Operation Sting

by Simon Cheshire

  In their hideout, the members of Operation New Age had nearly finished unpacking the crates and boxes, and were busy connecting and setting up the equipment they’d need to put their plan into effect.

  Fraser the computer hacker was still sitting in front of his desktop PC, trying to break into the AKA code protecting Whiplash. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he was getting more irritated and anxious with every passing minute.

  Williams appeared at his shoulder. Fraser deliberately kept his gaze on the screen in front of him.

  “Well, any progress?” demanded Williams.

  “None whatsoever!” spat Fraser angrily.

  Williams lowered his face level with Fraser’s and spoke very quietly. “That’s not what I want to hear. If you’re no good to us, you’re going to get kicked off this project. Remember what’ll happen to anyone we have to kick off this project? Straight into the river wearing concrete wellies.”

  Fraser gulped and tried to stop his hands shaking as they hovered over the keyboard. “Why didn’t the Insider warn us about this coded security?” he moaned.

  “He did,” said Williams through gritted teeth. “And your mate Bullman promised me you wouldn’t find it a problem.”

  Fraser wiped the sweat off his face with the grubby sleeve of his combat jacket. “Well, it is a problem!”

  At that moment, Bullman entered the room carrying a large cardboard box filled with tinned and dried food. With a grunt, he dropped it on to a table. The sudden thump made Fraser jump.

  “Any trouble on the way in?” said Williams.

  “Naaah!” scoffed Bullman. “I’ve told you, boss, there’s no way anyone will find us here. A perfect hiding place like this?”

  Agent K, one of the new SWARM agents, made her way down a narrow alley. She had crossed the Thames at Westminster Bridge and walked through a series of backstreets and underpasses until she reached the rundown area. Bits of paper and empty fast-food wrappers blew along the gutter, and she could hear a dog barking menacingly in the distance.

  She emerged from the alleyway into a large derelict patch of land. To one side was a hill of rubble and rubbish, beyond which she could see the towering buildings north of the river. In front of her was a wide area of scrubby brown grass, dotted with bricks and surrounded by an expanse of gravel. Opposite was the tall shape of a railway viaduct, blackened and crumbling with age.

  Beneath the viaduct was a series of huge arches, each more than ten metres high. The arches were filled with walls of shabby, rotting wood. Some of the walls had signs clinging on to them. In chipped and faded paint they announced things like “G&I Motors – brakes, tyres, exhausts” and “Butler’s Wholesale Fish – fresh today!”.

  The place was eerily quiet – there was no sound except for the distant roar of traffic and the continued barking of somebody’s dog. Agent K crouched down, and took a silver case from her inside jacket pocket. Carefully, she placed it on the grass in front of her and stood back.

  The case suddenly flipped open, and SWARM’s seven micro-robots emerged. Each of them beeped a contact signal back to SWARM headquarters, where Queen Bee watched seven monitors.

  The screens showed a complex array of information, including the robots’ exact locations, the programming subroutines that were guiding their behaviour, and the current status of their sensor readings. The largest section of each display was taken up with a view of what the robots were seeing. The advanced cameras fitted into Chopper showed the clearest picture, since he was designed to record and observe in fine detail.

  Crouched on the grass, Agent K snapped the case shut and, pausing only to make sure she wasn’t being followed, she stood and made her way back to the road.

  The robots maintained their positions.

  “Get ready to move in,” said Queen Bee.

  “I can’t do it,” declared Fraser, slumping over the keyboard of his PC and gripping it with sweating hands. “Every route through the program ends in a lockout.” On the screen in front of him, multiple terminal windows showed long strings of UNIX commands, each ending in error codes. “The Whiplash software continually rewrites the encryption algorithm. You’d have to think three dozen steps ahead of it all the time!”

  Williams looked from Fraser to the PC’s screen and back again. He took in a long, slow breath.

  With a sudden knotted feeling in his stomach, Fraser realized he’d pushed too far.

  Everyone in the room carried on with what they were doing but kept one eye on Williams, wondering what he would do.

