‘That we have to take all three down—’
‘At exactly the same time.’
‘Joel, let him finish,’ said Maggie.
‘He’s right, anyway. We have to coordinate our attack exactly. And that’s the tricky bit. We can’t fly straight to the trig points. The place will be crawling with security people and if they spot some unidentified UAVs in the airspace over the Queen’s route, they’ll take action. They can jam the control signals easily, or even shoot us down if they have to. So we’ll need to take a detour, fly to a position out of sight of each of the peaks, then we can attack at exactly the same time. I’ve worked out all the timings.’
Maggie was looking at him with laser eyes, but a flicker of doubt passed across her face.
‘There are four rounds on each drone,’ Tom continued. ‘One shot will administer a dose of a fast-acting anaesthetic, which will put the terrorists out for just long enough for the Teal to sail out of range. The other three are in case anyone misses.’
Maggie opened her mouth, and then shut it again.
‘Because of battery power,’ Tom went on, ‘we have no margin of error. Twenty minutes tops for the hexacopters.’
He paused to check they were following him. Maggie looked anxious. But he knew the worst was yet to come.
‘I’m sure you’ll have thought of it, Tom,’ said Joel, ‘but if the batteries only last twenty minutes, there won’t be enough juice to get the drones back home.’
‘You’re right,’ said Tom. ‘I’ll come to that. First, there’s an even bigger problem. Maggie, Joel. I’m going to have to ask for your help with something.’
‘Anything!’ said Joel.
‘These darts will administer the exact amount to knock out a human adult for fifteen minutes. I checked online, and tested them with water. But water is not going to put these guys to sleep. I need the proper stuff.’
‘Propofol would do the job,’ said Joel. ‘Dad always carries a bottle of it for an emergency anaesthetic. I’ve seen him knock out full-grown horses with the stuff, so it should be fine for our terrorists!’
Maggie held out her palms in refusal. ‘No, Joel. No way. Sorry, Tom, but Dad will lose his job. He could even be put in prison. There are strict rules about these things. Get the dose even a tiny bit wrong and those people are dead.’
‘I know. But we won’t get the dose wrong.’
Maggie shook her head. ‘It’s a crazy idea. What if one of the drones falls into the wrong hands, and someone traces the anaesthetic back to us? That would be the end for Dad.’
‘Maggie.’ Tom looked her straight in the eye. ‘The last thing I want is for your dad to end up in jail. Look.’ With his stick he scratched the shape of the lake in the rough floor of the workshop, and drew a circle opposite Dowthwaite Bay. ‘This point here is the deepest part of one of the deepest lakes in England. It will be a one-way mission.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Maggie. There was a tremble in her voice.
‘As Joel said, the multi-rotors won’t have enough power to bring them back. But they will have just enough power to fly over the lake. Then we’ll nosedive all three drones into the water. They’ll be two hundred feet down within seconds. No one will ever see them again. And no one will ever know about using your dad’s anaesthetic.’
Maggie stared at the place on the map where the end of Tom’s stick was still pointing. She stood up and went to the door.
‘I’m sorry, Tom, but it’s just too risky. You’ll have to think of something else for your nuclear option.’
CHAPTER 21
Tom slammed the workshop doors behind him, and went to the river. He picked up a rock the size of a brick and heaved it as far and as high as he could, letting out a roar like a shot-putter. But the water just made a gulping sound as it swallowed it, as if refusing to acknowledge his frustration.
He was suddenly exhausted. His eyes were blurry and his muscles ached from working, tense and jittery, in his workshop all night. And all he had to show for it was the power to prick someone with a needle, unless he could get hold of some anaesthetic.
He lay down on the grass and watched the circles ripple towards him, and then all was quiet. Weightless insects rafted across the current. Tom had always found the river calmed him. Its size, its reliability, the mind-boggling power that had engraved its course in the valley. He watched a moss-covered stick circle slowly downstream and drift out of sight.
Just like that stick, he thought, this moment in time, which seemed so immense right now, would soon be gone, swallowed up and forgotten like all the others.
Tom woke to the sound of barking, and felt Archie snuffling around his feet. He pushed himself into a sitting position to see Joel holding out a mug of coffee in one hand and a chocolate muffin in the other.
