by Mark Walden
‘It looks like we have some competition,’ Nero said calmly. ‘Rest assured that all of G.L.O.V.E.’s resources are being turned to finding out more about our new adversaries as quickly as possible. They will not catch us by surprise a second time. Jason Drake may now be beyond our reach but we are diverting all of our resources towards finding the rest of them. Pietor Furan especially – he has a great deal to answer for.’
‘When the time comes, he’s mine,’ Raven said with something cold and deadly in her voice.
‘That goes without saying,’ Nero replied, ‘given the history between the two of you.’ A message window began to flash on the display on Nero’s desk. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me, Natalya. I have to take this call.’
Raven nodded and walked quickly out of his office. Nero tapped a key on his keyboard and Darkdoom’s face appeared on the screen.
‘Good afternoon, Max,’ Darkdoom said, looking tired. ‘I take it you’ve seen the news.’
‘Yes, I was just discussing it with Raven,’ Nero replied. ‘There’s a good chance that Mr Malpense is still alive after all.’
‘Yes,’ Darkdoom said, sounding slightly distracted, ‘it would appear so.’
‘Is there something wrong?’ Nero asked, picking up on his friend’s mood.
‘I’ve been thinking about the events Raven witnessed on the bridge of the Dreadnought.’
‘Furan killing Drake?’ Nero asked.
‘No,’ Darkdoom said, frowning. ‘That just saved us the trouble of doing it. I’m more concerned by the fact that the Disciples had access to that organic computing technology – Animus, as he called it. Where did they get it from?’
‘The only time we have seen anything similar was a few months ago when we tried to intercept H.O.P.E.’s transport train in the Alps. That substance was inert though. It may have been fully integrated within the structure of the train but it didn’t appear to serve any purpose other than to foil Mr Malpense’s abilities. The way it behaved on board the Dreadnought was different. What Raven described sounds like an evolution of that technology. Given the capabilities they have already demonstrated, I don’t find it hard to believe that the Disciples might have stolen that technology and made their own modifications to it.’
‘What if it wasn’t stolen,’ Darkdoom said. ‘What if it was given to them?’
‘H.O.P.E. and the Disciples working together?’ Nero asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘Not a pleasant prospect.’
‘No,’ Darkdoom agreed, ‘but certainly a possibility that warrants further investigation. I don’t like being caught by surprise and that is exactly what the Disciples did. Whatever they have planned next, I want to be one step ahead of them.’
‘We should start by making sure they haven’t turned anyone else on the ruling council,’ Nero said. ‘I’m reluctant to suggest that we start spying on our own people, but I don’t see that we have much choice.’
‘You’re right,’ Darkdoom replied with a nod, ‘though I can’t help but worry that this might be exactly what they want – suspicion and paranoia turning us against one another.’
‘Trust is not something that comes easily in our business, Diabolus, you know that,’ Nero said. ‘We’ll do whatever it takes to stop these people and that’s all there is to it. If we’ve only learnt one thing from the past couple of days it’s that the Disciples will stop at nothing to achieve their goals. If they’re prepared to sacrifice a third of the planet’s population to get what they want, then we have to be prepared to pay any price to stop them. G.L.O.V.E. has survived for all these years because we are subtle, discreet – the stiletto blade sliding between the plates of armour – and the Disciples, it would seem, are the exact opposite. They’ll drag us all down with them if we let them. They have to be destroyed.’
‘Agreed,’ Darkdoom said. ‘So what’s our first move?’
‘You OK?’ Shelby asked as she placed the tray with her lunch on it on the table and sat down next to Laura. The rest of the students in H.I.V.E.’s dining hall were chatting and laughing, oblivious to the events that had taken place less than twenty-four hours previously.
‘What do you think?’ Laura asked sadly, pushing the untouched food around her plate with a fork.
‘Stupid question,’ Shelby said. ‘Sorry.’
‘If he’d just gone with Raven,’ Laura said quietly, ‘instead of being an idiot and trying to play the hero . . .’
‘He probably saved hundreds of millions of lives,’ Shelby said.
‘What do I bloody care?’ Laura snapped back at her.
‘You don’t mean that,’ Shelby said, looking her in the eye.
