Nano

by Sam Fisher

  ‘Bonjour . . . hello, anyone there?’ he said.

  ‘Bonjour,’ a voice replied.

  Gabir switched to speaker mode. ‘Is that Sangatte?’ he said in English.

  ‘It is. You’ve reached Emergency Services, Sangatte. Who is this? You’re calling from Maintenance Hub 3. There’s been an incident –’

  ‘Yes, I know that,’ Gabir replied. ‘We were part of it.’

  ‘Please clarify.’

  ‘My name is Gabir. I’m a Eurostar steward, number 1246F. Repeat, 1246F.’

  ‘Hold please.’

  A pause, a crackle down the line and the voice returned. ‘Gabir. What is your situation, please?’

  ‘I’m one of six survivors I know about. We believe there was a nerve gas attack at –’

  ‘Nerve gas? What do you mean?’

  Gabir drew breath and gave Josh an exasperated look. He nodded to the phone. ‘Do you want me to . . .?’

  The steward looked around at the other four survivors. Fred and Tracy had lowered themselves to the floor with their backs to the wall. They both looked exhausted. Louis was pacing up and down the length of the room, sweating profusely and limping. It was only then Gabir noticed how damned hot the place was. He caught Adam Franklin’s eye. The Englishman took a deep breath and looked away.

  ‘Hello?’ Josh said close to the phone wall unit.

  ‘Who am I speaking to?’ The voice rang out across the room.

  ‘This is Josh Thompson, formerly of E-Force.’ There was a silence from the other end. ‘I was a passenger on the train,’ he added. ‘I’m here with Gabir and four others: Adam Franklin, Louis Chabon, Fred and Tracy Hardy. There was an explosion. The train was stopped in the tunnel. The roof has caved in. But much worse is the use of a nerve gas. I think it is probably Sarin but it could be one of half –’

  ‘Mr Thompson. We’re just checking our manifest . . .’

  ‘Manifest . . . why?’

  ‘How do you know there was a nerve gas attack?’

  ‘Because I saw dozens of people collapse and die. One of the people who escaped with us to Maintenance Hub 3 has since died. The symptoms were textbook.’

  The man at the end of the phone line seemed to be talking to several other people at once. The voices sounded urgent. Josh could hear a buzzing across the connection.

  ‘Hello?’ he said.

  ‘Mr Thompson. We are on Red Alert. Emergency Services have been activated. You are now in the main storage room for Hub 3. Are you aware that it does not, I repeat, does not, link up with the Paris-bound tunnel?’

  ‘Yes, Gabir explained.’

  ‘The services at the English end – at Folkestone – are pulling back the only other train in the tunnel at this time, the 07.22 from St Pancras that was about 5 kilometres into the tunnel. Now we suggest you remain where you are. You’ll understand our rescue efforts will be very complex and difficult. We may not be able to reach you for some time. However, you couldn’t have ended up in a better place. You’ll find food supplies and water, blankets, spare clothing and a washroom in the Hub. But we strongly advise you not to leave the centre of the Hub where you are now located.’

  The others could all hear the words of the Emergency Services Manager at the far end of the line. Louis started searching through the shelves. Fred had his arm around Tracy. Adam was now sitting on the floor, his back to the wall, his head rested on his knees, his fingers in his hair.

  ‘Thanks,’ Josh replied and closed his eyes for a moment. ‘We’ll stay by the phone. Please keep us updated.’

  He hung up and looked at Gabir. ‘I’m not sitting here a minute longer,’ he said.

  Gabir smiled. ‘Just as well this is a cordless phone, that I happen to know is designed to operate throughout the Hub,’ he replied, unhooking it from the cradle and handing it to Josh.

  43

  The air was hot down in the Hub and they were wreathed in sweat. Louis was still poking around the shelves, pulling out containers and checking inside.

  ‘Anything interesting?’ Adam asked, coming up behind the Frenchman.

  Louis was startled. ‘No, er . . . no. Well, unless, monsieur, you call spare light bulbs and batteries interesting.’

  Adam exhaled through his nostrils. ‘They said there was some food and drink.’

  ‘There is,’ Tracy said from across the room. She had pulled down a metal container about 60 centimetres square and removed the lid. ‘Looks absolutely delicious!’ She lifted a packet of dried wheat biscuits and a sealed bag of what looked like stewed peas.

