Code Name Firestorm (7 page)

“And until the SWARM robots can give us a fix on him, he’s out there on the loose somewhere,” said Simon Turing. “I wonder what’s made him start up this whole Firestorm business? Do you think it’s something he’s been planning for a long time?”

“Probably not,” said Queen Bee. “Even people like Blackwater don’t suddenly turn into big-time criminals at the drop of a hat. My guess is that his contact inside MI5 provided him with a few ideas about how he could cause chaos and gave him enough money to get started, and he’s taken it from there.”

“Why on earth would someone inside MI5 be helping him?” said Simon.

“That’s something we still have to discover,” said Queen Bee. “Blackwater is angry with the world and resentful over everything that’s happened to him. The data he stole from MI6 will get him all the revenge he could desire.”

“It’s frightening,” said Alfred in a low voice. “One person’s tragedy could end up destroying us all.”

“The international situation is getting worse by the hour,” said Queen Bee. “Until the data is recovered, governments worldwide are ready to take drastic action to protect whatever secrets and secret agents might be at risk.”

“And meanwhile, the public are wondering who or what Firestorm is, and demanding answers they can’t be given,” said Simon.

“I think we can now be pretty sure what those messages Blackwater left mean,” said Queen Bee. “His motives and intentions are clear. His ‘Firestorm’ is nothing less than World War III.”

“Is that you, Henry?”

“Yes, Auntie Madge,” called Blackwater irritably. Under his breath he added, “Who else would it be, you twit!”

The front door of Auntie Madge’s house was old, worn and grubby, with paint peeling at its corners. The rest of the house looked much the same. Blackwater, carrying his holdall, bumped the door shut and shuffled through the hall and into the kitchen.

“I’m putting the tea on in a minute,” called Auntie Madge from the living room.

“OK,” called Blackwater.

“It’s sausage and mash.”

“OK.”

He went out into the back garden. Tufts of weeds grew out of the cracks in the paving slabs. A saggy washing line had a selection of shirts and underpants pegged on it.

A large garage stood at the end of the yard, facing out onto a narrow alleyway that ran along the backs of the houses. Blackwater placed his
hand onto a palm-print reader hidden inside an old wooden box fixed to the rear wall of the garage. There was a clanking sound from inside, as bolts were automatically drawn. Beside the box, a heavily reinforced metal door slid back. Blackwater glanced around to check that nobody was watching him, then entered the garage.

The metal entrance slid shut behind him with a clang. He touched a sensor, and the interior of the garage lit up brightly. It looked like a home-made version of SWARM’s lab, packed with technology, screens and equipment.

He heaved his holdall up onto a table. He unzipped it and lifted out the speaker in which the SWARM robots were hiding. Then he rummaged in his pocket and switched off his signal jammer.

“Network back online,” said Chopper. “Sensors at maximum.”

“Our systems have returned to full function within this room,” said Nero, “but the garage itself must be shielded. We still can’t link to HQ.”

“Let’s take a detailed sensor sweep of this place,” said Chopper.

Blackwater snatched up a phone that was
connected to a PC by a thick cable. His face was awash with anger. He tapped out a number from memory.

“Who’s he calling?” said Morph.

“The line is hardwired to that handset,” said Nero. “Without a physical connection to it, we can’t tap it directly, so we can’t hear who he’s speaking to. However, I may be able to remotely break into Blackwater’s phone system. I can try to back-trace the call, by using a wireless probe on that PC and tapping the public exchange.”

“Proceed,” said Chopper.

“Logged,” said Nero. “It will take approximately 64.7 seconds.”

“C’mon, c’mon,” muttered Blackwater impatiently. His call was finally answered. For the moment, all that the robots could detect from the other end of the line was a faint echo of what Blackwater could hear through his phone.

“You’ve double-crossed me!” yelled Blackwater. “I’ve just had one of your lot turn up at the shop! … Yes, MI5! … Of course, I’m not kidding! … I don’t care whether you authorized anything or not, an agent from MI5 was standing
in my shop less than an hour ago… What? … No, I used my hypnotic control on him, it doesn’t allow subjects to lie!”

“Thirty-four seconds to an ID,” said Nero.

“Yes, of course I dealt with it! He’s gone away with his head full of rubbish,” continued Blackwater. “But it was an emergency measure! If your lot are already sniffing around the shop, then how long before— Oh! You think you’ve guessed where this person might have come from after all, do you? … What? … Top-secret section? Which top-secret section? … Oh, you don’t know what they’re called? Or the name of the woman who runs it? How convenient! In the meantime, I’m being tracked down by these people!”

“Nineteen seconds,” said Nero.

