‘Because it’s not ready, not yet. We don’t know who that person is. It could be a group, a government, anyone. I’m a journalist, not an activist. I don’t just want to spoil the party – I want to find the truth and make them take responsibility.’
‘Okay, so what have you actually got so far?’
Skye paused a moment, looked at him and tilted her head. Then nodded to herself, picked up her cup of tea and headed back down the stairs.
‘Come with me and I’ll show you,’ she called back to him.
Skye sat on one of the desks, and Boyd had taken the most comfortable chair he could find but was still pretty uncomfortable. She had asked a young woman to join them. She was around the same age as Skye, small to the point of being tiny, and had black hair with pink tips tied up into buns. She wore a huge white jumper with black animal print that looked like a duvet on her slight frame.
‘I’m Azima.’ She shook Boyd’s hand and eyed him suspiciously.
‘Boyd.’
The office area was busier now and it was pretty clear they all knew who Boyd was. The whole place smelled like engine oil and cooked food but Boyd could also sense an air of excitement that had been generated by his arrival. Before he had met Skye or her team, he had put all the responsibility on them to make sense of this craziness. Now, he was beginning to see how much it meant to them too, and he was feeling the pressure to deliver something that would help them get closer to the truth.
It was clear that Skye was going to take a backseat for this; it was going to be Azima’s show. From the moment she began talking, it was clear why Skye had her as part of the FrakeNews operation. Azima’s initial wariness melted away and her eyes shone with an energy and enthusiasm that pulled Boyd into her world. He was utterly captivated.
‘Two weeks ago, there occurred a concentration of power in London that was beyond anything we’ve ever seen,’ she said. ‘It registered like an earthquake, causing blackouts, and scoring an impressive six on the Richter scale. Power like that should have been devastating, but there wasn’t a solitary sign of any outward pressure.’
‘The mechanism they use to measure earthquakes?’
‘Exactly, and this one came in at level-six, which is big.’
‘How big?’
‘So, imagine 60 million kilograms of dynamite.’
‘Okay, that’s pretty big! But you’re saying some people just lost their Wi-Fi for a bit? I mean, no buildings fell down or anything?’
‘This is my point, no outward pressure; it doesn’t make any sense. Something that massive, and buildings should have been reduced to rubble. But nothing - not even a fallen roof tile.’
‘Well the readings, the Richter scale, it must be wrong then, surely?’
‘No, they’re correct.’
‘You can’t know that.’
‘We can,’ Skye said as she leant forward with a knowing smile. ‘Because we’ve spoken off the record to three government scientists who all have the same readings for both events.’
‘Hang on; are you telling me that this had happened more than once?’
‘Yep,’ Skye said. ‘Two events, occurring at different times. The media reported that there was a network failure around the same time as the London power surge. They used that story to cover up the blackouts and whatever; but it doesn’t explain the surge itself.’
‘You said this was two weeks ago at an industrial estate,’ Boyd said. ‘Let me guess, the second one happened a week ago, around the same time as Miranda Capshaw disappeared from that plane?’
‘Within minutes of Miranda Capshaw’s plane landing, it lost all power on the runway and a similar energy signature to the one in London was recorded in France.’
‘That’s not even the weirdest part,’ Azima said. ‘A few hours after the event in London two weeks ago, a man called Bishop disappeared without a trace from Hyde Park. Two power surges, two people go missing. Even if you believe in coincidences, that’s going to keep you up at night.’
‘So, you’ve got two events in two different countries. Both with massive readings on this Richter scale thing that would usually mean a whole lot of damage; but there wasn’t a single brick out of place. Do you or your scientist mates know what caused them?’
‘No,’ Skye said flatly.
Boyd nodded. ‘Good, glad we cleared that up, moving on then. How about you tell me what you think caused them?’
Azima and Skye looked at each other. Skye shook her head at her friend.
‘Guys, you said this would blow my mind, and I’ve kind of been through hell to find you, so...’
Azima sat forward. Boyd could see she was dying to let him in on her theory. ‘I think someone has created the means to partially contain a black hole, and they’re opening it.’ She smiled and nodded, waiting for Boyd to be impressed.
