by Malcolm Rose
“Hang on! She died before you were born?”
“Yes.”
“But you said, ‘We hatched a plot.’”
Emily nodded. “It’s like she’s still with me. A bit like a secret twin. I talk to her all the time. Actually, Emily’s more ruthless than me. She wanted me to call on everyone in the family tree and give them a taste of death. If there was a way of injecting them with lipodystrophy, that would’ve been ideal for her. But it’s not like that. It can’t be done. And it’d be hundreds of people. I stripped the idea down to Emily Wonders who could’ve inherited the disease. That’s because we’re both called Emily.” Now, there was moisture in her eyes and her voice was breaking. “You wouldn’t believe the research I put into finding them. I’ve been planning it for years. And I did it. I finished without getting caught. Roll call complete.”
Luke shook his head. “No, it isn’t. Where’s the fourth one?”
She wiped her cheek and looked at the date displayed in the bottom right-hand corner of her telescreen. “They say you can last three minutes without air, three days without water, and three weeks without food. She could still be alive. Just.”
“She’s locked in the detergent factory, isn’t she?”
Stony-faced, she repeated, “You’re the FI.”
“Yes. It must’ve been three weeks ago. That fits with my witness. It’d be the Saturday you went to Woburn. December the twenty-fourth. You did your research and, while you were in the south, you tracked the last Emily down in Greenwich that weekend.”
“Think you’re clever, don’t you?”
“Clever enough to get the evidence I need to charge you with the murder of three people called Emily Wonder, abduction and attempted murder of another.”
Malc’s silence confirmed it.
Luke left her in the hands of the agents and called The Authorities in London straightaway. As soon as he explained that he needed a search and rescue team to comb North Greenwich, his request was denied. The Authorities had channelled all of their resources into dealing with a possible flood because the volcano in the Canary Islands had reached critical status. Luke muttered a curse and flew out of the school, towards the nearest corridor where he dived into a fast cab bound for London.
****
Without a trace of emotion, Malc roused the dozing Luke with the announcement, “This cab will not be permitted into east London.”
Instantly awake, Luke cried, “What? Why not?”
“East London, Thames estuary towns, and all southern coastal communities are being evacuated.”
“It’s happening, then!”
“The volcano on La Palma has erupted and much of its western side collapsed two hours ago. The resulting tsunami will flood many southern areas, including low-lying parts of London.”
“But the old detergent factory is right by the river.”
“Correct.”
“I need to talk to The Authorities about Emily Wonder again.”
“I have already done so. All personnel are involved in evacuation measures. It is not efficient use of agents and guards to assign them to a search for one person who may already be dead.”
“All right. Tell them I’m arriving in this cab. They’ve got to let me through.”
“Denied. Corridor power will be turned off within the danger zone.”
“How long have I got?”
“Two hours and thirty-six minutes. It is very unlikely to be enough time to find Emily Wonder and effect a rescue. The Authorities require you to abandon this attempt. It is too dangerous.”
“Malc. I am not going to abandon anything. You heard what Edinburgh Emily said. She left EW4 without food for weeks but she could be alive.”
“The Authorities do not regard her life as valuable enough to risk yours in these circumstances.”
“All human life is precious, Malc. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Correct. My programming does not call for understanding, only obedience and allegiance to the law.”
“Perhaps you’d understand if you faced dying at some point.”
“I cannot die, but I will become obsolete one day,” Malc said without a hint of regret.
“Enough. Plot me a route to the Thames as near as possible to Greenwich – one that’ll stay powered up. Then feed it to the cab. We’re going in.” He paused before adding, “Then get me a speech-only link to Owen Goode.”
Owen’s heated voice filled the back of the cab. “It’s crazy here. I’m being told to get out.”
“It’s not some sort of trick, Owen. It’s for real. In two and a half hours, a ten-metre wave is going to surge up the river. It’ll flood a lot of London.”
“No!”