  Williams stood beside Fraser. “Oh … dear … me,” he said quietly. “Are you telling me you can’t do your job? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  He loomed over Fraser, blocking out the light from the bare electric bulb hanging high above. Fraser stared up at Williams, terrified.

  “Move in,” said the voice of Queen Bee in the robots’ sensory circuits. “Detain the suspects and locate the weapon.”

  “I’m live, Queen Bee,” signalled Chopper. He transmitted a stream of data to the other robots: “Spread out. Sensors on maximum. Our target is the lock-up in the middle.”

  “We’ll make a beeline for it,” said the deep voice of Hercules.

  “Very, very funny, Hercules,” said Nero. “What great programming.”

  “Pay attention,” came the high, musical voice of Sirena the butterfly. “We have a job to do. Queen Bee, are you getting my data feed?”

  “Got it,” said Queen Bee back at headquarters, checking Sirena’s monitor. It was filled with sensor readings of the area surrounding the butterfly.

  All seven robots moved ahead at speed. Sirena, Chopper the dragonfly, Hercules the stag beetle and Sabre the mosquito flew low over the grass, fanning out slightly so that their sensors could pick up information from a wider area. Nero the scorpion, Widow the spider and Morph the centipede scuttled rapidly across the ground.

  “How many suspects will there be?” said Morph. “What weapons will they have?”

  “Unknown, as yet,” said Chopper. “Stay alert.”

  Sirena, whose sensors were the most advanced, fluttered a little ahead of the others. The long antennae extending from her head waved and turned to pick up whatever clues she could.

  “I’m detecting life forms in the lock-up,” she said.

  “How many?” said Chopper.

  “Processing…” said Sirena. “Multiple life signals, but the trace is quite faint. I don’t detect anything shielding my signals. Not sure what to make of it.”

  “There could be electronic interference,” said Chopper.

  “That would match with the suspects’ likely behaviour patterns,” said Nero, his circuits checking against the information downloaded by Simon.

  They were twenty metres from the lock-up and closing in.

  “Widow, block the escape route,” said Chopper.

  “Logged,” said the clipped voice of the spider.

  Widow fired a thin strand of web ahead of her and swung at lightning speed, landing neatly on the wooden planks that formed the wall beneath the archway. Her legs gripping the wood with micro-hooks, she turned to face the wide, hefty door built into the wall.

  With rapid jumps and twists, she leaped back and forth from one side of the door to the other. Behind her, she left a continuous line of thread, narrower than a human hair, but twice as strong as steel cable. Within a minute, a perfect cross-hatched web had been formed across the door. Anyone trying to leave the lock-up would find their way barred.

  “Exit sealed,” she said.

  By now, the others had caught up with her.

  “Attack mode,” said Chopper. “Nero, remain on guard out here. Other agents, prepare for combat.”

  The robots quickly made their way round or through the wooden wall, creeping through tiny gaps and cracks. Hercules’s saw-like mouthparts cut a tiny tunnel at ground level. Morph squashed himself almost flat and squeezed underneath a large section of planking.

  “I hope they don�
��t try to stamp on me,” said the centipede.

  Seconds later, they were inside. The lock-up was cavernous and dark. The robots’ sensors picked up damp and decay.

  This was no hideout. It was empty.

  “Scan,” said Chopper. The night-vision filters in his eye cameras took in the dusty floor and the curved brick ceiling high above. Sirena’s antennae analyzed the air. Dozens of rats scurried about, their long tails scraping along behind them, darting in an out of holes in the ancient brickwork.

  “Those rats were the life forms I detected,” said Sirena. “There was no electrical interference.”

  Chopper’s eye cameras zoomed in on the floor below. They flipped through night-vision, infra-red and ultra-violet modes. “There are marks in the dust everywhere. Rectangular shapes and lines.”

  Queen Bee stood at SWARM headquarters, eyes fixed on the data as it streamed across the screens.

  “Logically, I’d say someone was storing a lot of boxes here,” said Sabre.

