The Hour of Camelot

by Alan Fenton

  Agravaine’s shoulders lifted helplessly as Arthur studied the words with a puzzled frown.

  ‘It’s an anagram,’ said Mordred.

  Tich’s enormous face ruptured into cracks, fissures, gullies, mountains, ravines and crevasses. ‘Hats off to Mord,’ he said. ‘The man’s a genius!’

  Agravaine’s brows contracted. Suddenly the light dawned, and he too was smiling.

  ‘Will someone tell me what you are talking about,’ said Arthur, feeling very much out of it.

  Mordred obliged. ‘Have met Ronin, Steven is an anagram for Save the Environment.’

  ‘It means,’ said Agravaine, miffed that he had not broken the code himself, ‘that the terrorists may have infiltrated an environmental group with worldwide connections. As yet we have no means of knowing which group, but it certainly reduces our list of suspects.’

  ‘We have to look for a well-known environmental group led by a man whose first name is Steven,’ said Tich. ‘If I’m right, they’ll have offices, or at least computers, all over the world.’

  ‘And every one of them is now a zombie, infected by cyber-terrorists,’ said Agravaine, his fingers already tapping instructions to Techforce Ten.

  Every green/environmental group in the world was swiftly investigated. In less than an hour Techforce had come up with six possibilities, rapidly reduced to three, then two, then one: an environmental organisation with hundreds of machines all over the world. The group’s name: The World is Ours, its leader, Steven Adams.

  By 7 p.m. Eastern Seaboard time that evening, Neural Network had penetrated the Group’s computers in their head office in London. Agravaine explained the process. ‘We have infiltrated their computers with our own monitoring programme, hooked into their operating systems and are intercepting all traffic. In other words we have introduced our own Trojan Horse. When we know for sure that this is the group whose network is infected, we can start tracking the terrorists.’

  ‘One question,’ said Arthur. ‘Does Ronin exist? Or is it just a code name?’

  For a second or two Agravaine’s stubby fingers rested on the keyboard, then darted into action again. ‘He exists all right.

  We’re checking him out. Either he’s the leader of The Hand of God, or he’s a key member of it.’

  ‘I still don’t understand how he managed to infiltrate the environmentalists’ sites.’

  ‘My guess,’ said Tich, ‘is that Steven needed to upgrade the group’s security. Many of their so-called ‘green’ activities are either borderline or downright illegal, and he probably suspected he was being monitored by security services. The chances are that he consulted a cyber expert who introduced him to Ronin. Ronin told Steven about a programme tailor- made to erect a solid wall against intrusion. Steven fell for it, bought the programme and installed it. From that day, his machines and all the machines he was in contact with – and there are probably hundreds of them – became zombies, doing the terrorists’ work for them.’

  By 2 a.m. the next morning, Camelot time, Neural Network and Techforce Ten had located eighteen terrorists in eleven countries – among them the Kingdom of the Euphrates, Afghanistan, China, Russia, Finland and Norway, via log files and IP addresses. Some IP addresses narrowed down the terrorists’ location to a very small geographical area, some to areas so large that they were virtually useless. It was clear they would never be able to catch all the terrorists before the deadline expired. The aim had to be to catch enough of them to cripple the organisation.

  In the far south of the Kingdom of the Euphrates Kraken glided mantled and undetected up the Persian Gulf towards Basra. Under cover of darkness it landed six actives and four miniature surveillance robots crammed with databanks of detailed information on the three terrorists they were looking for; in one case, a full physical description, in another, iris and voice signatures, and in a third – the crucial information that had brought Kraken to Basra – a geographical location and a mobile phone number. Moving fast, the mini-robots led the actives to a safe house in the back-streets of the city.

  Two men were asleep, the third kept watch at an upstairs window. Spotting the actives before they saw him, he killed three of them with a burst of sub-machine gun fire. The three surviving soldiers burst into the house, rushed up the stairs and opened fire with their portables, Elimatting two of the terrorists. The third jumped from a window and escaped. The four mini-robots and the three actives made their way back to the pickup rendezvous where a Scuttle waited to take them back to Kraken. The surviving terrorist was tracked by a second Scuttle through the deserted streets of Basra. Not fast, but incredibly manoeuvrable, the bumbling craft was never far behind its quarry, riding high and swooping low over the sleeping city. About to take shelter in a warehouse, he raised a frightened face as the Scuttle loomed over him. A positron beam flashed down from the Scuttle’s belly and the terrorist was Elimatted.