“Yes,” Luke insisted. “But ask yourself this. Will The Authorities put much effort into evacuating homeless kids from North Greenwich who probably don’t even know what’s coming? The warehouse is going to be swamped.”
“Right. Got you. I’m on my way. They’ll take ages to round up.”
“I’ll see you there.”
“Really? You as well?”
“I think that eleven-year-old’s trapped in Blackwall Detergents. I’ll take care of her if I can. You get the kids to higher ground. If you can’t do it in time, take them to a tower block in Canary Wharf and get up to the top floor.”
“I don’t have a fancy identity card like yours. I won’t be able to get in.”
Luke smiled. “Come on! I’m an investigator so I can’t tell you to smash a few windows. But the wave’ll break far more than you, so don’t lose sleep over it. Good luck. You’ll need it.”
“Yeah. You too,” Owen replied in a loud voice, as if he were shouting all the way to Luke’s southbound cab. “And thanks.”
To the right of the corridor, the clear sky over Derby glowed a glorious red and orange as the sun headed for the horizon. Cocooned within the warm vehicle, Luke did not feel the marked drop in temperature as nightfall neared.
Chapter Twenty-Five
In the North Atlantic Ocean, a ring of mountainous water radiated outwards from the Canary Islands. All shipping in the tsunami’s path was steaming away from the area but most would not be able to outrun the rogue wave. They were doomed to be tossed like toys and capsized.
Every telescreen along England’s south coast was broadcasting a continuous alert about the coming disaster, urging people to seek out higher ground immediately. Thousands of homes below sea level in Canvey Island and near the Bristol Channel had been forcibly evacuated and abandoned for the duration of the flood. Guards and agents were sweeping across vulnerable parts of London, spreading the message to those who had not heard the telescreen news.
Feeling anxious for an eleven-year-old girl and for himself, Luke could not relax. Yet giving up the bid to rescue Emily had not crossed his mind. Talking on-line to a voice of The Authorities, he said, “Yes. Twenty or thirty children collect in North Greenwich warehouse and I know you don’t have the resources to send agents out to round up people who aren’t registered. The kids would scatter even if you did. But I could get Owen Goode to rescue them all. That means you wash your hands of them. Afterwards, you won’t have to justify not attempting to save them. Even if it’s terrible news, you can say you sent someone in to do his best. It’s the same with me and the trapped girl.”
“You’re stepping well beyond your sphere of expertise, Investigator Harding.”
“I know. But it makes sense.”
“What does this Owen Goode want in return?”
“Not a lot. Just the dome – if it’s still standing after the wave. And the freedom to run a sort of sanctuary there. He’ll lure a good few kids away from crime.”
Astounding Luke, Malc added, “I confirm it is a logical course of action. Owen Goode is skilled at organizing and restraining such children.”
Luke stared at his mobile and then nodded his thanks for the unexpected support. “I might even be able to persuade Jed Lester – the runner – to help out.”
Luke was glad he was not on telescreen because he could not resist punching the air in triumph and grinning widely. “Thank you,” he replied, as soberly as possible. “I will contact him and see if he is willing to risk... you know.”
Malc severed the link to The Authorities and said, “I remind you that you have already gained Owen Goode’s cooperation.”
Luke nodded. “But it’s not always the best policy to reveal your hand. I mean, to do things the proper way round.”
The cab continued its frantic dash towards the Thames. Luke and Malc seemed to be the only ones going against the tide of people. Entering the outskirts of the ugly city at nightfall, the corridor lamps held back darkness. The cab swung round corners at speed, searching out intact and passable freeways, until it came to a halt at Chelsea Bridge to the west of Central London. On the opposite bank, Battersea geothermal power station was deserted and out of order. Its dark silhouette was eerily silent. Under artificial lighting, workers at Battersea Green Animal Sanctuary were sandbagging the perimeter as a precaution.
“When the surge reaches this far inland,” Malc told him, “it will have diminished to levels that should not be dangerous.”
