Operation Sting (3 page)

“And Sirena?” asked Agent K.

“I think she’s rather a mother figure,” said Alfred. “She definitely keeps a watchful eye on the others.”

“I can’t wait to see these robots in action,” said Agent J.

“Impressive, aren’t they?” said Simon, like an excited kid.

“Speaking of action, let’s return to the matter in hand,” said Professor Miller. “I must make repairs to Sabre, and you, Simon, need to get Chopper’s data analysed. I’m worried that Queen Bee will have some battles to fight inside our own organization as well as out in the real world.”

“Relax, Prof,” said Simon. “We’re pioneers, we’re ahead of our time, I’m sure we’re here to stay.”

The Home Secretary leaned across her desk and glared directly at Queen Bee. “If this Whiplash weapon isn’t recovered within the next forty-eight hours, I’m closing the SWARM programme down. Is that clear? This Department of Microwave Whatever-it-is—”

“Micro-robotic Intelligence,” interjected Queen Bee.

“—will be closed down before it’s even got going. This meeting is over!”

CHAPTER THREE

At that same moment, the stolen metal case containing Whiplash was sitting on a battered-looking wooden table, located in a secret hideout. Standing around the table were fifteen men and women. Some were highly qualified scientists and the rest of the group were mercenaries, soldiers for hire, who wore khaki combat outfits and heavy boots.

The only light came from two bare electric bulbs, dangling on long wires. The large, dusty room was littered with packing crates and cardboard boxes.

“My heart’s racing,” murmured one of the scientists. “I’ve never got involved in anything like this before. I wasn’t sure they’d actually do it.”

“We’re all in this together now,” muttered another. “There’s no going back.”

“Aren’t we going to open it, then?” called one of the men in combat gear.

Another of the uniformed men stepped forward, pulling a screwdriver from his pocket. He was short and heavily built, with a green kepi cap pulled tightly over his dark, straggly hair. He picked up the case and turned it around a few times, examining it. Then, with a couple of sniffs, he poised the screwdriver at a point where the two halves of the case met. Gritting his yellowing teeth, he dug the screwdriver into the join and began to lever it sharply. He grunted with effort. The case buckled slightly, but didn’t break or open.

“Bullman!” cried a deep voice from behind him.

Everyone turned to see two figures enter the room. Bullman stopped what he was doing and stuck the screwdriver back into his pocket. His expression became sheepish. Nervously, he wiped the palms of his hands against his jacket.
All those gathered around the table fell silent.

The first of the two figures stepped forward, out of the darkness and into the pale glow of the hanging bulbs. His name was Williams, and his thick, pebble-like spectacles turned his eyes into dark, glittering globes. A thin smile split across his face.

The man he was with remained in the shadows. He was known to the group only as “the Insider”. All they knew was that he had some kind of connection to the creation of Whiplash and that their operation depended on him.

Williams walked slowly over to Bullman, his shoes tapping on the concrete floor. Bullman drew back a little as he approached. Finally, Williams came to a halt with his nose barely three centimetres from Bullman’s.

“Bullman,” said Williams softly, in his Cockney accent, “I’d like you to reassure me.”

Bullman blinked at him. “I d-don’t quite follow you, boss,” he stammered.

Williams’s smile broadened. “I’d like you to reassure me. Put my mind at ease.”

“W-what about, boss?”

“Couple of things,” said Williams quietly. “Item one: you weren’t really trying to break that case open with a screwdriver, were you? I mean, we’ve planned this robbery carefully, we’ve carried it out and now we’ve got the case, and inside it is an item worth millions and millions. You weren’t really having a go at it with a screwdriver, were you, Bullman? If you were, then I’d separate your legs from your body using an assortment of garden tools. But you weren’t, were you?”

“N-n-no, boss!” gabbled Bullman. “N-no way, boss, I w-was joking, boss, just mucking about.”

Williams didn’t move a muscle. His smile remained creepily wide and his voice remained calm. “That is good news, Bullman. I’m reassured on that point, thank you very much indeed. Now, item two: as I understand it, during the robbery, one of your boys fell over. Or fainted. Or something. Had to be carried back into the car. Could have ruined the whole thing. Reassure me that this was all down to the guy with the case being armed with a weapon. Reassure me that it’s not a case of one of my squad being a wimp.”

“I-i-it was Fraser!” cried Bullman, pointing to
another of the men dressed in combat gear. “Not me!”

Williams slowly turned his attention to the other man. Fraser suddenly felt an icy sensation run down his spine. No way was he going to admit that he thought he’d been stung by an insect!

“I was hit, Mr Williams!” cried Fraser. “Something hit me. Really hard. That guy must have stunned me with a Taser!”

“Did he?” said Williams softly. “Aw, that’s all right, then.” He paused for a moment, then suddenly clapped his hands together and let out a long, braying laugh. The tension in the room was broken. Everyone laughed and realized they’d barely taken a breath in the last couple of minutes.

“Come on, ladies and gentlemen,” cried Williams, “we’ve got some celebrating to do!”

He picked up the metal case with one hand, and extended the other towards the mysterious man who was still lurking in the shadows. The Insider stepped forward and placed a small plastic card in Williams’s outstretched hand.

Williams placed the card close to the handle
of the case. The card transmitted a code, and the case bleeped. It clicked and opened.