  “The marks get disturbed when the rodents run across them,” said Chopper, watching a large rat cross the floor. “Since most of the marks are not disturbed, the boxes must have been here very recently.”

  Sirena took readings of the rats’ movements and made some calculations. “Based on the number of rodents present, the boxes were moved within the past two days.”

  “Have the suspects moved their hideout?” asked Morph.

  “No, the people who stole Whiplash were only storing things here temporarily,” said Chopper. “The theft happened nine hours, forty-three minutes ago. The thieves probably believe the police and secret service still don’t know who they are, or where they are, so they are unlikely to have decamped.”

  The robots scanned for forensic evidence: DNA, clothing fibres and other traces that might lead them to the gang. All that was found were some fingerprints on the door, belonging to Bullman.

  “He’s already a target,” said Chopper. “We’re no further forward in our investigation.”

  “And time is running out,” muttered Queen Bee, back at SWARM headquarters.

  Williams’s hand was gripped tightly around the collar of Fraser’s combat jacket.

  “Well?” barked Williams.

  “I’m sorry, boss, I just can’t do it,” whined Fraser.

  “Do you want me to lose my patience with you? Huh? Do you?”

  “The coding that protects Whiplash needs a mathematical genius to crack it. I’m the best hacker there is, you know that, boss, but this is Einstein-level. It isn’t possible for me, but … but … it might be possible for someone else.”

  Behind his thick spectacles, Williams’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning…?”

  “I’ve got an idea, boss,” said Fraser, squirming. “I think I know who can crack that code. It’ll only mean a short delay to the project. A few hours, tops. I need to go out for a while. Me, and Bullman, and a couple of heavies. Is that OK? Boss? OK?”

  Slowly, Williams relaxed his grip on Fraser and stood back. Fraser hurriedly straightened his collar. The other members of Operation New Age watched them expectantly.

  Williams sniffed. “OK,” he said quietly. “I want you back here before sunrise. And keep a sharp eye out when you’re coming and going. Our presence here is supposed to be secret, remember. Minimum movement outside.”

  “Yes, boss. I understand, boss,” gulped Fraser.

  Bullman had been sitting on the battered leather sofa in the corner, watching Fraser’s discomfort with a mixture of sympathy and amusement on his face. Now he got up and whistled over to two of the gang members in combat gear.

  The four men prepared to leave, Fraser keeping a watchful eye on Williams all the time. The room had a hefty metal door with large rivets around its edges. In the middle of the door was a big red wheel.

  Bullman turned the wheel anti-clockwise, and swung the door back on its fat hinges. Beyond the door was a gloomy concrete corridor. Dim lights were set into the walls at wide intervals, behind damage-resistant iron frames.

  The door closed behind the four men with a loud clang. The wheel spun until the door was firmly locked again.

  “So, we have no idea where their base of operations is?” said Alfred.

  The programmer was walking along the main corridor of SWARM HQ. To either side were offices, workshops and emergency living quarters.

  Beside him strode Queen Bee, and between them flew Chopper the dragonfly and Hercules the stag beetle, their precise mechanical wings keeping them exactly at Alfred’s eye level.

  “I’m afraid not,” said Queen Bee.

  Alfred shrugged. “Don’t worry, there must be some way for us to find them. Chopper, were there any other clues left at the lock-up?”

  “Negative, Alfred,” said Chopper.

  “Simon has downloaded all the data we collected,” said Hercules, “but it contains no new information. He has also checked the data gathered by Agent J, Sirena and Morph, over at Techna-Stik, but we have no clues as to the identity of the informer.”

  “Whoever at Techna-Stik is working with this gang,” muttered Queen Bee, “they’ve covered their tracks very well.”

  “Hmm,” said Alfred, frowning. “Let’s think now. The thieves have obviously gone to a lot of trouble to steal Whiplash. If they’re smart enough to plan the robbery, they’re smart enough to realize that right now they’re top priority for MI5, and so on. Right?”

  “Right,” said Queen Bee.

  “So,” said Alfred, “if they’re prepared to turn themselves into such a significant target, then they must have pretty big plans for Whiplash.”

