about a dozen men dressed completely
in black, with black helmets and carrying sub machine guns.
For a moment he thought they might be s S troops,
those being the last fully black uniformed soldiers he had seen.
They were crouching behind cars and appeared to be focused
on the woman. Get inside. The woman shouted, breaking from
between cars and running towards them. As overhead, what had
been an increasingly loud drone suddenly became a roar. Underwood
looked up and saw the black shape of a helicopter,
a spotlight shining from beneath it, raking haphazardly over the
street till it landed on the woman. He turned back
to Elizabeth, who stood behind him at the top of
the steps, and snapped, do all she says, get back inside.
Elizabeth didn't need to be told twice. She turned back,
but her path was blocked by David, who stood halfway
up the steps looking up at the helicopter. He had
been dithering with Rose's broken door and didn't appear to
have heard the warning. He looked at her, frowning. Go
she shouted. He heard that, He turned and cleared the
steps to the basement a jump, just as somewhere on
the street above a gun fired. Underwood had been about
to follow Elizabeth down, but he turned at the sound
of the shot. It came from down the street on
the opposite side. There he saw a gray haired man
aiming a pistol at the woman. Even from this distance,
Underwood could see the man's arm was dark with blood.
He fired again, and the woman cried out. Underwood thrust
out a hand to her. Come on, wait, shouted the
gray haired man, his voice almost lost beneath the roar
of the helicopter. As the woman reached Underwood, she tried
to push him ahead of her through the gate, but
he stepped deftly aside, keeping his body between her and
her pursuers. He slipped an arm around her back and
steered her through the gate before him. Go go on,
don't look back. Claire had no intention of looking back.
When her back up arrived, they would call her on
the phone and she would go back out to meet
them before Coleridge had a chance to fill their heads
with life eyes. But for now, getting herself and these
civilians off the street was all she cared about. Once
they were down the steps and inside the building, Underwood
pushed the door to behind them. It thudded ineffectually against
the broken frame and rebounded open again. He cursed. I've
got an idea, said David. He switched on the light
and ran into the classroom, where the window looked out
onto the basement steps, and emerged a moment later with
a chair. Underwood held the door closed, and David wedged
the chair under the handle. There that at least makes
it look closed. Good thinking, said Underwood. He turned to
Claire and saw blood had begun to blossom into her
jacket at the top of the left arm. You're shot.
I'm okay, said Claire, holstering her gun. I'm a police officer.
You people need to get back inside. For the first time,
she noticed her very undomestic surroundings. Wait, what is this place?
This isn't a flat, No, it's part of the university,
said Elizabeth. Look, never mind, that, said Underwood, do you
mind telling me what the devil's going on? Who are
those people and why are they shooting at you? Please?
Just get inside, away from the door. More police will
be here any moment, but there's still a risk of
more shots being fired. Yes, well, that's all well and good.
But in the meantime, may I see some id what?
Underwood held out his hand and beckoned with his fingers ID. Please,
there's no time, sir, Please, I presume you know the law, constable.
I've every right to see some identification. Claire bit back
a rebuke and dug out her ID. Yes, sir, and
it's inspector, if you don't mind, She handed it to him. Now,
please get inside. I can handle it from here. Oh
you can, can you, said Underwood, reading her id. Well,
I admire your pluck, Inspector, but there must have been
at least a dozen men out there armed with submachine guns.
Quite how you're going to handle them single handed and wounded?
I can't imagine. Here, said David, coming up to Claire.
Let me take a look at that wound. I'm a paramedic.
Claire partially in shock from being shot, in addition to
everything else that had happened didn't resist as David eased
her jacket from her shoulder and unbuttoned the first few
buttons on her blouse. She turned her face away, looking
back to the door with the chair wedged against it,
and wondered for the first time what was wrong with it.
Then she noticed the splintered frame where the locks should be,
as if someone had forced their way in. What were
these people doing in a university building with a smashed
in door at this hour of the morning. Something was
very wrong here. No, She pulled away from him and
tugged her jacket back onto her shoulder. It's all right,
just get inside. She's right, my lord, said Elizabeth. We
really should get down to her ladyships again. Not that
I want to, but given the options, my lord said, Claire,
you're a lord, Yes, said Underwood, And in her eyes
he saw her sudden realization that she was in the
presence of a danger far greater than the one she
had left outside. He focused, attempting to fix her eyes,
but she turned her face sharply away, her hand going
into her jacket for the guns she had just halstered.