Boyd’s eyes widened. He rubbed both hands over his face. ‘Back up – a black hole? You mean, like the things you get in space that eat up everything and spin you into another dimension?’
‘Well, I’m not sure you’re grasping the exact science, but in theory, yes.’
‘I should say, we don’t know anything for sure right now,’ Skye said, making an effort to bring the conversation back down a notch.
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ Boyd said. ‘Because, for a moment, I thought you were betting everything you had, including my father’s life, on something that sounds like a side-plot from an Avengers movie.’
‘It doesn’t make sense because you’re not asking yourself why,’ Azima said, looking up and smiling. She was building up to something here, they all knew it, and whatever it was, it clearly made Skye uneasy.
‘I’m not sure Boyd’s ready for this. Why don’t we leave that for another time?’ Skye said. ‘We should focus on this other person who disappeared. This guy Bishop is our best lead to Miranda and maybe we can find a clue to whatever your dad is mixed up in.’
‘No, hang on,’ Boyd said. ‘Azima’s right, I want to know why someone would be opening black holes in the middle of London.’
‘You really don’t,’ Skye said, shaking her head.
‘He does,’ Azima was convinced.
‘He really, really doesn’t,’ Skye persisted.
‘Oh, just tell me, for crying out loud!’ Boyd exploded.
Azima jumped to her feet; she was still shorter than Boyd and he was sat in the chair. She took a moment to compose herself, then raised her hands and held them in front of her, as if she was holding a sphere. ‘The containment of the power source, the lack of outward pressure, this has the hallmarks of someone very seriously experimenting with dark energy,’ Azima said with conviction.
‘Dark energy? You mean the stuff that’s out there expanding the universe?’
‘Yes!’ Azima clapped her hands together.
‘So how does someone even contain that and why? Are they making it into a weapon or something?’
‘No. I don’t think this is about destroying anything,’ Azima replied, a spark in her eyes as she built up to her big reveal. ‘I think it’s way cooler than a weapon. I think that someone has found a way to travel through time.’
Playing the Hero
Elliot Jagger was sitting at his desk in the Hive. He felt like a fly struggling to free himself from a tangled web, with Hornet arched over him like a spider. He was flicking from camera to camera as they traced Boyd’s movements through Waterloo Station earlier this morning. Hornet’s left arm was clamped to the top of Elliot’s chair – which most people struggled to even reach – meanwhile her right hand was on his desk, just close enough to his mouse to really annoy him. She alternated between drumming her fingers on the desk or clenching her fist and lightly scratching the glass surface of the desk with the tip of her ugly, silver ring. It made a noise Elliot found unbearable; it set him on edge, like fingernails down a blackboard. Bull was sat in another high-back leather chair at another desk, his feet up, gently snoring. Elliot Jagger’s worst nightmare had a name and it w
as ‘Monday’.
‘There,’ Hornet said, as they watched a wide-angle shot of the station from the main entrance. ‘That was him. He’s gone behind the stairs. Get us something from down the other end of the building at around ten seconds from this view.’
Elliot pulled up some files and opened one. He tapped in a time and, sure enough, an image appeared. They searched for a sign of the hooded teenager but found nothing at first.
‘No cameras covering that location.’
‘Roll it on.’
Elliot did so, letting the footage play and waiting for her next helpful suggestion.
‘Wait, we have some action. What’s that?’ Hornet pointed to the right of the screen at what looked like a commotion of some kind.
‘It’s nothing,’ Elliot said dismissively. ‘Looks like a bag snatcher or something. If we watch this all day, we’ll see half a dozen of those at least.’
‘Wind it back and zoom in on it.’
Elliot turned his head, intending to give Hornet a look that questioned her order. But she was already facing him, her green eyes squinted and piercing into him like a spear. Elliot felt a sudden cold rush run through him, so he quickly nodded. ‘Good plan, will do.’
‘Stop!’ Hornet snapped. Elliot stopped the video.
‘There,’ she said and pointed to the left of the commotion. A figure in a black hoodie appeared and gave chase.