  “Clearly, yes,” said Queen Bee. “Where exactly does it lead us, though?”

  “As I see it, there can only be three possible reasons why they stole Whiplash. The first is that they’re simply holding it to ransom. Give us a huge pile of cash or we bash it to bits, that sort of thing. But if that was their motive, then we’d surely have heard about it by now. They’d have contacted the police, or someone, and issued their demands. After all, they would need to get rid of the device as soon as possible. The longer they have Whiplash in their possession, the greater the chance that we’ll catch them red-handed. But they’ve had Whiplash for a whole day and we haven’t heard from them.”

  “What’s the second reason?” said Queen Bee. “That they’re going to sell it, I presume?”

  “Exactly,” said Alfred.

  “Who would they sell it to?” said Hercules. “A foreign government, perhaps?”

  “Or a terrorist group?” added Chopper.

  “Yes, if that was indeed why they stole it,” said Alfred. “But I doubt that’s really their motive. The one clue we have is that this Bullman character is involved. And possibly so are friends of his such as … what was his name? Fraser! Bullman and Fraser are known fanatics. They try to destroy businesses, embarrass officials, ruin projects they don’t agree with. They’re a bunch of thugs, but they think they’re fighting for a cause. Their attitude is: if we don’t like it, we’ll wreck it. I seriously doubt people like that would have stolen Whiplash just to pass it on. Would they really get hold of a massively powerful weapon in order to flog it?”

  “That makes sense,” nodded Queen Bee. “Which leads us to the third reason – they’re going to activate it themselves.”

  “Spot on,” said Alfred. “They stole it to use it. But Whiplash still hasn’t been fired. We’d certainly know if it had! That might suggest they’re not actually capable of firing it. At least, not yet.”

  “Couldn’t they be transporting it somewhere?” said Chopper. “They might intend to fire it on the other side of the world.”

  “Transporting it would be another big risk,” said Alfred. “Lots of chances to get caught. What they’re planning can’t be like any terrorist outrage ever before. It’s Whiplash they’ve stolen, a very specific weapon that does a very specific thing. They want it because this time, bombs and guns aren’t good enough. I think we can be reasonably sur
e that, just at the moment, they don’t know how to fire it. All that security built into the weapon is keeping them out. They can’t break the AKA code.”

  “But if Fraser is involved,” said Queen Bee, “why are they having difficulty? He’s one of the world’s top computer hackers.”

  “Agent J sent me the details of Techna-Stik’s AKA system after his visit there,” said Alfred. “There’s no way even I could crack it, and I’m the cleverest person I know. Well, given a few weeks I might crack it. But the thieves haven’t got a few weeks. They know we’ll track them down eventually. They can’t afford to delay for even twenty-four hours, let alone any longer.”

  “So they’ll need help from outside,” concluded Queen Bee. “Brilliant! Chopper, Hercules, access the main databanks. Find information on anyone who might be able to crack that code without breaking a sweat. Mathematicians, cryptographers, anyone. Cross reference by geographical location.”

  “We’re live, Queen Bee,” said the two robots. They beamed a login signal to the mainframe computer on the floor below.

  “Search successful,” said Chopper. “Four possible candidates found. Two are out of the country, one lives in northern Scotland. The most likely person for the gang to contact is Dr Madeleine Smith, lecturer in Applied Mathematics at the University of South Warwickshire.”

  “Good work,” said Queen Bee. “Alfred, tell Professor Miller to prepare the SWARM. We’ll send a team to guard Dr Smith immediately.”

  In the thieves’ hideout, over a dozen members of the gang were seated in two rows, facing a fold-out projection screen that had been rigged up at one end of the room. Their leader Williams was connecting a laptop to a projector. The mysterious Insider, the gang’s contact inside Techna-Stik, had returned from the Techna-Stik offices and sat to one side of the screen, in the shadows behind Williams.

  The gang members talked quietly amongst themselves until at last Williams raised a hand for silence. He pressed a small remote control and a series of graphics and photos filled the screen as he spoke.