  Though it was only a start, the news that three terrorists had been tracked down and killed galvanised the hunt. With the deadline fast approaching, two more were located in a Moscow suburb by Russian cyber security tipped off by Techforce Ten. One was killed immediately by an armed police unit, the second escaped. The whole incident had been observed and logged by Eclipse’s on board computer network.

  Minutes later, Eclipse relocated the hunted terrorist in the same suburb and dropped a destroyer robot programmed with the man’s facial features, voice and iris signature, bone structure and skin-prints. As he sat working at his computer, a missile no bigger than a pencil drilled a neat hole through his head.

  By 10 a.m. Eastern Seaboard time, two hours before the deadline, twenty-eight cyber-terrorists had been hunted down and killed, nineteen of them Elimatted by Camelot, the rest killed by security services working on information supplied by Techforce Ten. In these operations Camelot lost seven actives and three robots.

  Locating and infiltrating the “zombie” computers had been a major breakthrough. Security forces considered it unlikely that any significant number of cyber-terrorists had survived. But although the terror group’s body had been severely wounded, the head was still very much alive and as long as Ronin was at large, the group remained a major threat. It was feared likely that the next strike would be the biggest one so far, involving many casualties and major damage, and even at this late hour, with the deadline fast approaching, there was no clue to where it would be.

  Fifty Two

  The Hand of God

  Agravaine brought up on screen the last message from the terror group, a message he had read a hundred times, and still could make no sense of. You shall know what it is to shed bitter tears. And your tears will engulf you. Again and again he repeated the sentence that intrigued and puzzled him. Your tears will engulf you. How could tears engulf anyone? Was it simply an exaggerated description of grief? Or was there an underlying message? Suddenly, like an exploding firework, the answer burst in his brain, and for an instant dazzled him. No, it couldn’t be. And then, yes, it had to be! ‘That’s it!’ he cried, leaping off his stool and jumping up and down. ‘That’s it! That’s it!’

  ‘What is?’ said Tich, regarding Agravaine with concern. Had Agro lost it?

  ‘The next target!’ ‘What about it?’

  ‘Don’t you see! It’s a dam!’

  Arthur looked blankly at Agravaine. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Think what would happen if they breached a big dam! I mean a real biggie.’

  ‘It could be a catastrophe,’ said Arthur.

  ‘Their tears would engulf them,’ said Mordred.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Agravaine. ‘That’s what Ronin is saying. Obviously he’s not going to reveal the target, but he can’t resist telling us how clever he is. He gives us clues because he enjoys teasing and taunting us.’ Time was running out. Assumptions had to be made. It was their only chance. ‘Right,’ said Arthur briskly, ‘let’s assume that The Hand of God is going to attack a dam. The question is which dam. There are dams all over the wor
ld. The target dam could be anywhere.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Agravaine. ‘Look how the message is worded. When two days have passed by Eastern Seaboard time we shall demonstrate our power in a way our most arrogant enemy will never forget. Ronin specifically mentions Eastern Seaboard time and our most arrogant enemy.’

  ‘You are right,’ said Arthur. ‘He’s going to attack the United States.’

  ‘It’s the Hoover Dam,’ said Mordred, ‘it has to be.’ ‘Let’s have the data on it,’ said Arthur.

  In seconds, a mass of information on the Hoover Dam was on the table monitor. The three men leaned towards the screen. ‘OK,’ said Agravaine, ‘let me summarise . . . The Hoover Dam is one of the wonders of the modern world – 726 feet tall, 660 feet wide at the bottom and 45 feet at the top. It weighs six million tons. This would not be a 9/11, 2001 situation. A building is far easier to destroy than a massive dam. According to experts it’s highly unlikely that the dam could be breached by the impact of an aircraft.’

