Nano (29 page)

100

Oceanview Castle, Big Sur, California

The three Horsemen – Death, Pestilence and Conquest – had accepted a personal invitation to stay over at the castle from the owner and the man who had hosted the Brotherhood meeting, the billionaire industrialist Chaz Feltenberger III. They had all agreed to meet for breakfast in the grand dining hall and to meet Mrs Feltenberger, who was returning from LA with their twin daughters, Goldilocks and Precious.

Death and Pestilence stood at the bottom of the grand staircase.

‘So it is done?' Death said.

‘Light Touch wouldn't return my calls, the arrogant shit. But one of my people is almost as good a hacker. I gave him the job.'

‘And they managed to transfer all of War's assets to us, split equally, three ways?'

‘As agreed.'

‘And it is absolutely, completely untraceable?'

Pestilence gave his colleague a withering look.

Death looked right through him. ‘How much . . .?'

They were interrupted by the sound of Conquest sashaying down the steps behind them. They turned in unison to see the man had a big grin on his face.

‘You look puke-makingly happy,' Pestilence said, his face devoid of expression.

‘I am,' the suave English aristo oozed. ‘As should you be. Apart from the fact that the three of us have become billions richer overnight, there's this.' He reached the last step and handed his mobile phone to his colleague. ‘Push the green button.'

Death leaned in and Pestilence depressed the rubberised pad on the top of the phone. An image appeared on the tiny screen. ‘I had a camera set up there a few weeks ago,' Conquest said quietly. ‘Our friend never spotted it.'

The video clip began to play. It showed War seated in a metal chair. He was bound and gagged. He looked terrified, perspiring like a very hot pig, a puddle of urine visible under his huge backside. A narrow beam of red light could just be made out, stretching across the video image at the bottom of the screen.

Then a man appeared. He was wearing the light brown uniform of the Sri Lankan Police Force. He stared at War, then stepped forwards. Another man appeared just in shot to the side of the screen. Then the picture seemed to erupt. For a second, it was almost impossible to understand what had happened.

The film played on: 2 seconds, 3 seconds . . . The lens of the camera was smeared with something. It had a reddish hue. Then the image started to clear so that Death and Pestilence could see the chair again. It had fallen over, a tangled mess. The stumps of War's legs stood either side of the twisted metal framework, the marble floor around the pool covered with small pieces of flesh like a rash.

‘That Turkish Delight obviously had one helluva kick,' Pestilence said and lifted his head to see Conquest smiling like a Cheshire cat.

The Horsemen turned at a sound from the far end of the wide hall. A man was shouting something. ‘You can't just barge –' They saw the Feltenberger's English ‘butler', Humphrey, confronting three men in suits. The men had Feds written all over them.

Death turned to see his PA along the hall. Beside him stood the Horsemen's three bodyguards.

‘The chopper is fired up and ready to go, sir,' the PA announced and indicated the back entrance.

Through an expanse of glass, Death could see his private helicopter on the rear lawn. All three Horsemen span in unison and began to follow Death's PA, the bodyguards falling in behind them.

‘Stop right there, please, sirs,' a voice called out.

They kept walking.

‘I'm an FBI agent. Stop or I'm authorised to shoot.'

The seven men stopped. Death let out a sigh, the other two Horsemen started to walk towards the agent who was holding up his ID in his left hand, a Glock 23 in his right. The other two FBI agents came up behind their leader. Humphrey, still complaining, retreated a few paces to the front door.

One of the bodyguards started to draw a gun.

‘Don't,' snapped the FBI agent.

Pestilence and Conquest froze as four heavily armed SWAT officers dressed in black with balaclavas and body armour ran in through the front door, their 9-millimetre Heckler and Koch MP5 submachine guns raised, fingers poised on the triggers.

101

Cloud Tower, Dubai

Steph had no time to even feel shocked as she saw Moham- med die.