Luke wasted no time. He sprinted to the wharf, asking, “How far is it up the river to Blackwall Detergents?”
“Sixteen point three kilometres,” Malc answered.
Luke swiped his card through the quayside reader and said, “Urgent. North Greenwich. Fastest transport available.”
The auto-system was still working. The computer-generated voice replied, “Pier 3.”
Luke squinted through the gloom. Pier 7 was in front of him and Pier 8 was to his right. He dashed to the left and zigzagged through the complex of landing stages. Attached to Pier 3 was a powerboat. “Fantastic,” Luke said as he clambered on board, guided by a single lamp above the stage. “Never been on one, but it looks fast.”
The attachments disengaged and the engine let out an unearthly clatter. Luke staggered back as the launch lurched and accelerated quickly to maximum.
Shouting above the noise, Luke said, “Calculate our speed. How long will I have in North Greenwich before the flood comes?”
The boat turned northwards and headed for Central London. Two red lights at the stern acted as a warning. A single white light on the prow illuminated the river in front. The water heaved gently like the chest of a sleeping giant. There was no clue that the giant would soon wake and cause havoc.
“At this rate,” Malc replied, “you will have thirty-seven minutes to reach safety.”
They were charging directly towards the massive wave that would gush through London. As far as Luke could see as he clung to the powerboat rail, the centre of the city was deserted. The river turned eastwards and the launch raced between the ruins of Southwark Bridge, under London Bridge and then passed Tower Bridge. Moonlight and the river walkway lamps picked out a foaming white wake behind the craft. Standing near the bow, Luke seemed to be the only person on the Thames.
The powerboat rocked as it swung past Rotherhithe and Luke gripped the wet rail tighter. He waited for the launch to swerve violently in the other direction when it took the big bend by the tower blocks of Canary Wharf. Water sprayed out from under the prow and the wind blew Luke’s damp hair in all directions. The boat was travelling south now, through a barren landscape that had become familiar to him. The engine’s tone changed. It was powering down, ready to sweep round the tight curve and head north to the Greenwich warehouse. It was only a matter of minutes before Luke would be on dry land, making a dash from the wharf to the detergent factory.
Even before the attachments locked the launch to the platform alongside a river cruiser, Luke leapt onto the jetty, skidding on the slushy snow. Without faltering, he sprinted towards the entrance to Blackwall Tunnel and the dome. Malc shone a light over his shoulder onto the decaying freeway.
Ahead, Owen Goode was leading a band of scruffy kids away from the area. When Owen saw Luke charging towards him, he turned to them and calmed them down. “It’s all right. Don’t be frightened! He’s an FI but he’s here to help. Promise. Stay together.”
At Owen’s side, the seven-year-old agreed. “He’s okay, this one.”
Reassured, the children did not panic and flee.
Luke paused. “Have you got your identity card?” Seeing Owen nod, he said, “Good. Go down to the quay and ask for Canary Wharf. You’ve got half an hour. A bit more. You’ll make it into a tower block.”
“What about you?”
“I can look after myself.”
Owen smiled. “Oh yeah? Only because of him.” He jerked a thumb towards Malc.
Luke slapped Owen on the back. “Good news. If the warehouse is still in one piece in the morning, it’s yours. You’ve got yourself your own youth centre.” Then he ran off into the night.
Behind Luke, Owen’s open-mouthed expression of surprise evolved into a broad grin.
At the disintegrating wooden gate, Luke stopped and took some deep breaths. “Right. Let’s go round the factory, looking for signs someone’s broken in.”
The first obstacle was the padlock on the gate. Luke lifted his boot and slammed it into the wood. There was the sound of tearing but it did not splinter completely. The second attempt loosened it even further. Luke did not want to drain Malc’s batteries unless he had to, so he did not ask the mobile to fire his laser. Instead, he kicked again and the gate fell limply to one side. Squeezing through the gap into the concrete yard, Luke saw a large pile of caked white powder. It looked like a snowdrift but it was made of unused detergent.
