Max stomach churned. “We could be too late.”
One of the paramedics shouted to her colleague; Max turned to look towards the ambulance. The blonde woman spoke urgently into the dispatch radio. Payne and Linwood both stopped talking and observed the commotion.
Payne walked over to the woman who put the radio down.
“What is it? What’s the matter?”
The blonde paramedic shook her head. “I don’t think I understood. It was dispatch. They got a call from the other ambulance but it was cut off. Their patient was attacking them.”
45
Max sped along the motorway in Linwood’s car, following the tracking screen built into the dashboard, heading South along the M6. Knutsford appeared on the motorway signs. Where the hell was she going?
Linwood had called the control centre and got the ambulance’s details in minutes, and then with a few nimble key presses, a map flashed onto the screen with a steady blinking light indicating the ambulance.
Max had hoped to have caught up to the ambulance by now; he reckoned it had no more than twenty minutes on him, but it maintained its lead. Payne had argued against letting Max go after his ex-wife alone, saying the police should deal with it, but Linwood wanted the area around the lake secured and that called for all of the men that Payne could gather. When she pulled a rifle from the trunk of her car and Max grinned, it was enough to silence Payne. Besides, this was Cindy, his ex-wife. How difficult could this be?
46
The office lit up on their return. Linwood had driven like the possessed to get back to MI18 headquarters in record time. Good job it was so late, or she’d have most likely caused an accident; Payne had spent the trip gripping the handle built into the door.
As soon as they entered the operations room, the lights came on, panels rose up from the central table and control displays appeared on the situation wall opposite the door. Linwood ran through the office to the operations room and once there, had raced between different displays calling up screens of information.
“What can I do?” Payne asked.
For a moment, she ignored him.
“Hello?”
Without looking up, she pointed to a screen that had appeared on the situation wall. To Payne, it looked like she’d pulled up images of fields on Google maps, but in the centre of the image lay a white circle, the trees it nestled within giving it a sense of scale.
“The telescope at Jodrell Bank?” he asked, leaning in for a closer look. “What am I looking for? How old is the photo?”
“You’re not looking at a photo. That’s a real time video feed from a satellite. I need you to keep an eye on it to see if it starts acting out of the ordinary.”
“How will I know that?”
She didn’t answer him directly. “I’m hacking into the computers at the telescope’s control station now. We should be able to see what’s going on there.”
“Shit!”
The operations room’s lights flickered. In front of him, the panels scrolled like they were playing from an old video tape player with a tracking problem.
“What’s the matter?” Linwood asked, looking up from the operations table. She moved her hands across the table and a duplicate image appeared on the table beside her.
Payne didn’t know how best to describe what he was seeing. The entire image had changed hue, like a pink colour filter had been applied to it, and above the white circle of the dish, a new slightly jagged circle appeared. A shifting, pulsating ring of light.
“There’s something on top of the dish. I’ve no idea what it is though. Can you tell?”
Linwood’s forehead creased with frown lines. Lights span onto the table top which she manipulated with an incredible deftness. “There’s a massive amount of zuon energy radiating from it.”
“Zuon?”
She didn’t answer. “And the thing’s growing.”
“Do we know where Max is?”
Linwood flicked the image of the interference above the dish over to the far side of the operations table and pulled other screens in front of her. “No,” came her distracted response.
Payne pulled out his mobile phone and the scrap of paper that Max had given him before he took off in the car to Jodrell Bank. His phone showed a solid three signal bars. “How close are you to getting the phone networks shut down?”
“It’s proving trickier than I thought. I’m getting blocked.”
“Blocked? By whom?”
“Something in the network’s systems. An automated response to my probing. It’s been left behind to stop the kind of activity I’m attempting.”
“Like a guard dog?”
Linwood looked up at him and smiled a wan smile. “Bit simplistic, but yeah, essentially. She’s left it behind knowing we’d try this.”
“You mean Irulal left it?”
“Well, I’m only speculating but I guess so.”
The screens showing Jodrell Bank flared with static. When Payne looked at the pictures again he gasped in shock. The rings that had appeared over the radio telescope had expanded, tripling in size, filling his screen and making it almost impossible to make out the telescope beneath.
“What the hell is happening there?”
“I don’t know. It’s nothing to do with the phone networks. This is something else.”
New lights started flashing on the table top and Linwood pored over figures scrolling up an adjacent screen. “Something’s wrong with the dish. I’m picking up a new level of electromagnetic radiation emanating from the dish. I think it’s reflecting signals from the object above it. Reflecting it, concentrating it—”
“We need to stop it.”
