It wasn’t a grand room, not compared to the rest of Lockmead House, but it was a room that radiated power and purpose. Even if you hadn’t ever been in there before, it felt somehow different to the rest of the house. The office was on the top floor, at the front of Lockmead House, and you didn’t even get through the door without Knowles opening it for you. Knowles was a tall man in his fifties, wiry, with long limbs and short, curly blond hair. His thumb was also rather important, because without it, the door to the private office remained locked for anyone but Ravensbrook himself.
The room was rectangular, with a large, round window opposite the door and bookshelves all around the walls stretching from the floor right up to the ceiling. There was a large table at one end of the office, plus an old leather sofa and a long coffee table. At the other end was a wide window that overlooked the driveway; in front of the window sat an old wooden desk. Knowles liked to tell the story that the desk was made from pieces of wood taken from the last-ever wooden battleship built in England, HMS Victoria. Lord Ravensbrook was certainly rich enough to make it possible.
As Aurora sat in one of the small, antique chairs at the desk, she noticed the piles upon piles of paper and folders stacked on the desk and all over the floor at this end of the room. It wasn’t untidy but there were so many. How did someone operate every single day with so much to consider, so much to worry about? Aurora, which wasn’t her real name and never had been, was someone who liked order. She liked to focus on a task and wouldn’t stop until it was done to her satisfaction. Under normal circumstances, she wasn’t the kind of person who would ever be anxious about a meeting such as this, but since she had failed at the task she was responsible for, she was determined to make things right.
The woman Boyd had known as his aunt for the last ten years was not the same person who sat opposite Lord Ravensbrook’s incredibly luxurious, empty, leather captain’s desk chair. Aurora Boyd was a lie, a fabrication that had been created as a female influence in the life of a young boy who no longer had a mother. That whole plan had been woven together here, in this room by some of the people who sat in it now.
Aurora stood as the door opened and Lord Ravensbrook entered with Knowles whispering in his ear. Knowles closed the door once His Lordship’s two muscular Dobermann dogs had stalked through it. Named Hannibal and Khan, they were a fearsome-looking pair who responded to Ravensbrook’s every command. His Lordship sat and the dogs perched either side of him like statues.
Ravensbrook put a leather folder on the desk in the middle of the piles of paper, pulled away an elastic fastening and opened it before sitting in his chair. Now he was seated, everyone did the same. Ravensbrook raised a hand to his face and pushed his glasses up nearly to his forehead. He strummed his lips with his forefinger as he looked through the papers. It was two in the morning; everyone was tired, but no one would dare question the timing of the meeting; there was work to be done.
Ravensbrook looked to Aurora. ‘A scarecrow?’
‘Correct.’
Upon hearing her voice, Khan, the dog to the left of Ravensbrook, let out a rumbling snarl. For some reason, he had never liked Aurora and he always let her know it. His Lordship paused and looked back at the notes. He gently twisted and turned the gold signet ring on his little finger. ‘Interesting. He’s a resourceful boy.’
‘He is.’
The low hum of Khan’s growl grew louder. Next to Aurora, almost directly in front of Khan, was Antoli Bull, the stocky Russian who had rushed to break the news of Boyd’s escape to His Lordship. A nervous twitch made his leg bounce up and down every time he stole a glance at the hound. Khan bared his teeth.
‘Boyd’s temper is a problem for him, and it can cloud his judgment,’ Aurora continued, not even glancing at Khan.
‘But he is able to use his wits when he’s in a bit of a spot and the pressure is on?’ His Lordship asked.
‘No, it’s more than that,’ she said gravely. ‘He was in his element the other night; he relished the fight and he was completely relentless. If we let him fall into the wrong hands, Boyd could well develop into an unstoppable force that will derail everything we have worked for, and that’s a risk we cannot take.’
Ravensbrook looked back to Aurora. Where her short hair was once messy and dyed red, it was now bleached blond and slicked back close to her head. Her relaxed, colourful clothing that had done so much to define her in Boyd’s eyes was gone, consigned to the bin. She was now dressed in a pair of black leather trousers and a black leather motorcycle jacket; her huge frame looking strong and fearsome.