‘Might be unrelated, probably working with the thief,’ Elliot pointed out. ‘They could be a spotter or something – that’s why they’re running.’
Hornet tilted her head and looked at the image of the figure paused on the screen. ‘No. Start downloading CCTV from around Waterloo, five miles in all directions should do it. Looks like someone decided to play the hero. That’s my Boyd.’
Not My Problem
‘Time travel?’ Boyd asked. His eyes flitted between Azima and Skye.
‘Yes,’ Azima answered enthusiastically.
‘We’re getting ahead of ourselves,’ Skye said. ‘We don’t know anything for sure yet.’
‘But we know what the science tells us,’ Azima insisted.
‘And the science,’ Boyd said, ‘tells you that Doc Brown is out there somewhere, playing with a Flux Capacitor?’
‘Okay.’ Skye had heard enough.
‘Doc who?’ Azima looked confused.
‘He’s taking the mickey.’
‘Taking the what?’ Azima asked, confused.
‘He’s mocking us,’ Skye said, wearily.
‘No, I’m not exactly mocking.’ Boyd held his hands up.
‘No? So, what then?’
‘This is it? This is what you have? I mean, guys, can you even hear yourselves? Time travel, for god’s sake!’
Azima was deflated; her shoulders slumped. She turned off the monitor and folded up her notes. Skye looked at her friend and felt a flash of shame that she hadn’t defended her.
‘Y’know, I can see why you think this sounds crazy, I really can.’ Skye said flatly.
‘That’s a relief.’
‘Don’t be such a prat, Boyd. This is Azima’s work and she’s bloody good at it. She isn’t pulling this out of thin air.’ Boyd shifted in his seat as Skye stood up. ‘Just because something sounds crazy, doesn’t mean it’s not the truth. Stop thinking about what you think you know. The fact is that time travel has never been impossible; we travel through time every minute of every day. Is manipulating time improbable? Absolutely. But there are governments and corporations who pour tons of money into researching ideas that you and I would think are totally cuckoo. And that’s the great thing about science: everything is crazy until it works, then it becomes genius.’
‘Just for the record,’ Azima broke her silence, clearly still a bit bruised by Boyd’s reaction. ‘My contacts are scientific advisors to governments, and they’re telling me that they have never seen anything like this. They have nothing to explain it, so we’re already in the realms of improbable, you get that? Which means, whatever this is and whoever is doing it, they are breaking new ground and going to great lengths to keep it hidden – and it’s linked to this Bishop guy and Miranda.’
‘Which means,’ Skye said, ‘it’s also linked to your dad.’
‘And what if it’s not?’ Boyd said defiantly. ‘What if I wait for you to investigate all this and it’s got nothing to do with my dad? Why should I care?’
They all sat in uncomfortable silence. Boyd was frustrated, not because he didn’t believe it but because this was massive, on another level completely. It wasn’t something he could control, nor resolve quickly.
He was desperate for help and had imagined a professional team of journalists were the right people to turn to. But, in truth, the FrakeNews team were a bunch of kids not much older than him, with a cool place to hang out and a few computers. Skye and Azima looked at him like they were ready to throw him out.
‘Please tell me why I shouldn’t just go home, call the police and wait for someone to sort this out. Why should I give a damn? Come to think of it, why should you? This isn’t our world, we’re all kids. It’s not my job to save you,’ he pointed at Skye. ‘Or you, Azima. Or anyone. That’s why we have adults.’
‘And if they can’t do it?’ Skye said with quiet anger.
Boyd stood up and looked her in the eye. ‘Like I said: Not. My. Problem.’
‘Code red!’ a shout came across the office. ‘Someone’s out front.’
Azima turned around and tapped some keys on her machine. Skye held Boyd’s gaze for a moment longer, then huffed at him with contempt.
‘What’s happening?’ Boyd asked.
‘Code red – someone’s in the shop, asking questions,’ Skye told him as she flicked the stand-by switch and the big monitor came back to life.
‘Anyone know who that is?’ Azima asked, pointing at the image on the screen.
