Target Silverclaw

SPECIALISTS IN NANOTECHNOLOGY AMD BIOMIMICRY

HEAD OF DEPARTMENT

HUMAN OPERATIVES

CHAPTER 1

The large grandfather clock chimed eleven. Although it was late in the evening, the fifth-floor hallway of the UK’s Ministry of Defence building was brightly lit.

The chimes were all that could be heard in the hallway. A thick carpet allowed a tall figure, carrying a large suitcase, to move without a sound. The figure’s smart polished shoes moved past the clock, walking slowly towards a closed door a little further along the corridor.

Behind that door was an expensively furnished office. Sir Godfrey Kite, Secretary of
State for Defence, sat at a wide desk, checking through some official papers. Open in front of him was a bright red despatch box, one of the official cases used by British ministers to carry documents. The only light in the room was the white glow from a reading lamp, shining on the desk’s surface. Beyond this pool of light, the office was dark and shadowy.

Sir Godfrey was a short, middle-aged man with grey hair and a square jaw. He wore a pair of half-moon spectacles perched on his nose. He sat back, stretched and yawned, then glanced at his chunky wristwatch.

“Is that really the time?” he muttered quietly to himself. He’d been concentrating so hard on his work, he hadn’t even noticed the chiming of the grandfather clock.

He placed his spectacles on the desk and rubbed his eyes. He checked through some of the papers in front of him and dropped them back into his despatch box. He’d deal with them in the morning, he decided. He was too tired to give them proper attention now.

He paused. He thought he’d heard… What
was that? It sounded like someone had brushed against the outside of his door.

He sat still and silent for a moment, then called out, “Is that you, Havelock? I thought everyone had gone home hours ago!”

Silence.

After a few seconds, Sir Godfrey shook his head and smiled to himself. “I need a good night’s sleep, that’s all,” he mumbled.

There it was again! A rustling sound, as if someone was listening at his door. There was no mistaking it this time.

“Who’s there?” barked Sir Godfrey. He flushed with anger. “I’m in no mood for pranks, I warn you! Havelock, if you think this is—”

He stopped mid-sentence. He shielded the light from the lamp with a hand and peered into the gloom.

The handle of the door was turning, very slowly.

For a moment, Sir Godfrey felt a flash of fear. Then his anger returned. “Right! That’s quite enough of this!”

He jumped to his feet, marched to the door and flung it wide open. The figure carrying the
large suitcase stood absolutely still in the doorway.

Sir Godfrey took a step back, and then another. His eyes widened. His mind struggled to make sense of what he was seeing.

“W-what’s going on?” he cried in a trembling voice. “If this is a joke, it’s in very poor taste!”

The figure remained still and silent.

Sir Godfrey backed away, his eyes fixed on the stranger, and collided with his desk. The desk lamp shuddered momentarily, then toppled over. A bright glare now shone directly at the mysterious figure.

“O-oh my…” stammered Sir Godfrey. “W-who are you?”

The figure took a step forward. He had the face of Sir Godfrey Kite, Secretary of State for Defence.

“Who are you?” demanded the real Sir Godfrey loudly.

“Surely you know your own reflection?” said the stranger. He had Sir Godfrey’s voice, too. He was even wearing an identical suit.

“I’m going mad!” cried Sir Godfrey. His eyes bulged and sweat broke out on his forehead. “I’m going completely mad!”

“No,” smiled the stranger. “You’re going to sleep.”

He raised his hand and fired a tiny dart from a small device. It hit Sir Godfrey in the neck and the politician slowly crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

The fake Sir Godfrey went to work. He didn’t bother shutting the office door, because he knew for certain that there was nobody else in the building except the two security guards at the main entrance. He sat at the desk, picked up the lamp and set it back in its place, then sorted through the papers in the despatch box, locating the one he’d come for. It was marked “Top Secret”.

He picked up the landline phone and tapped in a number from the secret document. The call was answered almost immediately.

“Call location confirmed,” said the government officer at the other end. “Ministry of Defence, London. Please establish ID.”

“This is Sir Godfrey Kite,” said the imposter.

There was a short pause. “Voice-print ID confirmed,” said the officer.

The imposter read a code number from the secret document. “Shipment AE-X-4567-beta is to be re-routed. It will now be picked up by aircraft at Location 11-88 on the north-west coast.”

“Are you sure, sir?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

“Sorry, sir, but my records show that shipment is a consignment of weaponry. It’s not usual for—”

“This is a security measure,” interrupted the imposter. “A last-minute, unannounced change to fool the terrorists!”

“Of course, sir,” spluttered the officer.

“See to it,” said the imposter. Without waiting for a reply, he put down the phone.

He slipped a smartphone from his jacket pocket and sent a text:

The imposter stood up and opened the large suitcase he’d brought with him. He placed the unconscious Sir Godfrey into it, in a curled-up position, and locked it. He glanced around the office to check that everything looked normal, then picked up the case and walked away down the hall. He carried the suitcase as if it was no heavier than when it had been empty.

Downstairs at the main entrance, one of the guards came out of the small security station to meet him.

“Did you get what you needed, sir?” said the guard.

The imposter tapped the suitcase. “I did indeed, thank you. So many papers! I know I ought to use the despatch boxes, but one big case is so much easier to manage.”

“I quite understand, sir,” smiled the guard. “Oh, by the way…”

“Yes?”

“When you came in, sir, half an hour ago. When I said I thought you were still up in your office, sir…”

“Yes?”

“The thing is, sir, we hadn’t checked you out of the building. According to the log, you hadn’t left, but now we’ve logged you as coming in and going again, when we didn’t know you’d gone in the first place, if you see what I mean?”

The imposter shrugged. “Well, as you can see, I must have left earlier, or I couldn’t have returned now, could I?” He laughed, and the guard chuckled along with him.

“It’s just that we have to stick to the rules, sir,” said the guard, squirming slightly, “and these days one tiny security slip up can get people like me into a whole world of trouble, sir.”

The imposter leaned closer to the guard and spoke in a whisper. “Mistakes happen, old chap. I tell you what, you say nothing about me not using the proper despatch boxes, and I won’t say anything about the log slip up, how’s that? If anyone gives you any trouble, send them to me. I’ll back you up.”

The guard gave him a wobbly grin. “That’s very good of you, sir, really.”

“No problem. Now, could you call my car round? I’ll go straight to my flat.”

“Right away!” smiled the guard.

A few moments later, a sleek black ministerial car glided to a halt outside the gate. The imposter got into the back, pulling the suitcase in beside him.

The car sped away into the night.