  ‘Experts don’t always take all possibilities into account,’ said Arthur. ‘What if the aircraft were loaded with high explosives set to detonate on impact?’

  Agravaine put the question to Techforce Ten, and moments later the answer was on screen: Large aircraft packed with explosives would have eighty per cent chance of breaching Hoover Dam.

  ‘Why would anyone want to attack the Hoover dam?’ asked Tich. ‘I can think of two small cities that might be affected by flooding – Boulder City and Las Vegas. And they would probably be evacuated before the waters reached them,’

  ‘Hopefully they would,’ said Arthur, ‘though nothing is certain. And remember, though terrorists aim for maximum casualties, they have other objectives too. According to experts, the Hoover Dam is one of the top five targets in the West. Breaching it would not only create major disruption, it would be an enormous psychological blow to the United States, bearing in mind that it was built at the time of the Great Depression of the 1930’s. For many Americans, Hoover is not just a dam, it’s a symbol of triumph over adversity, of hope in the future.’

  Tich was not convinced. ‘Flying a plane through the canyon would be a major challenge for any pilot, however good he was. The chances are that either the canyon walls or the transmission towers and lines would tear the wings off before the plane reached the dam. Why would terrorists go for a long shot when there are plenty of easier targets?’

  It was 4 p.m. Camelot time, 11 a.m. Eastern Seaboard time – one hour to the deadline.

  ‘How else could they breach the dam?’ said Arthur, all too aware that time was fast running out.

  ‘A missile?’ suggested Agravaine.

  ‘Anything’s possible of course,’ said Tich, ‘but it’s almost unthinkable that the US military would allow one of their missile sites to be compromised a second time. They must surely have learned a lesson from the White House disaster.’

  The three men considered what other options there might be. Arthur paced the dimly-lit room waving his arms and talking to himself, Mordred sat head in hands, brooding, Agravaine fiddled compulsively with tissue boxes and rows of empty plastic coffee cups, Ian Tichgame produced playing cards from his nose.

  ‘What if a missile were launched from another country,’ said Agravaine.

  Arthur shook his head. ‘That would be interpreted as an act of war against the US, a step too far for any country, even the most daring rogue state. It would provoke an immediate and overwhelming counter-strike.’ The three men pondered.

  Tich’s eyes were suddenly bulging with excitement. ‘Why does the aircraft have to be piloted?

  Arthur stopped in mid-pace. ‘Have we overlooked something?’

  ‘We most certainly have,’ said Tich. ‘Everyone knows an aircraft can be flown on automatic pilot. What most people don’t know is that the automatic pilot can be remotely controlled.’

  ‘To do what exactly?’ said Arthur.

  ‘Everything,’ said Agravaine, ‘including taking off and landing. Though in this case,’ he added grimly, ‘landing would not be on the agenda.’

  ‘What’s more,’ said Tich, ‘an efficient guidance system would virtually eliminate errors.’

  Silence, whilst the idea was digested. ‘So the aircraft would have a fair chance of navigating the canyon,’ said Arthur.

  ‘I’d say an excellent chance,’ said Tich.

  That changed everything, everything but the fact that it was now 4.35 p.m. Camelot time, 11.35 a.m. Eastern Seaboard time – twenty-five minutes to the deadline.

  The speakers crackled; it was Lancelot from Eclipse cruising at fifty thousand feet over Tehran. ‘Have located Ronin and three of his aides in an Internet café in Tehran.’

  Arthur’s eyes sparkled. ‘Is that a hundred per cent?’

  ‘We have matching iris and voice signatures, plus the fact that Ronin is using the same server he has used before. It’s them alright.’

  Arthur gave his orders. ‘Tell Techforce to contact the Americans. They are to shut down Las Vegas airport and all private airstrips in the vicinity. If any aircraft tries to take off, they must shoot it down.’

  In seconds Agravaine had rapped out the message to Techforce Ten. Less than a minute later, the new US President was on videolink, his craggy face duplicated on four wall monitors.

  ‘Arthur.’

  ‘Mr President.’ ‘What’s this all about?’

  There was no time for lengthy explanations. ‘We expect an imminent attack on the Hoover Dam.’