‘You will fix this, Hornet,’ Ravensbrook said, using her codename.
‘You doubt it?’ she replied, disappointed rather than angry.
But the slight change in her voice was enough for Khan to leap up from the floor and let out a bark. Although it was aimed squarely at Hornet, Bull instinctively grabbed the arms on his chair and straightened up in fear. Hornet turned her head to face the powerful, snarling beast, twisted her features and bared her teeth like a wild animal. She unleashed a low growl, her green eyes piercing into Khan’s own. She showed him that she wasn’t scared; in fact, she was just in the right kind of mood to take him on and had no doubt that she would win.
Seeing the demonic look in her eyes, Khan shrunk back down onto his belly and whimpered. He looked up at his master apologetically. Just as quickly as Hornet had snapped, she returned her focus to Lord Ravensbrook and her face settled back to normal. Bull snuck a sideways glance at her; maybe it wasn’t the dog he should be afraid of.
‘If I didn’t trust you, you wouldn’t be here,’ Ravensbrook responded.
‘I’m pleased to hear that,’ Hornet said. Her voice had reverted to its quiet, chilling tone. ‘And Caretaker?’ she asked.
‘No word.’
‘So, someone is putting all the pieces together,’ Knowles said.
‘So it would seem,’ Hornet agreed. ‘But who?’
‘The Gardener?’ Bull asked.
‘Harry? No.’ Hornet thought for a moment. ‘He certainly isn’t all he seems but he’s not the sharpest tool in the box, which means he’s probably MI5.’
Lord Ravensbrook closed the file and pulled his glasses back into place. ‘Well, never mind that for now, your focus is the boy. I’m going to ask Bull here to give you full access to the Greenhouse. With the skills we have in there and your expertise on the little bugger, I’m confident that, whoever is sniffing around our prize, we’ll get to him first.’ The Greenhouse was a building on the estate that housed Lord Ravensbrook’s cyber-espionage division; a team of experts who could trace anyone, anywhere.
His Lordship stood and walked to the door with Knowles and the two dogs on his heels. Bull raised his bulk from the chair and watched as Hornet stood up, the leather of her clothes creaking softly. He was supposed to be the muscle, the protector, but he doubted there was anything or anyone that Hornet would need protecting from.
Knowles opened the door, an invitation for them to leave. Hornet stood in front of Bull, with the ring on the middle finger of her right hand, the only fragment left of her former life as Aurora; except now she had turned it around the other way, so the sharp point of the ‘T’ faced towards the end of her finger like a spike.
‘I hate those dogs,’ Bull said with a dismissive sniff.
Hornet suddenly stepped in close to him. Even though she was a head taller than him, he could smell her musty breath. ‘You know the thing about dogs, Mr Bull?’
The Russian shook his fat head so his neck fat wobbled like jelly.
‘Canines didn’t evolve on their own; we changed them. We like to think they are man’s best friend until they bite, or they rip another living being into pieces, then we blame them for being unsophisticated. We are surprised to remember that they remain animals, still wild underneath. They are unpredictable and fighting to survive in a world they don’t control. Something you and I can sympathise with, can we not?’
Bull blinked quickly,
unsure of how to respond.
‘After you,’ she gestured to Bull, allowing him to leave first. He was a proud Russian who had fought in wars and killed men with his bare hands, but he gladly followed Hornet’s instruction. She left the room, eager to get started. Aurora was dead and gone, and it was time for Boyd to meet Hornet.
Rendezvous
‘“Waterloo Station, 8 am Monday morning.”’ Fitz read the message out loud. ‘“Come alone. Buy a pasty and a copy of Total Film. Put the pasty in the bin outside Costa Coffee, then take a seat and read the magazine.”’
Boyd and Fitz were sat at the desk in Fitz’s room, reading the reply from FrakeNews.
‘What am I getting into here?’ Boyd said, shaking his head. ‘This is crazy!’
‘I know! What kind of lunatic throws away an entire pasty?’
‘Not quite what I meant.’
‘Oh, you mean the cloak-and-dagger stuff? Yeah, well I get it. They need to be careful. They’re constantly uncovering government lies and exposing corruption in huge corporations. They have to watch their backs I guess.’
