by Nick Jones
She cursed that decision now. Lifting her hand, she shot five rounds at the droid. Thankfully the last one connected, spinning it, disrupting its hover. The droid shot wildly, spraying bullets in an arc. One of the men screamed before dropping silently to the ground. Twisting the throttle, Jen sped between the other two, up the ramp and onto the road above. She felt the Histeridae’s power diminishing as she rode, the iridescent glow fading gradually from her vision. She’d had no choice but to entrust it to a man she hardly knew, and it had all happened so fast.
Mac’s face flashed through her mind.
Trust, she thought with sadness. What does that really mean now?
Chapter 28
Jen weaved through traffic at speed, the last afternoon sun bleeding low across the skyline. She’d managed to outrun the first heli-droid, but it wouldn’t be long before more arrived. She knew this game; she had played for the other team many times. Now it was her turn to be hunted. She calculated Thomas’s house to be a fifteen-minute ride.
Need to lose them first.
Above her two mobile cameras detached from their rooftop mounts and descended rapidly. They weren’t armed, but they were fast and hard to shake off. She knew that somewhere, across town, a surveillance team would be coordinating the chase, multiple screens displaying her speeding bike from every angle.
The traffic parted – a rare sight – and Jen passed irate passengers complaining inside their vehicles as they were pulled, automatically to the edges of the road. Ahead, cutting through the thin mist, she saw the blue and red glow of police lights. A roadblock. There would be an electronic spike on the road, and of course, gas. Targeted pathogens were widely used now; you could gas an entire shopping centre and only take down the individuals you wanted to. No need for multiple units, no need for fuss.
She craved the chance to think, but that was a luxury she didn’t have. She jammed the rear brake and kicked the back of her bike off to the right. A plume of thick grey smoke billowed up behind her as she leant hard, sliding the back end across the road. She twisted the throttle, dropped a gear and accelerated. For a second it felt as though she might lose it, the bike bucking against her, but the tyres gained traction. She was now heading southbound. Not the right direction, but that was the last thing she could think about now. Surviving. That was all.
In her mirror, another drone, this one bigger and clearly armed. She now had three drones in close pursuit; two cameras and an armed heli-droid. She saw a thin red laser target flash across her. She leant left and right, ducking and bobbing. The droid fired, rapid shots. Jen heard them whistling past and saw the flash of ricocheting shells across the road surface. Too close. She mounted the curb on her left, her bike’s suspension banging loudly in protest. People scattered as she screamed along the pavement. To her right the drones appeared like flashes between the parked vehicles. She would never outrun them. Ahead, a large bus. Decent cover. Jen braked aggressively, her bike tipping forward in a thick cloud of black smoke. She leapt from it, leaving it to slam down onto its side, and ran to the bus. Inside, startled commuters pressed against the glass, watching the show in fearful amazement. Jen locked eyes with a girl, maybe eight years old. She was pointing at Jen and tapping a woman next to her. Jen leant against the back of the bus and craned her neck, looking down the empty street.
The drones arced high into the air before spinning back at speed, tracking their target. Grabbing her pistol, Jen leant out and fired, concentrating on the armed heli-droid. It flicked vertical each time she fired, avoiding her bullets, and within seconds was firing back. Jen dived to the floor as it screeched past, the sound deafening, then popped back up, managing another couple of shots as it twisted away in a near vertical ascent.
This time she connected. A small spark followed by a brief cough of blue smoke. The droid faltered briefly before completing another – this time awkward – aerial loop. The two smaller cameras were hovering above her like curious bees. She looked up at them, knowing her image would be filling screens across London. The temptation to flick her finger didn’t last. She could hear the whirring rotors of the armed droid. It was damaged but functional and was closing in. It would have adjusted its attack and be on her any second, shooting through the gap. Jen scrambled out of the bus, lifted her bike from the pavement and jumped on. In the distance she heard the familiar hum of police bikes and sighed heavily.
Welcome to the party, boys.
She joined the road as two bikes appeared. The police riders tucked in as they spotted her, their bikes gaining fast, and were either side of her in seconds. There was no negotiation, no request. They began firing. She did the only thing she could and slammed hard into the bike on her left. She caught a glimpse of the rider’s expression, his bike spinning out of control and leaving the road. In the confusion she managed two shots into the front tyre of the other bike, deflating it, sending the rider into a lurching rhythmic dance as he tried to regain control.
Jen accelerated, not seeing the tyre reinflate automatically. The rider fired back awkwardly, his shots narrowly missing her leg, bullets dinging loudly from her metalwork. She looked ahead. The road split in two. Again she braked hard, but this time the rider stayed with her. He shot twice into her fuel tank which instantly belched fuel. Jen took the road to her left, the pursuing rider maintaining his position beside her. He didn’t fire again, and Jen was just starting to wonder why when she felt the sharp sting of darts peppering her back.
It was the heli-droid. The expected paralysis didn’t come, and Jen realised with relief that her back protector must have taken the brunt of the impact. Her relief was short-lived. It fired again, this time skimming the edge of her back plate and piercing her skin.