‘Thanks.’
Maggie was sitting on the bank. Tom hoped she’d changed her mind about the anaesthetic, but he glanced over at her, where she was dangling her feet in the water, and her face was hard. She threw a stick for Archie, who jumped in with a clumsy splash, sending some ducks into a panic. He returned and clambered out, spraying water over them, and dropped the stick at Maggie’s feet.
‘Tom,’ said Maggie without warning. ‘Tell us about Jim.’
Tom was about to take a swig of coffee, but froze with the mug halfway to his mouth. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘How did you get to know him?’
‘He’s kind of retired now, but works as a handyman at my school. Doing odd jobs, fixing things. “Keeping things shipshape” is what he calls it. After I started at the school, somehow a rumour got round about me. It was a total lie, but it went right round the school.’
‘What kind of rumour?’ said Joel.
‘Joel!’ said Maggie, glaring at her brother. ‘You don’t have to tell us, Tom.’
He took a sip of his coffee. He was watching a clump of dried grasses meandering in the current, but he could feel their eyes on him. ‘It was about my dad,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I’ve explained to you, have I? The reason I live here with Aunt Emily is because my mum died when I was little and my dad is an RAF pilot who is officially missing in action.’
‘Wow,’ said Joel.
‘That must be terrible, Tom,’ said Maggie, putting a hand on his arm.
‘Anyway, when Dad’s Tornado had been shot down, people said he had been abandoned by the British government because he was a spy or something. So I used to go to this storeroom that was full of old desks and sit and design things. Jim came in one lunchtime and found me, and we started talking.’
‘What happened to his wife?’ said Maggie. ‘I saw the photos on the wall of his boat.’
‘Jim and Lizzie were working in the Congo, helping to run a school. They were like parents to hundreds of children. One day some bandits broke into their house, shot Lizzie in the head and ransacked the place. There was nothing worth stealing, apart from the wedding ring on her finger.’
Archie was watching the stick in Maggie’s hand, barking and wagging his tail. ‘Go on, Tom,’ she said.
‘One of the bandits, a fifteen year old, had been to the school,’ Tom continued. ‘Jim and Lizzie had taken him in from the streets and cared for him like he was their own child. The police rounded some of them up eventually. And here’s the thing that you need to know about Jim Rothwell.’ He suddenly found he had to clear his throat. ‘Jim went to see the boy in prison.’
‘Why?’ asked Maggie.
‘To offer him forgiveness.’
He picked up a handful of pebbles from the ground and scattered them into the water.
They started to head back to the workshop but Maggie disappeared towards River’s Edge. She returned ten minutes later and, without meeting his eyes, placed a small brown bottle into Tom’s palm.
Back in the workshop Tom checked the clock and the weather, and decided there was enough time to do a practice run of the manoeuvres they would need to do later. Maggie had never flown a UAV,
and Joel’s one attempt had ended in disaster, so he felt some training would be essential.
He selected some trees further up the Elleray to serve as practice targets. Maggie and Joel each sat behind their screens, with Tom looking over their shoulders, controlling his drone from a tablet.
‘There’s so much to think about,’ said Maggie, checking her speed and altitude.
Tom scanned the screens, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious on the roads, but there was only the usual stream of holiday traffic mixed in with delivery vans and the occasional tractor. The sky was grey, the landscape below dull and flat.
‘The weather’s perfect,’ he said. ‘No shadows.’
‘This is one of the weirdest experiences I have ever had,’ said Maggie. ‘Here we all are, and miles away, in a completely different place, we have the power to put three people to sleep.’
‘It’s like we’re right there,’ agreed Joel. ‘I could get hooked on this!’
‘OK,’ said Tom. ‘Fire on my command. Three . . .’ His voice seemed to be cracking and sweat was trickling down the back of his neck. ‘Two . . .’ Maggie’s knuckles were white on the keyboard. ‘One . . .’ Joel looked calm but was concentrating hard, like someone sitting an exam.
‘And—’
Just then, the door cracked open and Aunt Emily, wearing a blue-and-white dress and red neck scarf, popped her head into the workshop door.