With great care, Williams lifted the lid of the case and removed Whiplash from where it rested in a smooth pad of protective plastic. Slightly smaller than a mobile phone, it was a plain brushed metal box with a set of connecting ports at one end and some words stamped in small black letters along the side.

“Here it is,” declared Williams, “the key to our future. This little box. We carry around a lot of little boxes, don’t we? We talk to each other with them, we store our music on them, we watch telly on them. But this one is very different. This one is unlike any other on this precious planet of ours. Who would ever have thought that something this small could contain such power? And it’s a power we now possess.”

A murmured ripple of agreement went through the people standing around the table. In the pale light from the overhead bulbs, what could be seen
of their faces showed a mixture of anticipation, apprehension and pride.

Williams continued. “In the crates and boxes stored in this room is all the equipment we’ve been quietly piecing together for many months. Today, our plans are complete. We have everything we need to put Operation New Age into effect!”

Everyone cheered.

Williams held Whiplash high above his head. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he grinned, “we can begin!”

Queen Bee and her boss, the head of the UK’s Secret Intelligence Agency, were arriving back at SWARM headquarters. They looked like business executives returning to their office, as they approached the bustle and noise of Trafalgar Square. None of the hundreds of people they passed had the slightest clue to their true identities, or to the dangerous problem they had to solve.

In the centre of Trafalgar Square stood Nelson’s Column, rising high above the crowds and the
traffic, as it had for over one hundred and eighty years. Briskly, they walked across to the fourth of the huge stone plinths that bordered the square. They stood at the sheltered lower corner of the plinth, beside a walled topped with a balustrade high above. Tucked away behind some benches was a spot few passers-by ever noticed.

They stood, as if quietly minding their own business, with their backs to the immense bulk of the plinth. Queen Bee glanced around, then touched her hand to the flat, cold stone. Palm-print recognition systems built into the stone verified who she was. In the blink of an eye, a holographic projector created a solid-looking image of the corner in front of them, masking them from view and giving the appearance of an empty corner.

Safely hidden from view, a narrow section of the plinth slid aside and they stepped inside. The slab settled back into place behind them, the projector switched off, and everything was back to normal.

Inside the plinth, Queen Bee and her boss had entered an elegantly designed lift. Queen Bee
lifted her head slightly and spoke clearly. “This is Queen Bee, access T-alpha-324, confirm.”

“Confirmed,” said an electronic voice. The lift began to descend.

The head of the SIA’s voice sounded muffled in the confines of the elevator. “You don’t need me to tell you how serious the situation is.”

“No, sir,” said Queen Bee.

“I can’t protect you, Beatrice. They’ll shut you down unless those robots of yours succeed.”

“Believe me, sir, I’m extremely angry, and extremely worried.”

The head of the SIA shot a glance at her, his eyebrows raised. She seemed so calm.

The lift glided to a halt, and while the SIA chief headed deeper into the depths of the secret base, Queen Bee walked past the sliding doors marked “SWARM – Department Of Micro-robotic Intelligence” and headed for her office.

Once she was behind her desk, her calm mask dropped for a moment. She sat with her head in her hands, trying to clear her mind and think logically. At last she sat upright, pulled the hem of her jacket straight and tapped at the
touchscreen in front of her. The face of Agent J, one of SWARM’s new human agents, appeared on the screen.

“Online, Ms Maynard,” said Agent J.

“Gather all SWARM staff for a briefing. We need results right now. And you, Agent J, I want you to go to Techna-Stik. They developed Whiplash, so they might have an angle on how to track it down that we don’t know about. Sirena and Morph will accompany you.”

“I’m live, Ms Maynard,” said Agent J.

“We haven’t a moment to lose.” She tapped and the screen went blank.

“Any moment now, boss,” said Bullman.

Williams nodded and waved him away. Bullman marched back across to where Fraser was working on Whiplash. The weapon was connected to a desktop computer and surrounded by a tangle of wires. The other members of the gang were busy unpacking equipment from crates and boxes.

Williams and the Insider were sitting on a
tatty leather sofa placed to one side of the hideout’s large, dimly lit main room. The gang kept busy, respectfully leaving Williams alone unless summoned, and turning a blind eye to the Insider’s presence, as instructed.

The Insider leaned over to Williams and whispered, “I should get back to Techna-Stik. They’ll wonder where I am.”

“Any problems there?” whispered Williams.

“I’m expecting a few secret service types to start snooping around soon, but there’s nothing for them to find. There’s nothing there to link me to … what did you call it, Operation New Age?”

Williams cracked his lizard-like smile. His eyes shone behind his thick spectacles. “Good name, don’t you think? Makes this bunch of idiots think they’re doing something noble.”

“All I’m concerned about is making sure everything goes to plan,” whispered the Insider. “I’ve got the bank hassling me for money.”

“You deal with your side of things, I’ll deal with mine.”

“None of these people suspect the truth?”

Williams scanned the room and smiled to
himself. “No. Deluded halfwits. By the time the police turn up, we’ll have got what we want and be well away.”

“Aren’t you worried about them seeking revenge?”

“From prison?” grinned Williams. “When they’ve no idea who you are, and they still think I’m a Londoner called Williams? Leave it out.”

The Insider chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. “I really must go. Are you sure Fraser there can break into Whiplash’s code? It’s highly advanced stuff. Don’t forget, I know all about the Whiplash project, but I can’t bypass its security protocols. You need a technical genius.”