‘No . . . of course I don’t, it’s just . . .’ Laura fought back the tears again. She’d had enough of crying. ‘It’s just so unfair,’ she said sadly. ‘After everything he did he should be a hero, but no one even knows and they’re never going to.’ Dr Nero had been quite clear about the fact that they were not to discuss any details of the recent situation with any of the rest of H.I.V.E.’s pupils. Otto’s sacrifice was to remain a well-kept secret.
Lucy and Wing walked towards the table. Lucy was smiling broadly and even Wing looked like he was about to smile, something he certainly hadn’t done since the Dreadnought.
‘I don’t think there’s much to be happy about,’ Shelby said angrily as they walked up to the table.
‘Go on,’ Lucy said excitedly. ‘Tell them what Raven just told us.’
‘What’s going on?’ Laura asked quickly.
‘Raven has just given me some interesting news,’ Wing said, a definite smile appearing now. He sat down at the table and quietly recounted what Raven had just told him.
‘He’s alive!’ Laura said with a gasp of astonished joy.
‘They are not certain of that,’ Wing said cautiously, ‘but it looks like he may have survived, yes.’
‘The only problem now is that nobody knows where he is,’ Lucy said. ‘Not yet, at least.’
‘So what do we do?’ Shelby asked.
‘I asked Raven the same thing and she told me that we do nothing and that we’re to leave it to them to retrieve Otto,’ Wing said, raising an eyebrow.
‘And are we going to do that?’ Laura asked.
‘No, of course not,’ Wing said with a tiny smile. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
Franz and Nigel came over and sat down at the table. Franz appeared to have all three of that particular mealtime’s options on his tray.
‘What?’ he asked as he saw Shelby staring at his tray. ‘I have been in captivity. I am needing to be building up my strength again.’
‘That’s what you said at breakfast,’ Nigel said with a sigh. He looked around the table. There were rather more smiles on people’s faces than he had been expecting. ‘Did we miss something?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact you did,’ Wing replied cryptically. ‘Let me ask you this: what do you think would be the best way to get off the island without anybody realising until it was too late?’
‘Oh no,’ Franz moaned, ‘not again.’
A minute or two later as the hushed conversation at the table continued, a girl wearing the white overalls of a student from the Science and Technology stream came over to the table and pointed at the one empty seat.
‘Is that seat taken?’ she asked.
‘Yeah,’ Laura replied with a slight smile, ‘I’m afraid it is.’
The President looked through the window at the white-haired boy lying on the hospital bed in the other room. The boy had a drip going into one arm and a tube inserted into his nose but otherwise looked like he was just sound asleep.
‘Talk to me,’ the President said to the man standing next to him. ‘Who is he?’
‘His name is Otto Malpense,’ the man replied, ‘and he is affiliated with at least one terrorist organisation.’
‘He’s just a boy,’ the President said with a frown.
‘So are many suicide bombers, sir,’ the man replied. ‘The body armour he wa
s wearing was highly sophisticated, real bleeding-edge stuff. The lab team at the Pentagon are going nuts over it.’
‘Is he going to wake up?’ the President asked.
‘I don’t know, sir. The doctors tell me they’ve never seen a coma quite like it. They say that his level of brain activity is astonishing. By all rights he should be awake and walking around, but, well, you can see for yourself that he isn’t.’
‘What happens if . . . when he wakes up?’
‘We’ll debrief him.’
‘No aggressive interrogations,’ the President said firmly. ‘Whoever he works for, we owe that young man a great deal.’
‘Understood, sir,’ the man replied. ‘Don’t worry – he’s in good hands.’
‘Make sure that nothing happens to him,’ the President instructed, staring at the man. ‘I’ll hold you personally responsible if it does. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Perfectly, sir,’ he replied.
The President took one last look at the boy on the bed and walked out of the room, secret-service agent in tow. The other man watched him leave and then walked through the door into the treatment room and over to Otto’s bed. He pulled a syringe from his pocket and held it up, tapping the air bubbles out of the viscous black liquid inside and squeezing a tiny drop out of the needle. He jabbed the needle into the artery in Otto’s neck and injected the contents of the syringe.
‘It’s so very good to see you again, Mr Malpense,’ Sebastian Trent said with a vicious smile. ‘We’re going to do such great things together.’