David realized what she was doing and shoved her hard
against the wall, pinning her. The gun fell from inside
her jacket to the floor. Shit, David hissed. He kicked
the gun to one side. Now what are we going
to do? Underwood seized Claire's face by the jaw and
forced her to face him. She shut her eyes tight.
Oh you know what to expect, do you? He said,
that's interesting. He squeezed her jaw and she cried out
in pain. Open your eyes, inspector. It'll be much easier
for you that way. David picked up her gun and
stood where he could switch his aim from Claire to
the front door. Fuck you, said Claire with difficulty as
her face was squashed in Underwood's grip. No, my dear,
fuck you. Underwood jerked her body forwards, then smashed her
head back against the wall, knocking her out cold. He
released her and she crumpled to the floor. My lord,
said David. Shit, she didn't kill her, did you. He
knelt beside Claire and tried to examine her head, but
Underwood was standing in his light. Now just took her
out of the equation. Let's go. He went to the
lift and pulled open the door, but beyond the scissor
gate the lift was gone. Damn. Rose must have called
a bloody thing down again. Probably gone down to the
pantry like you said. He pressed the lift call button
and the system clunked and heaved into motion. David reassured
to feel the pulse in Claire's neck, and, at seeing
her head wasn't caved in, sighed and said, what the
fuck do your thing's going on? Out to him? My lord,
I think it's pretty obvious what's going on, Flinch the
law on to us. But she is the law and
they were shooting her. Oh she's more than that, Flinch.
Didn't you see that chain around her neck when you
opened her shirt? David hadn't. He opened Claire's blouse at
the neck and his eyes followed the silver chain down
to where he saw a ring suspended. He lifted it
to the light and examined it. There was some kind
of symbol on it. For a moment, he couldn't distinguish
quite what he was looking at. Was it a cross? No,
not a cross, It's a hammer, said Underwood, as the
lift arrived behind him, The hammer of witches, to be precise.
David's eyes widened. He turned back to Underwood. You mean
she's Mallius. Underwood drew back the scissor gate and indicated
Elizabeth to get inside. Yes, so they still exist, evidently, Yes,
come on, let's go. Underwood stepped into the lift. But
you're not just going to leave her ere. Those people outside,
whatever they are, they're not just after us. They're also
trying to kill her. Yes, and jolly good luck to them.
Now come on. David looked at Claire, the blood soaking
into the arm of her jacket, the possible damage to
her skull, and the apparently lethal threat she faced when
whoever those people were outside got inside. Every instinct he
had told him to help her, to treat her wounds
as best he could, and see that she was safe.
Every instinct but one, of course, the one that told
him to run for his life. No, we can't leave
her ear. We should bring her with us. He reached
one arm around Claire's shoulders, the other under her knees.
What what on earth for? David lifted Claire up into
his arms. She gave her low groan, as if she
were dreaming. She's useful, isn't she. She's with the Malleus.
If nothing else, she can tell us what the fuck's
going on. Once we're downstairs, we can bring around and
you can fascinate her, and while you're doing that, I
can patch her up after that. Yeah, sure, we can
leave her flinch. We know what's going on. Men with
guns are going to come charging in here any minute
and start shooting at us. Leave her, that's an order.
David carried Claire into the lift respectfully. My lord, No,
we're partners now, remember trust me on this. If we
know what she knows, it'll give us an advantage. Underwood
rolled his eyes and drew the scissor gate closed. Yes, well,
I have to say I'm starting to wonder about this
partnership arrangement of ours. Don't worry, my lord, I got this.
Underwood sniffed with contempt. He was about to childe David
for his transparently bothersome humanity when his nostrils flared at
the heady smell of Redman's bleeding wound. He looked at her,
and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Very well, I'm sure I'll be able to get something
useful out of her. He selected the floor of the pantry,
and the lift began to descend and so Claire Redmond
descends into a den of vampires. But is that the
greater parel or is it that which gathers outside Coleridge
and the forces of Heinrich Volkmann, the master vampire. We'll
find out soon, my friends. In the penultimate episode of
Underwood and Flinch season six, the music you're listening to
is by Kevin McLeod. For more information, visit incomptech dot com.