‘Here you all are!’ she said. ‘I’m going across to Watertop Pier to see if I can catch a glimpse of the Queen. Why don’t you all get down there instead of sitting in the shed playing computer games?’
They held their drones hovering in position, agonized looks on their faces.
‘Actually, Emily,’ Maggie explained through gritted teeth, ‘we are hoping to see her later. We’re just . . . er . . .’
‘. . . making our plans for the day,’ finished Joel.
‘I see.’ She adjusted her scarf. ‘I know it’s silly and I probably won’t get anywhere near her, but I can’t help feeling I need to dress up a bit. It’s going to be a day to remember!’
For a tense few seconds they waited for the workshop door to bang shut.
‘Fire!’ shouted Tom.
CHAPTER 22
After the practice, Tom got to work with a syringe, carefully dosing each dart with anaesthetic, before handing the bottle back to Maggie, whose parents were out visiting one of Wordsworth’s houses and would not return till the evening. Then, with shaking hands, he loaded the twelve metal tubes with the darts.
They talked through the mission. First the journey out, then the attack itself, then the kamikaze-style ending, when they would plunge the machines into a vertical dive into the lake.
At 2.35 p.m. Tom stood up. ‘Maggie, Joel: positions.’
He pressed the button to open the skylight, and on his signal the drones lifted up one by one and disappeared into the grey sky.
Anyone stumbling into the workshop at that moment would have seen the tension in the room: backs hunched over screens; faces ferociously concentrating; fingers clenched on controls. Even Archie paced restlessly about, while Tom directed the mission from a wheeled office chair, beads of sweat on his forehead.
Tom never expected to see Skylark again, but as the drone disappeared through the roof for the last time, and he glimpsed his own face on the screen, he caught himself inexplicably smiling. A week ago he’d been like a bear in a cave. Now he was surrounded by friends, working together to do something that mattered. And it felt good.
Joel had the longest journey. He was to take Skylark west for two and a half miles, then turn south, following a wide loop over Grizedale Forest, before bending east towards Rigg Knott on the western shore.
Meanwhile, Maggie’s hexacopter was beginning a long northern climb to avoid the horseshoe of hills behind Watertop, then a sharp turn eastwards, and a descent to the back of Raven Howe. She held the controls with delicate fingers like an artist doing some fine brushwork.
So he could help the others, Tom had chosen Brockbarrow, the closest of the summits.
The whine of the drones faded and Tom scanned the screens in silence. Maggie was soon clear of the village and was following the line of Perch Beck, milk-white after the recent rain, winding its way down the valley. A few seconds later, the farms and woods had given way to black rock and screes, as she climbed the steep sides of the fell.
‘Tom, take a look at this.’ Joel was pointing to a vehicle moving along a minor road on the western side of the lake. ‘It’s the ice cream van.’
‘Are you sure?’
The van went out of sight with a twist of the road, but when it reappeared Joel zoomed in through the wind-screen, and they caught the unmistakable profile of Mike McCain driving the van, and next to him in the passenger seat was Rufus Clay.
‘They’re turning into that castle,’ said Joel.
‘Blythe Castle. There’ll be a perfect view from up there. They’ll see the Teal as she comes out of Dowthwaite Bay. But if those two are in the van . . . who’s at the trig points?’
Tom’s drone had arrived at the holding point and below was the empty summit of Brockbarrow. ‘No one here!’
‘Nor at Raven Howe,’ said Maggie. ‘It’s deserted.’
Tom looked at the clock on the wall. It was 2.50 p.m.
‘They still have thirteen minutes. But why leave it so late? And what’s Rufus Clay doing at Blythe Castle?’
‘Tom, shall I change course and keep the van in sight for a while?’ asked Joel.
‘OK, just for a minute. Head thirty degrees east and keep at that altitude. We mustn’t let them spot us.’
As Skylark banked around, Blythe Castle came into view again and the top of the lake behind it. The steep-sided Dowthwaite Bay was hidden from view, but there was no hiding the presence of the royal visitor. The northern end of the lake looked as if a giant had waded out and swept a hand across the water in a huge arc. On one side of the arc was a segment of clear water marked by a line of patrol boats and police RIBs, blue lights blinking along the rim: the security cordon. Behind this barrier was a thick band of at least a hundred boats jostling for a view, their churning wakes spreading outwards like a bloom of mould.
