by Hammond, Ray
Suddenly Floyd felt a searing pain in his left shoulder and he clamped his hand to the wound. The firing was now so furious that the narrow gantry was swaying violently and more lights were being killed. Floyd had to let go of his wound to grab hold of one of the support wires with both hands. With a loud bang, one of the support cables up ahead parted as a bullet hit it. Now the gantry was swaying so much that Floyd was almost tipped over its edge. He realised that if he didn’t get off this walkway in the next few seconds it would be shot from all its mountings and he and it would plunge down into the hall below.
Without warning there was a huge flash and a blast from the far end of the hall, then a second loud explosion. The walkway swayed even more violently and, despite his shoulder wound, Floyd had to keep both hands firmly on the supports. Below, the surviving pendant tungsten lights were also swinging wildly in the blasts, creating a crazy lightshow as the walkway heaved from side to side. But there were now no bullets hitting the walkway or the ceiling above him.
Three more deafening blasts came from the other end of the hall and then Floyd heard the loud roaring of powerful petrol engines and almost continuous bursts of automatic weapons fire.
The wild swaying of the walkway had subsided sufficiently for Floyd to peer over its edge. Through a pall of dense smoke a column of heavily-armed special forces men was pouring into the hall on motocross all-terrain motorcycles. As they rode they held their automatic rifles at their hips and they were firing repeated bursts to mop up any HFDA soldiers who had survived the initial blasts.
Floyd saw a dozen of the terrorists go down and then, all of a sudden, there seemed to be no more resistance in the hall. A group of HFDA soldiers had flung their weapons to the ground and thrust their hands into the air. Dismounting, the special forces men were forcing each of the terrorists to the ground to be searched.
With a huge sigh of relief Floyd lowered his forehead to the cool metal floor of the walkway and was still for a few moments. Then he glanced over the edge again.
Small groups of allied troops were setting off on their motorcycles into the interconnecting tunnels, presumably to round up the other members of the HFDA raiding party. Floyd recognized SEAL, SAS and COS combat uniforms among the troops.
He wondered about the safest way to make himself known to the forces down below. The allied soldiers beneath him were beginning to lay aside their arms. Then they were unslinging their bulky backpacks and taking off their balaclavas and high-tech network communication systems.
The British agent thought about calling out, but he feared that he would only attract a reflex burst from one of the many men below who still held their weapons. Then he heard a familiar laugh and, as he looked down he saw a man whip a fireproof battle-balaclava from his head and clap a fellow soldier on the back. Floyd laid down his weapons.
‘Sergeant Truman?’ Floyd shouted from the walkway. All faces below turned up into the gloom. A dozen muzzles swung up towards the ceiling, then several flashlight beams hit his face.
‘It’s me, sergeant,’ Floyd called, stretching both his empty hands out into the air so they could be seen. ‘It’s me. Floyd.’
‘Captain Floyd!’ roared Truman.
Five minutes later Floyd was down in the main hall. He had waved away treatment for the flesh wound in his shoulder and now his right arm felt as if it were being pumped from his body by the enthusiastic SAS sergeant.
‘I wouldn’t have recognized you, sir, but well done. Well done indeed,’ cried Truman delightedly as he shook his favourite trainee’s hand.
‘They had to change my face and my voice for this one,’ Floyd told his former combat instructor.
The sergeant turned to the SAS men beside him. ‘This is Captain Floyd, the man I told you about.’ He glanced back at Floyd admiringly, still grasping his hand and pumping it with vigour. ‘And we heard it was you who put this fucking thing out of action.’ The sergeant jabbed his thumb towards the large stainless steel bore which now stood silently against the wall.
Floyd shrugged. ‘And I think I also put Makowski out of action,’ he said, nodding to the far end of the hall.
In silence, Floyd and his former SAS instructor walked the length of the hall, threading their way through bodies. A score of curious soldiers – SEAL, SAS and COS men – followed.
Floyd’s burst had hit Makowski in the throat and his blood, still too fresh to have congealed, had formed a large shining pool around his head.
‘So that’s the bastard who’s caused all this trouble?’ asked Sergeant Truman.
‘That’s him,’ confirmed Floyd. He pointed to another body nearby. ‘And that’s Colonel Andreas Poliza, the HFDA’s military commander. I got them from up on that suspended walkway.’
‘That was very good shooting indeed,’ called a woman’s voice behind them.