  ‘Typical Eurostar,’ Fred quipped.

  ‘How’s everyone feeling?’ Josh asked after a few moments. ‘Up to a walkabout?’

  ‘Do you think that’s wise?’ Louis asked. ‘What about the Sarin?’

  ‘I don’t intend on going back out to the London-bound tunnel. But we can’t just sit here.’

  ‘I agree,’ Adam commented.

  ‘Stay here if you wish, Louis,’ Josh said.

  The Frenchman looked doubtful for a moment, then shrugged.

  The door close to the telephone at the end of the room led to another corridor. This curved right, then left. There were two locked doors on the left. The corridor split. To the right, it disappeared into darkness. Straight ahead, it widened onto a well-lit, freshly painted corridor. They headed along this second passage, until they came to a large metal door, a thick steel bolt drawn across the front. Josh went to shift it.

  ‘Do you think we should be doing that?’ Adam asked.

  ‘I take it you do want to get out?’

  ‘Yes but –’

  ‘Give me a hand then.’

  They shoved the bolt to one side and the door swung open. They were immediately hit by the noise. The door was about five centimetres thick and had kept the sound in.

  ‘Wait here a second,’ Josh shouted to the others and step- ped inside. Directly ahead lay a stretch of metal floor about 2 metres wide. On the far side, the floor fell away into a deep shaft. About 4 metres down Josh could see the blades of a huge turbine. They were rotating very fast, scything the air. Above his head, the opening stretched up into the darkness.

  ‘One of the main air-conditioning turbines for the tunnel, right?’ Gabir yelled as Josh returned to the group at the door.

  ‘Looks like it. Air is being sucked in from a shaft above it. That may be linked to the surface at Sangatte or Folkestone. It forces the air down and into the tunnel. No chance of the nerve agent coming back up.’

  ‘Can we go?’ Tracy said, hands to her ears, a pained expression on her face.

  Josh nodded.

  They left the door slightly ajar and ran on along the corridor towards an archway up ahead.

  The phone rang in Josh’s hand. They all stopped and he pushed the receive button. ‘Josh Thompson.’

  ‘Unbelievable!’

  ‘Is that Mai? God! Great to hear your voice.’

  ‘You just can’t keep away from calamities, can you?’

  ‘It would seem so,’ he laughed. ‘But God, this is the best news I’ve had all day. Where are you? What’s the plan?’

  ‘The Emergency Services at Sangatte contacted us,’ Pete replied.

  ‘Pete . . . fantastic!’

  ‘Hi mate. Good to speak to you. Just wish it was under better circumstances. We’ve hooked our comms into the landline at Sangatte.’

  ‘Very clever.’

  ‘Listen,’ Mai said, her voice dropping several tones. ‘You probably haven’t heard.’

  ‘Heard what?’

  She told him about the attack in Dubai.

  ‘My God!’ Josh exclaimed. The others in the room looked at him anxiously. Louis stepped over.

  ‘What’s up?’ Fred asked.

  ‘Hang on, Mai.’ Josh flicked a switch on the handset, turning back to speaker mode. He turned to the others. ‘There’s been a terrorist attack on the Cloud Tower in Dubai.’ They looked suitably shocked. Then they all started talking at once. Josh he
ld up a hand. ‘Just a moment. We can get the details later. Let’s sort ourselves out first, yeah?’

  Adam was closest to Josh. He nodded and turned away.

  ‘So you’re fully stretched,’ Josh said to Mai and Pete.

  ‘Could say that. But look, Josh, we’ll get you guys out of there.’

  ‘How?’ Tracy said loudly, desperation in her voice.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Pete asked.

  ‘My name’s Tracy Hardy,’ the girl replied. She looked like she was on the verge of panic. ‘This Maintenance Hub, or whatever you call it. It goes nowhere. And, we can’t go back . . .’

  ‘Listen, Tracy,’ Mai said down the line, her voice sounding tinny through the little speaker. ‘We will get you all out. We have some very special equipment. But you have to try to stay calm. You’re absolutely fine at the moment, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The Emergency Services said you were in the Hub with plenty of food and water. The air is fresh?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There are six of you, right?’ Pete said.