‘Yeah, I suppose so.’
‘So, you’re going alone then? I’ve got to paint the lounge tomorrow anyway.’ Fitz attempted a smile, but Boyd could see he was disappointed.
‘Priorities,’ Boyd joked.
‘Exactly!’ He had enjoyed helping Boyd and, if he was honest, he had enjoyed the other day at school right up until Boyd had been so dismissive of their friendship. He had a bit of a hollow feeling in his stomach that his friend would be leaving in the morning and carrying this adventure on without him.
‘You know, you’re a bit rubbish on your own, so if you need me for anything, just ask. Or hit me up on Pixie’s Messenger.’
Boyd laughed. ‘I will. You’re the first person I’d call. I mean it. Thanks for being a proper mate.’
‘Alright, chill out,’ Fitz mocked. ‘I think I preferred you when you were being a douchebag!’
Going it Alone
Boyd sat looking out of the train window. As they got closer to London, the gorgeous green hills of Bloomfield were steadily replaced by railway depots and office blocks. Fitz had woken him at 5:30, given him a breakfast of porridge and a mug of tea, and a handful of cash he had stashed in a shoe in his wardrobe. He had also given him an old iPhone 4 with a direct line to Fitz’s computer. It used a satellite to communicate directly with Fitz’s email, so Boyd could send texts or leave voicemails for him and it couldn’t be traced. Boyd didn’t really understand exactly how it worked but he thanked Fitz; he wasn’t keen on getting a new phone in case it could be used to track down his location.
Roger Tork’s morning routine meant he always got up just after six, so Boyd had snuck out of the house by then and walked to the station in the morning air. It was going to be a scorching-hot day, and the first Monday of half-term meant London would be busy, so Boyd was actually pretty happy to be heading into the big city early. Part of him was glad to be alone. He was at his most comfortable without anyone relying on him to say or do the right thing, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he had felt a rush of excitement working with Fitz again. It had made it all seem like a bit of fun, just a game. But the next step, he had to take alone. This was real, people were getting hurt – probably even his dad – and he had to find out why and who was behind it.
‘The next station is Waterloo,’ the public address system began to announce their arrival. ‘This train terminates here. Please remember to take your belongings with you when you depart from the train.’
Boyd saw the huge canopy over the platforms of Waterloo Station just before it swallowed the front carriages of his train as they slowed to a halt. People stood to gather their belongings and form queues by the doors while Boyd stayed in his seat and watched. Fitz had enjoyed pointing out that another clear advantage of having to leave so early was arriving at the meeting point ahead of schedule, allowing Boyd to scope it out, like Fitz had done in the Rec on Saturday. Boyd mentioned that this hadn’t really worked out that well for Fitz but he appreciated the advice. However, it did cross his mind that it would give him the chance to see if he was being followed, which was the main reason why he was delaying his departure from the train.
Finally, he stood and walked back to the very last carriage. It was a twelve-car train, which meant when he leant out, he wasn’t under the canopy, he was at the far end of the platform in the sun. Boyd covered his eyes and looked down towards the station but couldn’t see anyone out of place. At this hour of the morning, not many people were getting on this train to head out of the city, so there would be little cover for anyone who was waiting for him to appear. Maybe he was being paranoid but considering his Friday night had consisted of being hunted by a bunch of armed commandos on motorbikes, he decided that paranoia wasn’t the worst habit he could develop.
Boyd stepped out onto the platform, keeping his head straight but his eyes moving constantly, watching for anything out of place. The adrenaline was coursing through him and he was ready to run at any moment. He reached the gate at the end of the platform, took out his ticket and pulled his hood up over his head.
Ruthless & Skilled
Elliot Jagger was late. He parked his small electric car in the gardens of the Lockmead estate and quickly trotted towards a thick, wooden door in a high brick wall. Elliot was around 35 years old, extremely tall with large, broad shoulders. He never did any exercise; he found the idea of going to the gym absolutely revolting and was always flabbergasted when people were fascinated by his huge build. He didn’t see it as any kind of accomplishment; not when his brain was clearly the strongest and most impressive muscle he possessed. He was the smartest person he knew, the smartest person he had ever known, and he wasn’t expecting to meet anyone smarter than himself in the near future. That was something to brag about, and he never missed an opportunity to do so.