Floyd and the sergeant turned to see a woman in a dusty black trouser suit striding into the hall.
‘Nicole Sanderson of the U.S. Anti-Terrorism Agency,’ Nicole announced to the special forces men, holding up her badge.
The ATA agent came and stood in front of Floyd. She gazed up into his battered and bruised face. ‘I’ve just been on the phone telling Washington that Makowski is dead,’ she told him. ‘But they knew that already. He was broadcasting live on the networks when you got him.’
Epilogue
Harry Floyd touched his ID to the front door lock of his apartment in Battersea, South London and pushed the door open. Twenty-four days had passed since he had killed Alexander Makowski and ended the siege of CERN.
‘Maria?’ called out Floyd as he dropped his back-pack onto an armchair. ‘Where are you?’
She knows you’re coming, said his other Maria in his inner ear.
At that moment the biological Maria appeared in the kitchen doorway. Her long blonde hair was pinned up, she was dressed in the pink tracksuit she liked to wear around the flat and she was carrying two glasses of champagne.
‘Welcome home darling,’ she said with a huge smile as she padded across the wooden floor towards Floyd.
Still holding the two glasses, she raised her face up for a kiss. Floyd took her face in both hands and kissed her slowly and with increasing thoroughness.
Maria pulled away with a smile to catch her breath. Then she handed him one of the glasses.
‘Congratulations, Floyd, you got the bastards,’ she said raising her own glass.
Floyd clinked glasses and shrugged. She understood he was unable to tell her any detail about his activities.
‘But not before they hit London,’ he said with a sad shake of his head towards the centre of the city. While he had been waiting for his reverse plastic surgery to heal he had been taken to see the damage zone for himself. It was part of the long debriefing process he had undergone with CTU analysts and, to a lesser extent, with Nicole Sanderson and analysts from the American Anti-Terrorism Agency.
‘Did you miss me?’ asked Floyd, changing the subject.
‘Yes, but not as much as I thought I would,’ said Maria with a mischievous smile. ‘My sister came to stay here for a month and as a thank-you present she gave me my own embedded VA. It’s much more intimate than my old assistant.’
Maria turned her beautiful face to one side to reveal her neck behind her ear.
‘I can’t see anything,’ Floyd said as he gazed at her soft skin.
You’re not supposed to, said virtual Maria in his inner ear with a tut of annoyance at Floyd’s stupidity. Kiss her there.
Floyd did as he was told and biological Maria’s free arm stole round his neck for another kiss on the lips. He felt her soft body warm against his and he felt a sudden surge of desire.
‘I’ve called my new VA Floyd,’ said Maria with a smile. ‘Would you like to say hello to him?’
Floyd considered for a moment and then nodded. With a thought he told VA Maria to enable mind-linking.
‘This is Floyd, Floyd,’ said real Maria speaking via the magic of mind linking
as if she were now in his head, alongside virtual Maria.
‘Good to meet you, man,’ said Maria’s virtual Floyd. ‘She’s really been missing you.’
The real Floyd burst out laughing. Maria had not only given her VA the same name as him, she had also given the software personality a copy of Floyd’s own voice.
‘That’s my voice exactly,’ said Floyd gazing at Maria.
‘We sampled a lot of recordings to get that,’ said real Maria, ‘But I think Floyd’s really got it down now.’
‘I hope you approve?’ asked virtual Floyd in real Floyd’s inner ear.
Suddenly a petulant voice broke in. ‘Excuse me,’ said virtual Maria. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to Floyd?’
With a glance of amusement the two humans simultaneously muted their virtual assistants.
Floyd stepped forward, took the glass from Maria’s hand and set it down on a low side table. Then he picked her up in his arms and without saying a word strode purposefully towards their bedroom.
Transhumanism
Transhumanism is an international intellectual and cultural movement supporting the use of new sciences and technologies to enhance human cognitive and physical abilities and ameliorate what it regards as undesirable and unnecessary aspects of the human condition, such as disease, ageing and death.
– Wikipedia 2007.
Neo-Luddites
Neo-luddism is perceived as a modern movement of categorical opposition to technology, both in particular and in general. When controversial issues arise, advocates of one policy or another tend to group and agglomerate their efforts to effect policy. As a result, an amalgamation of liberal, conservative and radical elements appears a cohesive, anti-technology, neo-luddite group.
– Wikipedia 2007.
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