There was no pain, just an immediate loss of sensation in her right arm, as if it were no longer hers. The rider to her side gestured for her to slow down. She was struggling, her right arm numb, and she watched helplessly as her gun fell, clattering on the road behind her.
She came to a weaving stop on a low bridge, another street beneath. The heli-droid was approaching. She ran to the edge of the bridge and jumped, her left arm grabbing the railing, where she dangled for a few seconds before letting go. Her short fall was broken by a gathering of people below, their bodies compressing beneath her weight.
She staggered up. Two people remained on the ground, a man and a woman injured by her sudden and unexpected fall. Jen looked around, her vision beginning to blur. She was in the middle of a busy street market, the pungent smell of fish and fresh vegetables helping to cut through her hazy mind. Around her people were shouting and in the distance the wail of sirens. Jen began to run as best she could, ignoring the complaining bystanders. That’s when she heard another sound. A distinctive metallic whirring. A sound she didn’t want to hear. An armed police droid approached.
‘Do not move,’ it bellowed in its processed, authoritative tone.
Jen was cold and breathing heavily, big gulps of air, desperately searching for an escape route. She backed underneath the curved bridge, aware that the rider above would shoot if he could see her. Again the droid warned her. She decided to run for an alleyway.
As she turned and ran, the droid ejected three small devices, sending them skimming through the air like polished metal plates. They passed her, descending quickly before gripping the road in a triangular formation. With a sudden burst of green light they snapped open, creating a six-foot-high wall of light around her. It was a targeted trap shield. Jen slowed, stopped and fell to her knees, cradling her limp right arm. People around her were screaming, running freely through the glowing green force-field surrounding her. She inched forwards and felt the terrible, sharp needles of energy coursing through her body like broken glass in her veins. Jen felt a ball of fear push up from her gut. She was trapped, her unique DNA betraying her. She’d used them herself. They were perfect.
The droid closed in and the street filled with police and lights.
Chapter 29
‘We�
��ve got her,’ Jim McArthur said, surprised by how tired his voice sounded.
‘Excellent,’ Zitagi replied. ‘And the Histeridae?’
McArthur paused, leant his head back and sighed. A headache had been banging through him all day.
‘Do we have it?’ Zitagi asked, impatiently.
‘No, we don’t.’ He imagined her pursed red lips tightening.
When she spoke again, her voice was slow, calm and controlled. ‘Then find out where it is.’
McArthur processed the facts. Jen was captured, that much he had expected. But without the Histeridae? That was bad. Not for them – they would find it eventually. It was bad for Jen.
‘McArthur?’ Zitagi’s voice reminded him of a school headmistress. ‘Find out where she’s hidden it.’
‘Okay. I understand.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes.’ He understood, alright, perhaps too well.
She continued, ‘One of the agents in the car park incident was exposed to the Histeridae. We can use him.’
His mind was racing to keep up. ‘How?’
‘It’s been over twenty years since the Histeridae was last used. With current tech we should be able to create a way of blocking it.’
Of course. When Zitagi suggested she could use someone, it was never for their benefit. The agent would be collateral damage. And if the benefit involved mind extraction, so be it.
A sudden realisation chilled him. He swallowed.
She used the Histeridae on me too.
‘I will be there tomorrow.’ Zitagi barked her orders, interrupting his thoughts. ‘See what you can get out of her before then.’
McArthur told her he would do his best and was surprised when she remained on the line.
‘Oh, and by the way,’ Zitagi said absently, before hanging up. ‘Peter Callaghan is dead.’
* * *
Nathan arrived at Ladbroke Grove, a red brick terrace in Notting Hill, just after dark. His legs had only just stopped shaking, the shoot-out in the car park fresh in his mind.
Jennifer Logan.
She had made an impression, alright: she’d taken out a bunch of armed guards in her apartment – some kind of flash grenade – and then two in the car park, three if you included the one the droid took down.
After watching her speed off, Nathan had waited, found a stairwell and then walked from the building as if nothing had happened. Exactly as she’d told him to. Had he really only met her today? His hand instinctively reached for the strap of his bag.
He walked the drive, scanned the tabbed list of numbers and pressed the buzzer next to 46. All he wanted was to do was get off the street and ditch the bag.
A man dressed in a smart suit answered the door. His hair and skin were immaculate. ‘Can I help you?’ he asked suspiciously, looking Nathan up and down.
‘Are you Thomas?’ Nathan asked.
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m a friend of Jennifer Logan.’
The man frowned, raising an eyebrow at Nathan’s appearance. ‘I don’t think so.’
Nathan realised it had been a while since his last shower and his beard was a few days in. ‘She told me to come here and ask for your help. She’s on her way here now.’
‘She wouldn’t do that.’ The man shook his head. ‘She would call me first.’
‘Not today,’ Nathan said coldly. ‘She’s in trouble.’
Thomas took a step back, his hand on the door handle. Nathan leant in, making the most of the height advantage.
‘She said you were the only person left she could trust. She’ll be here soon.’
Thomas edged out of the doorway and eyed the corridor nervously.
‘What kind of trouble?’ He used the word like it was contagious.
‘The kind you hide from.’ Nathan said, watching Thomas intently. ‘Now, please let me in.’