  ‘Correct,’ Josh replied. ‘There’s Gabir, one of the stewards on the train. Adam Franklin from London, Louis Chabon from Paris and two youngsters – Tracy Hardy, who you just spoke to, and her brother Fred, both Brits. Is that right?’ he added, turning to the kids.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Okay, well, we’re now 3 minutes away from Sangatte. We’ve been liaising with the Emergency Team there and it seems the best plan is for us to get into the London–Paris tunnel and then cut our way through to you from there.’

  ‘How far apart are the tunnel and the end of this Hub at the closest point?’ Josh asked.

  ‘We’re not sure yet. The BigEye can’t see down that far. According to the authorities at Sangatte, you’re about 72 metres under the English Channel. We’ll only know what we’re up against when we get down there.’

  ‘You have design plans for the tunnel?’ Adam asked.

  ‘You must be Adam,’ Mai said.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘There are plans. Our computer guy is working on it.’

  Josh took a deep breath. ‘How is Tom?’

  A pause. ‘Yeah, he’s good. Couldn’t believe it when we told him we’d discovered you had been on the train.’

  ‘Couldn’t you come down the London-bound tunnel where the incident occurred?’ Louis interrupted.

  ‘Hi Louis?’ Pete responded. ‘I’m afraid that’s not the best option. We’re worried about containment and the structural stability of the tunnels.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Josh sighed. ‘What they mean, Louis, is that if they start charging their way through the tunnel where the train stopped, they could breach the walls between us and the tunnel and the Sarin would then seep through to this Maintenance Hub.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘It may be we have to go into the London-bound tunnel, guys, but we have to try the safer option first,’ Pete said. ‘So just sit tight. We’ll be there as soon as we possibly can.’

  44

  Coquelle, in Pas-de-Calais, on the very northern tip of France is sometimes called ‘Channel Tunnel Town’. As the Silverbacks came in low, Mai and Pete could see it spread out beneath them, a dreary collection of supermarkets and budget hotels rising up through the grey morning haze. A few hundred metres away stood the terminal for the Channel Tunnel – a mess of rails, wires and sidings. They glimpsed, a little further north, the tunnel entrances – a pair of black holes punched into a chalk hill topped with stubby grass and mud.

  A heavily accented voice boomed through their comms. ‘Good morning, E-Force. This is Sangatte Control. You have clearance to land. The terminal and its surrounding areas have been evacuated.’

  ‘Good morning, Sangatte Control,’ Mai responded. ‘Thanks, we’re about to touch down.’

  Pete was in the lead plane, John, Mai in Paul close behind. They settled on a flat area of tarmac a few metres beyond the tunnel entrance. They could both see a cargo chopper with the E-Force insignia on the fuselage had landed 30 metres away.

  Pete and Mai were still in their cybersuits. They climbed out of the Silverbacks. Pete had a Sonic Drill over his shoulder and Mai carried a med-kit. They also had stun pistols in holsters on their belts. Halfway across the strip of tarmac, they met the two men who had flown the chopper.

  ‘Fast work, guys,’ Mai said, striding up ahead of Pete. They all shook hands.

  ‘So we have the Pram and the Cage here,’ the pilot of the chopper said.

  ‘Okay, let’s get the Pram out. We’ll stow the Cage in the back, just in case.’

  Three minutes later, the Pram was sitting on the tarmac between the chopper and the Silverbacks. Known officially as a High Speed Ground Transporter (HSGT), the Pram itself was one of the more understated of E-Force’s repertoire of equipment. It looked like a large hovercraft and skimmed the ground a couple of centimetres above the surface. It was sleek and good-looking and capable of carrying two tonnes of equipment and personnel at speeds nudging 300 kilo- metres per hour.

  ‘Good luck!’ the chopper pilot said as Pete clambered into the passenger seat and Mai adjusted the driver’s controls. The Pram pulled away and dived into the London–Paris tunnel entrance, quickly accelerating to 120 kilometres per hour. They had no need for the vehicle’s 5000-watt headlights because, by the time they were 50 metres into the tunnel, Sangatte Control had switched on the overhead fluorescent strips used by maintenance crews.