She pulled herself up and dashed over to Jessica and Charlotte. They were standing a metre onto the platform, ashen faced, paralysed with terror. She got between them, grabbed an arm each and rushed them forwards. She could see the chopper had moved west a few metres in the hope a new path across the platform would be safer. She could see Saeed had reached the passenger section and was being hauled aboard by the RAF men.

Another boom came from the Tower. The platform swayed violently. Steph saw the Silverback pull away with the stretcher still dangling beneath it. Chloe was strapped in and Gina stood clasping the cable for dear life. Steph turned and saw the top of the Tower begin to crumble. Two storeys above her head, a column collapsed and the side of the roof level began to slide away into the air, disintegrating as it fell.

Yelling pointlessly, she yanked at Charlotte and Jessica and propelled them forwards as hard as she could. They flew across the 2 metres of nanonet and tumbled into the arms of the men on the Chinook.

‘Come on!' one of the RAF officers bellowed, his voice barely audible.

Steph took a step forwards, heard a thunderous crash from behind her and whirled around. Spinning back towards the chopper, she saw a massive crack a metre wide appear in the nanonet. She would never make it across the platform now, not in time anyway. If the chopper stayed a moment longer, those aboard would be in mortal danger.

‘Go!' Steph screamed.

The men on the Chinook looked stunned. They knew the danger but still they hesitated.

‘GO!'

Steph saw one of the men turn towards the cockpit and point upwards. The chopper slid backwards and up, its rotors scything the air.

Steph felt sick and almost lost her footing. The air seemed to be overflowing with noise. Great clouds of dust and concrete particles billowed around her. A lump of masonry as big as a filing cabinet plummeted down through the air half a metre to her left. It shattered into dozens of pieces as it landed on the nanonet. She felt her legs give way from under her and started to fall backwards.

The wall behind her groaned and she saw the fissure in the side of the tower widen like the jaws of a vast marine animal. She turned to her left and saw that Dimitri had pulled the Silverback away from danger and was now heading west. Far off, she could just make out the bulbous shape of the Big Mac hovering 100 metres away from the Tower.

That's when the full horror hit her. It reared up in her guts. She ducked and span around, rushing for the crumbling store, no logical thoughts in her head, no plans, no ration- ality, her training stripped away. She was just a wounded animal acting instinctively.

She took two steps and felt herself start to fall. A lump of concrete slammed into her back, sending a spasm of pain down her spine. She felt herself lifting off the platform. Crazy thoughts ricocheted around inside her head. ‘So this is it', a voice said. The air was rushing past her, taking her breath away. ‘These are the final moments between life and death.'

Her senses were becoming confused. She could smell the familiar odour of her husband, Ted. But Ted was dead, she knew that. She gasped as she felt something wrap itself around her upper arm. She made to look but couldn't move her head. A weight pressed against her and again she dreamed it was Ted.

Colours flashed past, the tower tumbling down, crashing all around her. The silver fabric of the nanonet swirled into the air as it snapped and split; the distant orange sand and the blue, blue sky, the sun ablaze, a bright white light sucking her in.

102

Folkestone, England, the next day

The E-Force chopper had just touched down on the helipad 100 metres from the main building of the quarantine centre. Its rotors were still spinning, rain danced on its fuselage and on the concrete around it.

Pete, Mai and Josh were standing close to the exit of the building and had been left alone by the authorities so they could say goodbye in private. The two E-Force rescuers had agreed to spend 24 hours undergoing a battery of tests and checks, and then agreed to debrief a group of senior British and French military men, police and government officials. The tunnel, they learned, would be out of action for many months, perhaps years.

The media had been kept away but all the survivors except for Louis had given video-link interviews. The Frenchman had suffered serious bruising to the brain and was in an induced coma. He was expected to make a full recovery.

Ever since the story broke, news services around the planet had covered almost nothing else but the disaster in Dubai, the Chunnel attack and the cyberassault on ITAM, all three now known to be linked to a terrorist group calling themselves the Four Horsemen.