He dashed to the main door and Malc shone a light onto it. It was filthy, apparently not disturbed for years.
“There are no indications that it has been opened and no shoeprints in the dirt,” Malc told him.
Luke began to circle the old building, stopping by each window and testing it for movement and traces of entry. When he bashed his fist against the rear fire door, he sent a hollow boom throughout the empty structure. “Still nothing?” he asked Malc.
“I do not detect any evidence of recent interference.”
Luke could not see a ladder or anything else that would have given access the upper floor but he got Malc to scan the higher windows anyway.
Once he’d completed a circuit of the factory, he came to a halt. His sigh became visible in the chilly air. “I was sure she’d...” He shook his head. “How long have we got?”
“Twenty-three minutes and forty-two seconds.”
Frustrated, Luke closed his eyes for a few moments. “This isn’t right. That young lad said the two Emilys walked off that way,” he said, pointing east, beyond the dome. “Towards the river. Why?”
“It is likely that the business shipped its product by auto-barge,” Malc remarked.
“Brilliant! There’ll be a terminal somewhere. I bet that’s it.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Luke set off at speed again. He stopped at the spot where he’d first caught sight of Emily’s blue backpack. The waterfront lamps were struggling to make an impression on the darkness and Luke relied on Malc to act as a beacon. His fingers grasped the rusty rail but he let go at once because it felt freezing against his skin.
“There!” Luke shouted, pointing northwards. He’d spotted the jetty that floated at a crazy angle. Once, a long time ago, it had provided a mooring for auto-barges. He imagined that the silo fed detergent into their holds. “Let’s go.”
He sprinted along the walkway until he reached the point where the floating stage was fastened. There, his heart fell. On the bank, there was a padlocked iron gate to bar the way onto the rickety wooden plank, held up by corroded scaffolding.
Malc surveyed it and said, “This construction will not withstand the force of a te
n-metre surge.” Then he homed in on the ironwork and added, “The gate has been forced open and fitted with a new padlock. There are scrape marks in the rust where an object like a crowbar was levered. On the plank, there is evidence of shoeprints...”
Luke couldn’t wait for Malc to burn through iron with his laser. “Give me light,” he ordered, intent on clambering around the gate to get onto the boards that sloped down to the pontoon. He grasped a metal pole on the right-hand side of the gate and tested its strength. It was very cold to the touch but at least the pitted rusty surface gave him a good grip. The ground below his feet dropped away as he swung out, taking his weight on his arms. Dangling from the scaffolding, he inched out over the river by shuffling his hands along the girder. When he’d got past the gate, he pulled himself up acrobatically and rolled onto the plank.
As he got to his feet, the wood creaked and flexed alarmingly. But he didn’t have time to worry about his own safety or the sturdiness of the contraption. He strode onto the ramshackle jetty itself. He couldn’t walk easily on its surface because it was nowhere near flat. Crossing it was like teetering on a steep hillside. It also wobbled with the river’s movement. There were three heavy metal covers that protected storage chambers below the waterline. First, though, Luke pointed to the silo. “Am I right, Malc? Are there any detergent residues around it?”
“Confirmed.”
Luke sighed with relief. “Okay, let’s see if one of these chambers has been disturbed.”
This time, he didn’t need Malc’s sophisticated scanning. He needed only the mobile’s spotlight.
“Here!”
The dirt around the middle lid had been removed and there were scratches on the metal. Again, there was a fresh padlock keeping it firmly in place. “I want this open.” But Luke could not see any tools lying on the frail landing stage so he had no choice but to use his mobile. “Zap it, Malc. Find the weakest point and burn right through.”
To conserve power, Malc turned off his light and channelled all of his energy into the laser. The padlock was the obvious target but it was new and tough. Instead, he focussed on the old bolt that secured the U-shaped staple to the platform. In the darkness, the metal began to glow.