The corridor had been quiet, but there were voices now. Distant.
Thomas closed his eyes and sighed heavily. ‘Damn it,’ he whispered before stepping back and making way. Nathan stepped inside, closing the door behind them. The house was minimalistic, tasteful and expensive. Nathan smelt burning oils and coffee as he passed the kitchen. Thomas gestured towards a small room.
‘You can put your bags in there.’
Nathan dumped his rucksack and Jen’s hold-all. To his right was a single bed. Nathan could feel it calling him. Not yet. He returned to the hallway and thanked Thomas, who looked unimpressed.
‘How long will she be?’ Thomas asked. ‘It’s nearly Christmas, and believe it or not, I have plans… a life.’
‘She just said soon.’
An awkward silence followed, eventually broken by Thomas.
‘What’s your name?’
‘David Shaw.’ Nathan replied, remembering to lie just in time.
‘And how do you know her?’
‘We worked together for a while.’
‘Oh, right,’ Thomas said, unconvinced.
Another silence.
Nathan said, ‘Look, I’m not here to cause any trouble.’
‘I’m glad to hear that.’ Thomas folded his arms. ‘What kind of trouble is she in?’
Nathan thought about her warning. Whatever was in that bag was pretty important.
‘I don’t know,’ he lied again. ‘But I’m trying to help her.’
That part was true. He did want to help her, if he could, but also hoped she could help him. If she ever made it back here, of course. A chill came over him as he remembered. It had been bad. A team in pursuit, police drones, the works. He wondered if he would ever see her again.
What’s so important? What do they want so badly?
Thomas stood watching him. Nathan decided he would wait, but knew that when the opportunity arose, he would open that bag and find out for himself.
* * *
Jen wasn’t in a usual holding cell. This place was cold steel and reinforced glass. Military. In every corner she could feel cameras on her, focusing, watching, recording. She sat on a metal bench that was bolted to the floor, her ankle swollen slightly, sprained but not broken. Not that it mattered. She had been captured.
Going back to her apartment had been a risk, she had known that, but without supplies, identity or weapons she wouldn’t have lasted an hour. It had been a calculated risk, but one she’d made before knowing how far the deceit went. Mac and Zitagi were just the tip; the iceberg went deep.
She thought of David Shaw and how, in a moment of madness, she’d given up the Histeridae, been forced to trust him. Her father had stolen it with the sole purpose of keeping it from them, and she’d let him down. She wondered if he was captured, held in a cell like her, the Histeridae lost forever.
Hours passed, giving her time to think, which wasn’t a good thing. The lights were low, the room specifically designed to give no stimulus. She felt like she was underground but it was impossible to tell. They could keep her here for as long as they wanted to and then they would kill her, she knew that, but somehow losing the Histeridae was worse. She had become convinced that it was her job to expose the truth, whatever that was.
The door lock activated and Jim McArthur entered the cell, followed by two armed guards.
He stood and waited until eventually Jen faced him. He was pale, his eyes drawn, but she knew it wasn’t because of her. They hadn’t found Shaw, he didn’t have the Histeridae and he was in deep trouble.
‘You need to tell us where it is.’ His voice was rough but clear.
On hearing his voice, Jen felt as if cold steel had filled her throat and she fought back tears. He was now her enemy. It didn’t matter how much she wished it wasn’t so.
‘Fuck you, Mac,’ she said quietly, her eyes burning into him. ‘I trusted you.’
‘Where is it?’ he said angrily. ‘Where have you hidden it?’
She looked down at her hands, which were cuffed to the bench, and tugged, the metal clinking loudly.
‘Tell me something,’ she asked, v
oid of emotion. ‘Where’s Peter Callaghan?’
McArthur walked to the corner of the room and faced away from her. ‘He’s dead.’
‘Oh, Mac.’ Jen released a painful sigh, her heart calling out to him in spite of her fear and anger. ‘What have you done?’
She couldn’t help the tears now. They came and she let them.
‘You bastard.’ She spat the words like venom. ‘You’ll pay for this. All of you.’ She looked round the room, eyeballing the various lenses.
McArthur approached her. ‘If you don’t tell us where it is, then we will make you.’ He paused, then whispered, ‘You know what I mean.’
She knew exactly. She’d had the last few hours to think about just that. Mind extraction. She’d heard the stories but bit back on her fear. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
‘You’re her little puppy now.’ She smiled as best she could. ‘Run along, Mac. Do as you’re told.’
McArthur raised his head and drew a long breath. ‘I tried,’ he said finally.
‘You did more than that,’ she shot back at him.
‘This isn’t how I wanted it to be, Jen.’ He twisted his neck against his collar. ‘I warned you and you still ran.’
As Jen watched him walk away, it felt like another one of her dreams. Like Mac was somehow playing a character, bound by a destiny that didn’t belong to him, one she was powerless to change.
Mac instructed the surly guards to prepare her for transfer and left without looking back.
Jen felt hope pour out of her like oil from a punctured drum. Soon they would extract the information they needed and her life would be over. And then, with her gone, they would find David Shaw and kill him too.