Photographs of the collapsing Cloud Tower filled every front page and seemed to be on auto-repeat on TV stations everywhere. The death toll had stunned everyone. Fewer than 1000 had perished. A number that, the journalists and politicians never stopped reminding everyone, was 1000 too many. But given the circumstances and the fact that there were over 30,000 people in the tower at the time of the missile strike, the rescue was seen as something of a miracle. This had been partly due to the fact that the Tower had collapsed in on itself, and because the local rescuers had successfully evacuated so many people.

The Dubai Disaster, as it was quickly dubbed, shared headlines and top-of-the-news status with the terrorist strike on the Chunnel. Ironically, because of the nature of the latter attack, almost as many died in the tunnel as perished in the Cloud Tower. There had been 917 passengers on the train – just six survivors emerged.

The story of the cyberattack on ITAM had plenty of glamour but no real human interest. At least not anything quotable by journalists already covering two of the biggest peacetime man-made disasters since 9/11. But it had enormous repercussions for the world's financial institutions. The world's stock markets shuddered, billions were lost and gained within hours and, combined with the aftershocks of the GFC still rippling through the money-sphere, thousands lost their jobs and the governments of two small European nations were brought down.

Josh, dressed in jeans and a sweater that the crew at the quarantine station had managed to find in his size, was looking out towards the soaked chopper, watching the blades slow. Mai touched his elbow. He turned and smiled. Pete was standing less than a metre away. They were dressed in their cybersuits.

‘It was good seeing you again, Josh,' Mai said softly.

‘And you too,' he replied. ‘Both of you. Please say “Hi” to the others, won't you?'

‘Sure thing. So what are you going to do?'

‘Oh.' He looked away, out at the view through the rain-spattered window and then down at his feet. ‘I guess, for a start, I'll have to do a few interviews. Maybe I'll write a book about the rescue!' And he laughed awkwardly.

‘You sound, I dunno . . . wistful,' Mai said and looked around at Pete.

‘I'd say bloody miserable, mate.'

Josh grinned and shook his head. ‘Funny, isn't it? You can have
almost
everything but there's always something missing – that something you can't have.' He looked into Mai's eyes, then turned to slap Pete on the back. ‘I never thanked you two,' he added.

‘It hardly seems appropriate, Josh,' Pete replied. ‘You were as helpful to us as we were to you.'

‘Just like old times.'

There was an uncomfortable silence. They all watched as a man in E-Force uniform and flying helmet trudged towards them through the rain.

‘You could always give Mark a call,' Mai said and looked Josh directly in the face.

‘Oh, I don't have his number anymore,' he lied.

‘Then send him a postcard: Mark Harrison, E-Force, Tintara,' Pete quipped.

‘I might just do that,' Josh replied and walked with them to the door.

103

Base One, 14 December

Tom and Mark were on the balcony of Tom's quarters. The great vista of a spotless Pacific Ocean stretched out before them. Early morning sunlight played on the waves.

Mark had arrived a few minutes earlier, a folder under his arm. Tom had fixed them coffees and they drank in silence for a few minutes, just enjoying the view.

‘I've read your report, Tom.' Mark waved the folder in front of him. ‘You still can't find anything wrong with the nanonet system. Even though it almost fouled-up two missions.'

‘There's nothing wrong with it. In the first case, we pushed it beyond its limits. In Dubai, we went in before we had full integrity.'

‘So for an incident such as the Cloud Tower, we have to find a faster delivery method. Is that what you're saying?'

‘Exactly. Don't blame the bots. It's us not getting the nets deployed fast enough. Either that or expecting too much.'

‘Okay,' Mark said thoughtfully. ‘I'll make the creation of a faster delivery system a priority.' He changed topic. ‘So the Four Horsemen have finally gotten their just desserts. I assume it was you who tipped off the Feds?'

‘Didn't have to do much, Mark. The FBI have been itching to get that lot behind bars for a long time. All that pre- vented them was lack of political will within the previous administration. With Kyle Foreman in the White House, that's no longer a hurdle. Oh and naturally the Feds needed absolute, incontrovertible evidence.'