He was dressed in his usual tweed suit – an interesting choice on what was already becoming an uncomfortably hot day. He still lived with his mum, and she had used his car last night. He discovered this when he stepped out of the house and into the driveway this morning to find it completely empty.
‘Oh, sorry love,’ his mum has said without a shred of sincerity when he’d woken her up. ‘I think I left it in the car park at the bingo,’ she managed before she nodded back off to sleep.
So, Elliot had cycled to the bingo hall in town, locked his bike to a lamp post, folded himself into his little car and driven to work. His lateness meant that he was already flustered, but as he struggled with his briefcase, he lost his grip on his travel mug of homemade spiced ginger tea. A drop of the sacred liquid coughed out of the open lid and splashed down his shirt.
‘Perfect,’ Elliot muttered to himself. So, that was it then; today was ruined before it had even started. The universe clearly had it in for Elliot Jagger.
He swept a curly lock of loose blond hair from his eyes, gently placed the cup on the ground and pushed two fingers against the front of one of the dusty, red bricks next to the wooden door. The surface of the brick pinged outwards before sliding to the left. Behind the front of the fake brick was a keypad. Elliot put in his own personal, five-digit code and opened the creaking wooden door. He picked up his tea and headed towards the Greenhouse. It was a mammoth glass structure the size of a football pitch, with whitewashed side windows and a transparent curved roof that displayed the leaves of the various plants and trees within. A high brick wall surrounded the Greenhouse on all sides and Elliot had come through the only entrance. It didn’t take a brain the size of Elliot Jagger’s to work out that Lord Ravensbrook didn’t use the Greenhouse merely to grow his prize tomatoes.
Elliot hurried to a glass door at the south end of the building and walked straight in. He entered a small, airless room that looked much like the little greenhouse at his grandad’s allotment. To his right was a line of muddy boots and a row of coat hooks, all taken up by rain macs and wax jackets. On his left, leaning up against t
he white glass wall was a collection of garden tools; the different-sized spades and forks were surrounded by discarded gardening gloves and spray bottles of weed killer.
Opposite the entrance was another door, this one frosted white, just like the glass all around him. Elliot raised his right hand and pressed it against the glass just above the handle. What looked like a regular pane of glass turned black, and a red outline dotted around Elliot’s hand. After a three-second wait, the red outline turned green and the glass returned to its original frosted white before the door’s lock gave way with an audible click. Elliot himself had designed and overseen the creation of the security for all His Lordship’s most private rooms and offices, and he knew that even MI5 had nothing as good as this. He pulled the door open and entered.
The Greenhouse was where some of the best hackers in the world worked together to ensure His Lordship’s more secretive business interests ran smoothly. Well, to be honest, Elliot considered himself one of the very best hackers and counter-intelligence operatives in the world, but the rest of the team were nowhere near his level. Who did His Lordship call when he wanted to spy on a competitor? Elliot. Who was the man Ravensbrook requested when he wanted to hack one of the most secure spy satellites in the world? Elliot. And because of the systems he had designed, they could do it all from right here, in sleepy Bloomfield. Yes, Elliot Jagger was The Man and he made sure to remind himself of that every single day.
Elliot had been hand-picked to work there. Mr Knowles had approached him one evening, suddenly appearing in Elliot’s car as he was leaving his office car park. Back then, his work had been data entry for MI5, the home of the British security service. He was told that one of the most powerful men in the country was putting together a team to help him spy on business rivals, to infiltrate government computer networks and operate against everything MI5 stood for; Elliot accepted in two seconds flat. It was MI5’s own stupid fault: they hadn’t seen his potential and they didn’t respect him at all, so it was a matter of principle. That and the fact that Lord Ravensbrook would pay him more money in a month than the British government were paying him in a year, so it really was a no-brainer. The only downside was, most of the team had been assembled before he came on board and he wouldn’t trust half of the morons he worked with here to chip his PlayStation, let alone hack a London CCTV network. So, Elliot had to handle most of the big stuff himself, which was just the way he liked it.
Operation Hurricane: The Evan Boyd Adventures #1 Page 11