  The President managed to look sceptical and fearful at the same time. ‘We can’t go blowing aircraft out of the sky for no good reason.’

  ‘There is good reason, sir, you will have to take my word for

  it. If you don’t act now, there could be a major disaster.’

  ‘And if you’re wrong,’ said the President, ‘I could be responsible for slaughtering innocent passengers on a commercial flight.’

  ‘We believe the cyber-terrorists intend to fly an aircraft packed with high explosives into the dam. For many reasons, that is highly unlikely to involve a commercial aircraft with passengers on board.’

  ‘I see.’ The President exchanged a few words with someone out of camera shot. ‘We’ve declared a five hundred kilometre exclusion zone around Lake Mead. If any aircraft breaches it, we’ll destroy it.’ He looked at his watch. ‘How long have we got?’

  Arthur consulted the wall clock. ‘The deadline expires in approximately six minutes.’

  Someone handed the President a note. ‘I’m told there are no commercial aircraft airborn in the exclusion zone,’ he said.

  ‘There could be airstrips in the area your people don’t know about,’ said Arthur.

  ‘We’ll keep watching.’ The President hesitated. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you, Arthur, but this is all theoretical.’

  Arthur frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Three fighter aircraft took off a couple of minutes ago, but they won’t get there in time. Their ETA Hoover Dam is justmover ten minutes from now.

  It was the worst possible news. ‘What about missiles?’

  ‘The nearest missile sites have been alerted, but it’s unlikely any suspect aircraft could be targeted in the time frame we have.’ The President clasped his hands. ‘I can only pray to God that you are wrong.’ And with that his image faded from the screens.

  Mordred stared woodenly at the blank screen where the President’s face had been. Tich bit his inside lip until the blood ran. Agravaine shifted tissue balls around his desk.

  ‘What do we do now, nuncle?’ ‘Get me Eclipse,’ said Arthur.

  In seconds Lancelot’s face was on screen. ‘Give me an update, Lance,’ said Arthur.

  ‘Ronin and three aides are still in the Internet café.’ ‘What are the aides doing?’

  ‘Chain-smoking and drinking coffee. They seem nervous.’ ‘And Ronin?’

  ‘Working at his computer and talking at the same time. He’s very c
alm and focused.’

  ‘Can you confirm exactly what he’s doing on his computer?’ ‘No, sir, I can only make assumptions.’

  It was all any of them could do. ‘Anyone else in the café?’ ‘No one. Just self-service machines and computers. No waiters, no other customers.’ ‘Stand by to Elimat’ said Arthur.

  Galaxy’s speakers crackled to life – another Techforce report. Americans confirm large freighter aircraft just took off from unknown airstrip near Las Vegas. Now heading east. No indication of any crew on board. Believe on auto-pilot or under remote control.

  ‘Distance to target?’ asked Agravaine.

  Twenty-five kilometres.

  The three men exchanged glum looks. Arthur asked what they were all thinking: ‘Estimated time of arrival Hoover Dam?’

  Twelve noon East Coast time.

  There was no doubt now, if ever there had been. The target was the Hoover dam. Arthur could only pray that it was indeed Ronin controlling the aircraft, and not someone else in some other location. If it was Ronin, and if he were taken out, the aircraft would hopefully be out of control and veer away from the dam.

  Galaxy’s wall clock told the story: three minutes to the deadline.

  ‘Do you copy, sir?’ asked Lancelot from Eclipse. ‘I copy.’

  ‘Two women just entered the café. One is at the coffee dispensing machine, the other is sitting at a computer.’

  ‘Any indication that they are members of The Hand of God?’

  ‘Negative. They’re carrying plastic shopping bags. They’re laughing and chattering. No contact with the four men.’

  Two minutes to noon, East Coast time. It was his decision, his and his alone. If he gave the order to target the café, everyone in it, guilty and innocent, would die. He could hear Merlin’s voice. The pain of loneliness is the vengeance of the gods. It is the price you must pay.

  Lancelot again, urgency in his voice. ‘Permission to Elimat, sir?’

  Before Arthur could react, Techforce was on speaker. Aircraft on course for Hoover dam, now heading into canyon.