‘Which you of course supplied.'

‘Yes.'

‘And the Channel Tunnel attack? It was the two young terrorists?' Mark glanced at the file again.

‘Yes.'

‘And they had a double purpose for the attack. They were working for the Horsemen and their financial ambitions, but they were also trying to ensnare E-Force rescuers. They had the manifest for the train and they knew Josh Thompson would be on it. In fact, they'd been tracking his every move for days. If Josh had died in the attack, then they would have got rid of him. We would have gone in and they would have tried to kill whoever flew there.'

‘That's about it.'

Mark fell silent for a moment. ‘It's hard to imagine how the minds of the Four Horsemen worked.'

‘Money was their god.'

‘But they were also vengeful. They wanted to get us because we messed up their plans for Kyle Foreman and the CCC a year ago.'

‘Well, I guess vengefulness goes with the territory,' Tom remarked. ‘I think we can safely say they weren't very nice people.'

‘And three of them are still alive.'

‘Yes but I don't think they will ever see freedom again. It's pretty likely they had their colleague killed for some reason we may never get to the bottom of. If they left any evidence at all, the Feds will find it.'

‘I wouldn't be too sure about that, Tom,' Mark sighed. ‘Those guys have an uncanny way of breaking all the rules and getting away with it. They are usually extremely good at covering their tracks.'

The two men listened to the sound of exotic birds, the waves breaking on the shore and, far off, the hum of E-Force machinery.

‘There's one thing that still puzzles me,' Tom said and turned to Mark. ‘I don't understand why Azrael attacked Chloe in the Cage on the Cloud Tower roof. Surely he knew it was a futile gesture.'

‘Of course he knew she would be unharmed. It's clear he had plenty of intelligence about E-Force equipment. No doubt that was supplied by his employers. No, it was simply a delaying tactic. He must have known the SAS or some other paramilitary group would storm the building. Like the terrorists in the Channel Tunnel, he was being paid not only to hit the tower but to attack E-Force personnel. He was after Steph and Chloe. And he almost got them. He had planted an explosive device on Floor 202, causing the explosion that brought down the Cage and almost killed Chloe.' There was an edge of bitterness to Mark's voice.

‘I see. Pretty ironic – by the time of that blast, Azrael was already dead.'

‘He was, but he had wanted to keep prying eyes from discovering the bomb, so he did everything he could to provoke us, to slow us down.'

‘Makes sense, I guess.'

Mark gazed at the opened folder for a moment. Look- ing up, he said: ‘It was a pretty reckless thing you did back there . . .'

‘What do you mean?'

‘You did drain Light Touch's account, didn't you?' He looked at Tom seriously.

‘Yes, to make him angry, to make him believe it was the work of his employers, the Four Horsemen. I wanted to make him less keen to fight us. I had solid reasons.'

‘Okay, Tom,' Mark replied, his hands up. ‘I get it. It's just that, well, officially it was theft, wasn't it?'

Tom stared at the man for a moment, searching his face. ‘I prefer to think of it as “seizing assets”.'

‘But you don't have the authority to do that.'

‘No, I don't. So what do you want me to do now? Give it back?'

‘That won't be possible, will it, Tom?' Mark responded flatly.

The younger man's face was expressionless. ‘Meaning?'

‘Meaning that yesterday, by sheer coincidence, of course, the spinal injuries unit of the Johns Hopkins Medical Centre in Maryland received a seven-figure anonymous donation.'

Tom blanched. ‘How . . .?'

‘I have my sources,' Mark replied, his tough look relaxing finally.

‘Sybil!' Tom looked up unnecessarily and repeated the word, his voice filled with indignation. ‘You snitch, Sybil. How could you?'

There was no reply.

‘Don't you go all quiet on me, Sybil . . .'

Mark was grinning.

Tom looked at him, hurt. ‘I'll never trust her again,' he said.