So there we are, ladies and gentlemen. That was season six,
episode twelve, and I hope you enjoyed it. So then,
what is the news, Mike, you cry, How is the
new TV project coming along? Well, I've just finished the third,
possibly the fourth, I'm not sure, draft of something called
the series Guide. As you pay recall, I at first
thought I had to write something called a series Bible,
which is a really big, fifty to one hundred pages
type document. But the producer said it didn't have to
be that big, more of a series guide. So I
asked chat GPT about it, you know, as you do,
and it told me how it thought a series guide
should be written, the layout and you know what have you.
So armed with that, I set about creating one which
I wasn't looking forward to I have to admit I
like making stories up, not reducing them down to bullet
points and what have you. But there you are. You know,
that's the way of the game. So this is how
chat GBT defines. The series guide or pitch bible, a lean,
punchy document five to fifteen pages focusing on telling the
concept quickly, created before or alongside the pilot scripts, which
as you know I've done, and includes the series premise,
the core characters, tone and themes, and the potential season
arc or sample episodes, including and I'm adding this to
this you know how the series may progress into series two,
three and beyond. It's designed for executives who don't want
to weigh through a huge document. So let's take a
look at those things. Then. First of all, you wouldn't
believe how hard it was for me to write a
series premise sometimes called a log line based on the
Underwood Flinch novel. It's the whole season boiled down into
one or two sentences, preferably one, you know, I mean,
it's called log line singular. Anyway, I struggled for ages
with the thing, like, you know, what are the core conflicts?
Of the story. Emphasis here on core because there's more
than one or two conflicts in the story, isn't there?
And then when I find them, how do I sum
them up? And how do I make them flow together
in just two maximum compelling sentences that work as a
short paragraph. Now, I'm sure you want to know what
I settled on, so I will share this with you,
But the rest of the document has to be secret
for the time being. So I went with this. David
Flinch is forced to resurrect the three hundred year old
vampire his family has served for generations. Now he must
keep the monster fed without letting him kill, while his
ruthless sister schemes to claim the vampire's power for herself. Now,
if you don't like it, don't tell me, because I
really don't need any doubts at this stage. But that
is it, you know, at least for the moment. I
think actually reading through it, I might change it again.
But anyway, Yeah, something actually that chat GPT doesn't mention
in that description is a thing called the the why
now bit, in which you have to pitch the idea
of why your story is relevant now in the current
TV marketplace. And no because it's bloody good. That's why
doesn't quite cut the mustard. I found it really difficult.
You know, you've got to, oh, you've got to kind
of push it, You've got to sort of sell it. Why. Now, well,
this show really you know, I don't know why, you know,
because it is really good. That's that's my answer. But anyway,
then you have to go on to the core characters,
not all of them, just the core ones. So I
went with David Underwood, Lydia, Keith, Michelle, and Surga. Now
I know that's quite a lot, probably, but in their way,
they're all core. So I went with them a paragraph
or two for each character, including biographical stuff, their motivations
and conflicts and character arcs, you know, where their stories begin,
their middles, and how they end. Then we get to
the tone and the themes a bit, the sort of
style of the show. I talked about the Spanish rural settings,
contrasting with the traditional Gothic supernatural elements, a family drama,
a sort of dark comedy thing with horror. Of course,
you know, it's a thriller. You know, it's complicated, isn't it.
I also talked about comparable television series and movies that
people who like that might like this. And then after
that came the season arc, which meant figuring out how
the first novel would down into ten one hour episodes
of a TV series. I had to troll through the
text of the whole novel, trying to pull the key
conflicts and events out of each chapter. What was important,
what could be cut, what could be told differently, you know,
in a visual manner, which in the book required a
lot of texts, and so on. Again. Yeah, I bowled
it down to just a sort of an overview to
give the reader a sense of the series arc, what happens,
why and when and tricky as it is, though I
did have, I suppose a bit of an advantage in
a lot of ways, because I do have that novel.