“That’s all very well for you to say! How do I know you’re not lying to me? How do I know you’re not setting me up? … Yes … Yes, I know you’ve given me equipment and information, but that proves nothing, does it? What? … You’ve got everything to lose too, if things go wrong?”

“Seven seconds,” said Nero.

“And that’s a good enough reason why I
should keep trusting you, is it? Huh? … Well, that all sounds a bit hollow from where I’m standing, doesn’t it?”

There was a click and a crackle on the robots’ communications network. Nero’s remote phone tap was online.

“Just calm down!” said the voice at the other end of Blackwater’s call. It sounded warped and echoing on the robots’ network, but already they were running a voice-print test. “I’m working on it, OK? I’ll get them off our back, don’t you worry.”

“You’d better!” said Blackwater. “And while you’re doing that, I’m bringing the timetable forward. Firestorm begins tonight!”

“No,” said the voice. “Stay calm, and stick to the plan. Where are you, at the garage?”

“I’m not revealing my location over the phone!”

“All right, all right, Mr Paranoid. Just do as I say, right? Stay put and do nothing until I tell you. Stick to what we’ve agreed.”

“Why should I?” cried Blackwater.

“Because if you don’t, all our plans will be wasted, that’s why. I’ll sort this, OK?”

A high-pitched, three-note tone sounded over
the robots’ network. “ID is confirmed,” said Nero.

“Call me back when you’ve got better news,” spat Blackwater. He stabbed angrily at the phone and the line went dead.

“Contact identified as MI5 agent Morris Drake,” said Nero. “He is the one working with Blackwater from inside the secret service!”

Queen Bee entered her office at SWARM HQ. Without bothering to sit down, she leaned across her desk and tapped at her screen.

“Sirena, report.”

In the SWARM lab, Sirena the butterfly was logged into the computer system. “No contact with the other micro-robots yet, Queen Bee,” she said. “I’ve been cross-referencing information downloaded from a number of databases. Since Blackwater’s shop is in central London, we can safely assume that his base of operations, or at least his current home, is within commuting distance.”

“Yes, that’s likely,” said Queen Bee.

“So, I’ve been working out where he went after he vanished from his last-known address. I’ve analyzed all records of housing across the entire city and checked those records against any possible link to Blackwater. Even if he used a fake ID, renting or buying a property would expose him to the risk of being tracked down. We know he’s extremely cautious and paranoid about that sort of thing. His most logical course of action would have been to conceal himself in the home of a friend or family member.”

“I can’t believe he’s got many friends,” said Queen Bee.

“I’ve traced none,” said Sirena. “But I have managed to track down an aunt of his, who lives in London. Her name is Margery Harris.”

“Good work,” said Queen Bee. “Get out there and check on this aunt, immediately. Given the speed at which Firestorm has acted so far, we haven’t a moment to lose. Also, I’m worried about Agent Drake. We know he wants to take control of this operation. It’s not like him to call me, as he did earlier, and then go silent. He’s plotting
something, I can feel it in my bones! Time could be running out for us, in more ways than one.”

“Logged, Queen Bee. I’m on my way.”

At MI5, Agent Drake was holding a video conference with the prime minister and the home secretary. Two large computer screens were positioned on his desk. Both the politicians looked nervous and angry.

“You’re certain about this, Drake?” said the home secretary.

“I am, ma’am,” said Drake. “While the secret SIA section that’s currently handling the Firestorm case has been… Well, we don’t know what they’ve doing, do we? While they’ve been busy, I’ve had my own staff making enquiries, and we’ve made a breakthrough. A suspect had been identified, and tracked to an address in London, owned by a relative of his. An aunt, I believe.”

“Where did this information come from?” said the prime minister.

Drake smiled to himself. “For the moment, sir, that must remain confidential. But the intel is good. I’d like permission to override … whatever this secret SIA section is called, and launch a full-scale raid on the address in question.”

The home secretary turned to the prime minister on the other screen. “It’s your call, Prime Minister.”

“Why haven’t the SIA come to us with this?” asked the prime minister. He turned to Drake. “More to the point, why didn’t you take this to the section heading up the investigation?”

“Forgive me, sir,” said Drake smoothly, “but officially I don’t even know they exist, do I? Time is a factor here. Far quicker to come directly to you than to waste hours arguing about who should do what and when. We have to act fast.”

The prime minister shifted nervously in his seat. “Yes, I see. You’re sure of your facts? This raid will end the Firestorm threat?”

“I am absolutely certain of it, sir,” smiled Drake.

“Very well,” said the prime minister, “this
Firestorm business is an emergency. The world is looking to us for results. We’ll sort out the protocols later. Get it done.”

“Yes, sir,” grinned Drake.

“Right, you have your orders, Mr Drake,” said the prime minister. “Carry them out.”

“Yes, sir.”