  The best estimate they had for the ‘connect point’ – the correct location to start drilling across into the London-bound tunnel – was 16.3 kilometres beyond the tunnel entrance. This had been based upon data from Sangatte combined with some faint scan images that had come through from using the BigEye satellite over France set to maximum resolution. It was the best they could do and they had no idea what would be possible until they reached this spot.

  Mai kept the Pram to the centre of the tunnel, hovering a few inches above the tracks. Pete watched the control panel displaying the schematic of the tunnel. In a little over 4 minutes, the Pram was 15 kilometres inside. Mai cut their speed. The powerful engine ticked over as they crawled forwards. On the display, a red circle indicated the connect point.

  Mai brought the Pram to a smooth halt and it lowered onto the rail tracks with a hiss. Pete was first out, as Mai reset the controls on the vehicle. Walking over to the wall, he raised his wrist and studied the screen on his cybersuit sleeve. ‘Mai, I’m going to do a general sweep first and then try to zero in on the precise spot to start drilling.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Pete touched the screen and manipulated a few para- meters to scan the wall 30 metres in each direction. An image of the internal structure of the wall appeared and in the bottom right of the screen data rolled down defining the composition, density and structural integrity of the wall. Pete then shifted the sensor so it could collect data on the structures behind the wall – the composition and depth of the earth between the tunnels. What they were really hoping for was a chamber or a set of corridors immediately behind the tunnel which would make breaking through that much easier.

  ‘Damn!’ Pete said. ‘I don’t like the look of this.’

  ‘What is it?’ Mai asked.

  ‘If this is the best location for getting to the survivors, there’s not much hope. There’s over 20 metres of rock between the tunnels.’

  ‘The Sonic Drill can do it.’

  ‘Sure it can, but I’m worried about the integrity of the site. The explosion in the London-bound tunnel wasn’t far from where we would come out. There’s also the danger of dislodging air vents and letting the nerve agent into the Maintenance Hub.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Mai touched her wrist monitor. ‘Tom?’

  ‘Mai.’

  ‘I’m using the signal booster on the Pram.’

  ‘Neat.’

  ‘If we send you the data we collect here can you get Sybil to do a quick integri
ty study?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Here it is,’ Pete said, tapping his wrist. ‘I can’t say I’m hopeful, man.’

  A few seconds passed. Mai looked down the tunnel to a smooth curve where the rails took a graceful westerly turn. The overhead lights cast a brash, clinical, white light about the confined space.

  ‘Here it is,’ Tom said. ‘Looks like you’re right, Pete.’

  They studied the information cascading down their wrist screens.

  ‘Yep, way too risky.’

  ‘So what now?’ Mai looked up from her monitor.

  ‘Plan B,’ Pete replied. ‘Something I really didn’t want to have to do. Get into the London-bound tunnel through the next intersection and try to reach the survivors that way. We don’t have a choice.’

  45

  The next intersection was just over 100 metres ahead. Pete and Mai hopped back into the Pram and drove slowly along the centre of the tunnel, the sound from the engine almost inaudible.

  They drew to a halt at a pair of large metal double doors that stood flush with the wall. Mai killed the engine. They jumped out and walked towards the rear of the Pram. Pete touched a sensor pad close to the doors and a tailgate opened slowly downwards. Another touch of the button and the upper section of the rear door swung up. Lying inside the compartment were a set of metal boxes. Each had a strip of writing and code numbers running across the top. Beneath these was the E-Force insignia. Pete dragged the nearest box to the back and with Mai’s help he hauled it to the ground.

  Inside lay a collection of steel cases containing various pieces of equipment, each with a label attached. They found a pair of small identical packets, each about the size of an iPhone. Alongside these lay a backpack containing a dozen lightweight biohazard suits. Pete lifted the pack and pulled it over his shoulders. Mai handed Pete one of the two small packets. On their sides was the word ‘Bioweb’. This was a material used to isolate areas from the effects of any known form of biological or chemical agent. As with every piece of E-Force equipment, Bioweb had been developed by the eggheads at CAPRA. Lightweight and able to be concentrated into a small container, Bioweb was made from a material similar to the fabric of the cybersuits. It provided far greater protection than the most modern synthetic materials produced by any civilian or military research group anywhere in the world. Pete and Mai clipped the Bioweb containers onto their utility belts, then Mai checked in with Tom at Base One.