You know, I'm adapting my own novel. The story's already written,
and I know exactly what happens and what matters, including
importantly when it comes to what affects later seasons. You know,
that's the benefit of hindsight. Of course, when I wrote
the first book, I had no idea what was going
to happen in later seasons. I think that's the position
that a lot of writers when they're pitching shows are
in But anyway, you know that's not the case with me.
I know exactly what happens in season two, season three,
four or five, and so on, right up to the
end of the saga. So yeah, any executive who reads
it will know how the whole thing plays out, including
the ending. Good God, perhaps I shouldn't have done that
more editing, I suppose, But anyway, thankfully I didn't have
to go into too much detail, just give a flavor
and prove that the show has legs, as they say.
And so anyway, when I got to the end of it,
I had, as you can probably imagine, a very big document.
I was definitely in series bible territory. And so I
began to whittle it down, to edit out as much
as could be edited out, and boil it down to
the minimum. And the end result was very lean, very lean. Indeed,
I thought I'd done a brilliant job. So I sent
it off to the producer and yeah, you can guess
what he said. It was too short, not enough detail.
It was my fault. I should have just stuck to
what he asked for in the first place. So I
went back and put back some of the stuff that
I'd taken out, but not all of it, of course,
because I didn't want to get it back to the
big size that it originally was. And then I ended
up with something which is about eleven pages long, and
it contained some pictures too, photographs that I took of
Olvera in Spain back when I lived there and I
first got the idea for Underwood and Flinch. Olvera is
the real lifetown in Cadiz upon which al Messina is based.
I've told you that in the past, but you know,
unless you were taking notes which you revised constantly, I
think it's fair to say you've almost certainly forgotten. So
there's there's a reminder for you. Olvera in Cadiz is
the is the model of Almasina. I lived there briefly,
nice place, a way to village, deep in the Andalusian countryside.
You see, I'm still talking in pitch writing mode. But yeah,
photographs from there, and a couple of AI generated images
of what the cast might look like. And yes, I
know AI imagery just looks like AI imagery, right, but
trust me, I wouldn't have used them if they didn't
look good. And they did look good. They convey a
very clear sense of what the characters look like in
my imagination, and the pictures gave the overall mood of
the show too, So I will share those with you
at a later day, but not now. And so that's it.
I sent the document off to the producer and we've
got a meeting tomorrow where he will give me his feedback.
I'm going to have to change things, of course I am,
but you know that's to be expected. The important thing
is that at the end of this both the pilot
script and the pitch guide are the best they can be.
And then once I've made those changes, which he had advisors,
I will go on to the next stage, or he will,
and that is shopping it around, finding actors, directors and
companies that might be interested. And then I guess the
actual pitching process begins, and I imagine that I will
be a part of that, since I am now the
writer and creator. If we sell it, and we will
sell it, we will once we sell it. When we
sell it, then I will have to get down to
the business of writing the first season scripts the next
nine episodes. Won't that be exciting? And nerve racking probably
caused me to take up heavy drinking, chain smoking, amphetamines
or at least lots of tea and biscuits, which is
more my speed. But whatever it takes, hey, whatever it
takes to get that thing done. And so yeah, that's it.
That's where the TV series project stands right now. Will
it happen? Yes, definitely, I know it will. You know
it will. We all know it will because I am
writing it and no one else will. Thank you to
the Sect Inspirational Choir there with the chorus of their
new single PM A positive mental attitude, isn't it. Yes,
of course, thank you for listening, my friends. I will
be back in your ears again next month with the
next episode of our thrilling story. And if you can't wait,
remember that you can go to Patreon and start listening
to the continuation of the story right now. There is
no need to wait till the start of next month
before signing up at Patreon. The day you sign up
is the day of the month that you will pay
going forward, so you will always get a full month
of listening. And it's still just a mere three dollars
a month or your local currency equivalent. No price hikes
for ten years at Patreon, I'm still offering Underwooden Flinch
for less than the price of a cup of coffee,
and so to continue the story at Patreon, you will
need to start at Underwooden Flinch Underground, episode fifty nine.
But from me for now here. In season six of
this lovely little podcast of ours, it's farewell until the
moon rises again over underwood and Flinch. Thank you for listening,
take care, see you next time.