There was obviously a concealed camera on the shelf behind the counter as Boyd was looking at a shot over the head of the bald Italian man. He could see a tall woman with slicked back blonde hair and a remarkably familiar face. His heart began to sink.
‘Yeah, I do,’ Boyd said sheepishly. ‘It’s the aunt I told you about, the one that went weird on me. That’s Aurora.’
Skye looked from the screen to Boyd. ‘Still want to go home and leave this to the adults?’
Boyd stayed silent, staring at the image on the monitor and gritting his teeth.
‘Well then,’ Skye said with a sarcastic tone. ‘It looks like this just became your problem, doesn’t it?’
A Bigger Prize
Hornet had gone into the café alone. Bull protested, of course; he hadn’t beaten anyone up in a few days now and Hornet could see it was starting to get to him. She would have to let him give someone a little slap soon or he would be totally unbearable. But this wasn’t the right time; this operation needed a light touch. She also knew that Boyd was probably long gone from here and that the small Italian man behind the counter really didn’t know who the boy was; but he wasn’t telling her the whole truth.
She was good at many things but spotting a lie was something she excelled at. You ask a simple question and let the person speak. If they have something to hide, the body language will tell you everything you need to know. Plus, a liar always tells you too much of the wrong thing.
Hornet climbed back into the passenger seat of the black Range Rover.
‘We’re leaving?’ Bull asked from the driving seat.
‘No. Keep the engine off. We wait.’ Hornet took out her phone and hit a number. The phone rang, the call connected and the car filled with the voice of Lord Ravensbrook.
‘News?’
‘We had him going into a park on a city bike, not far from Waterloo. Then the CCTV goes black, no working cameras the other side of the park, and no sign beyond that, which means he’s stopped somewhere in the immediate vicinity. I had Jagger trace the bikes and found two in the area; one of them outside a café. I’ve just been in there no
w.’
‘And?’ Ravensbrook was getting impatient.
‘And the owner remembers him. Boyd was with a young woman and the owner was even kind enough to tell me what they ordered.’ Hornet paused, she looked through the window into the little café. ‘I’m going to put someone on watch at the café,’ she said. ‘I want to come back here another time, kick over some rocks and see what crawls out.’
‘But you said the owner told you everything?’
‘He told me too much, in fact. Oh, I believe he doesn’t know who Boyd is, but he told me Boyd had ordered two coffees. Boyd doesn’t drink coffee, he can’t stand being near the stuff. Which means the guy in the café is lying.’
‘Okay. You’re certain this the best way forward? You have been out of this kind of operation for a long time.’
Hornet glanced over at Bull, who wisely looked the other way, not wanting her to see his pleasure at Ravensbrook questioning her methods. ‘My instincts are as sharp as ever. We don’t need to rush in like a bull at a gate.’ Hornet leant over to the big Russian and quietly said, ‘No pun intended.’
‘Meaning?’ Ravensbrook asked.
‘I’m going to stay in the area and get Jagger to throw a net around him and the girl. They’ll pop up on CCTV again and when they do, they might lead us somewhere, or even to someone.’
‘That’s a risk, Hornet. You said yourself we don’t want him falling into the wrong hands.’
‘It is a risk. But you always said the boy was bait for a bigger prize. We know someone out there is using Hurricane technology. I think it’s time we flush them out. Perhaps we can kill two birds with one stone.’
Hidden From View
When the Range Rover had first arrived outside the café, the young woman had been tucked around a corner, watching from a distance, waiting for an opportunity. It had come when the tall, leather-clad woman exited the vehicle and headed for the café.
The young woman, whose name was Blair, walked past the Range Rover. She moved quickly enough to look like someone in a hurry, but not so hurried as to draw attention from the big ape in the driver’s seat. He didn’t even notice as she unwrapped a piece of gum and then discarded what looked like a wrapper. In fact, she had passed the wrapper into her other hand and thrown a small listening device through the open back window of the Range Rover. When the tall woman had returned to the car, Blair sat out of sight and listened to every word.
Operation Hurricane: The Evan Boyd Adventures #1 Page 14