‘Tom, look at this.’ From above Raven Howe, Maggie pointed to where they could see an orange speedboat, stationary behind the white froth of the flotilla. ‘It’s our red-headed friend, Dr Victoria Juniper, in the Invincible.’
‘Maybe she’s keeping an eye on things from the lake?’ suggested Tom.
He turned back to Joel’s screen. The ice cream van was parked in the car park in front of the castle overlooking the lake. It had its awning up and an adult and a small child were making their way over to the van.
‘What’s happening? How can they launch an attack without being there?’
‘It’s genius, isn’t it?’ said Joel.
‘What?’ said Tom.
‘The ice cream thing. Nothing looks more innocent in this place than an ice cream van. It’s the perfect alibi.’
‘Yes, but . . . ’ On Skylark’s screen Tom could see Mike McCain open the window as the customers began to arrive. Rufus Clay was inside facing the lake. He turned for a moment to say something to the other man, and as he moved, ever so slightly, Tom saw a laptop on the counter.
The shock of the memory resurfacing was like plunging into icy water.
‘Joel.’ Something about the way Tom said it made Joel look away from the screen. ‘What is “larus”? It sounds like Latin. Do you recognize that word?’
‘Yes,’ said Joel. ‘Larus means seagull.’
‘Seagull,’ Tom repeated. He felt breathless. It was as if a light had been switched on in a dark room. Everything now synced together with a terrible clarity. He looked at the clock and moved towards the door. ‘I saw it on Rufus Clay’s laptop, when I saw him at the trig point on Brockbarrow. It said, Operation Larus. But I’d forgotten about it until now. How could I not see it before?’ In the doorway he
turned to the others. ‘We’re too late. The weapons have already been launched. Rufus Clay is watching it all from the safety of the ice cream van!’
‘Watching!’ said Maggie. ‘Remember he told the helicopter pilot on Benson Isle to tell his boss to “watch the show”.’
‘What shall we do?’ asked Joel.
‘We need to get these multi-rotors ditched in the lake.’ He tapped some flight instructions into the tablet and handed it to Joel. ‘Joel, put Skylark into a high circuit. A thousand feet, at least. Take some video from Skylark’s feed because no one is going to believe this otherwise. You’re looking for three seagulls circling in on the Teal. They’ll look like real seagulls but they’ll be gliding. They won’t flap their wings.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Maggie, pushing a hand through her hair.
Tom was backing out of the door. ‘No, Maggie. I’m not sure about anything. But if I’m right, they are the weapons! They’re autonomous drones disguised as birds, preprogrammed to attack the Teal, totally invisible to radar, ignored by everyone – the perfect stealth weapon! The terrorists must’ve launched them earlier, giving them time to get away. They’re bombs on wings!’
He was moving towards the river, his limping gait amplified with the speed.
‘What are you going to do, Tom?’ Maggie shouted from inside the workshop, desperately trying to keep control of her hexacopter.
He was at the harbour now, untying Maggot’s painter. ‘I’m going to stop them from sinking the Teal,’ he called back.
Maggot rose up keenly and sliced through the water, foam surging behind. Tom shifted his weight with each bend to keep flat and fast, and when he shot out of the river mouth, he felt the slap of the hull on the rippled water through the soles of his feet. He looked at his watch. It was 2.57 p.m. The distance to the flotilla and the security cordon seemed impossible. He looked up. The clouds were thinning and there were patches of blue. Skylark was up there somewhere, looking down. Maggie and Joel would be watching. He felt his resolve tighten. He only had one chance.
From a distance the flotilla had looked like a solid wall, but now it was a clutter of boats of all shapes and sizes moving about in different directions, like the organized chaos at the beginning of a sailing race. Cruisers and yachts were pushing their way to the front, while dinghies and hire boats and kayaks bobbed and darted around them. A line of children and instructors in canoes had formed a raft and were edging their way through the mass. All eyes were fixed across the clear space of water to the entrance of the bay, where now, at exactly three o’clock, the elegant shape of the Teal emerged.
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