“I can’t do that from here.”
“Why not?”
“It’s the object above the dish causing the issue. There’s nothing I can do that will make the slightest bit of difference—”
She broke off in mid-sentence, pulled her phone out of her pocket, and called a number. When it was answered she avoided Payne’s eyes. “It’s Linwood at MI18. We need an airstrike.”
47
Max approached the entrance of the site and slowed his car to a crawl as he looked across the fields towards the enormous radio telescope. The concaved dish lay on its back, pointing straight up to the sky. Floodlights lit the ivory, metal framework, and against the velvet sky, Max thought it a magnificent sight. The night sky was clear of clouds and the stars were flecks of paint on a midnight canvas. Max couldn’t help but stare up at them and wonder who was up there staring down. It was the adrenaline keeping him sane right now. Without the chase, keeping him pumped, Max thought his mind would have frozen with the worry of tonight’s revelations.
His parents had brought him here when he was little and he could still remember the scoldings for misbehaving. Back then, this had seemed the most exciting setting imaginable. He had dreamed of scientists looking for aliens.
Pulling into the car park, he spotted the ambulance immediately and he drove by slowly, keeping an eye on the closed back doors. He stopped the car and picked up the rifle from the passenger seat, then got out of the car and approached the ambulance.
Half-expecting to be ambushed, Max’s heart beat thunderously.
“Come on out!” he called to the back of the vehicle.
Nothing.
Carefully, resting his weapon on his arm, he opened the back doors.
The paramedics lay dead on the floor, their necks twisted at an impossible angle; a look of shock etched on their faces. Max cast his gaze about the rest of the interior, looking for Cindy, but the paramedics had been left alone.
But, just as he was ready to depart the scene, he heard a sound from the front of the vehicle. He stepped inside the ambulance, placing his feet carefully so as not to trip on the dead bodies. With his rifle pointing the way, he reached the cabin and saw a third body resting her head against the glass. Max recognised her as Carter, the detective on Payne’s team. Her eyes were closed. Carefully, he
felt for a pulse, and the strong steady beat beneath his fingers reassured him that she’d likely be OK.
“Carter,” he hissed, “Can you hear me?”
Max caught sight of a dark shadow on her forehead and brushed aside her hair to get a better look. Carter must have taken a knock to the head in the struggle. He wondered why Cindy hadn’t just killed her like the others.
This is not the time for thinking. This is the time for doing.
“I’ll be back, I promise.”
Max hurried out of the ambulance, trying not to look at the crew on the floor, and closed the doors behind him. With the rifle slung on a strap over his neck, he pounded along a path to the main complex. The brick building had seen better days. At the main entrance, Max discovered his first obstacle: a card system controlled entry. He tried the door but it was locked and felt sturdy enough to withstand a kick. A voice came over the intercom and Max flinched.
“Can I help?” A gruff voice crackled over the intercom.
“Yeah, sorry, I’ve lost my pass.”
“Which group you with?”
“Group?”
There was a noise that sounded a lot like someone tutting. “McNeil’s group has gone over to building C.”
Students! The complex was still used by research students. The security guard must have mistaken him for one of them. But, how on earth was he meant to know which building to be in? “Yeah, right, well this is embarrassing. I’m not sure which group I’m with tonight.”
“You been missing lectures right? Waste of time you lot even going to university if you ask me.”
And then there came a hum and a click from the door lock. Max tried it again and the door swung smoothly open.
“Come up to the second floor,” the voice on the intercom said.
Max grinned and teared along the corridor, looking for a staircase, and when he found it, took the steps two at a time. Which way now? He entered the landing and headed towards the double doors at the far end, a sign above read ‘Main station terminals’.
“What the—” A familiar voice cried from behind.
Max spun around and saw a security guard approaching, his hand rising to his chest. The guard was staring at Max’s right shoulder, or rather, he was staring at the rifle swung from it.
“It’s not what it looks like.” Max took a step towards the guard, his hands held out, palms facing the man in supplication.
“I don’t know what you think we’ve got here, but there’s nothing you can just walk out with.”
“I don’t want to take anything. I’m looking for someone.”
The guard looked over Max’s shoulder to the doors behind him.
As soon as he glanced behind him, Max knew he’d been tricked. The full weight of a two hundred pound man, slammed into him and knocked him to the ground. Max yelped as his side hit the floor.
A fist connected with Max’s jaw as he tried to rise. His head flipped sideways like rubber. A crack, and a fire burned across his jawline.
The guard was on top of him, legs to either side of his chest, sweaty hands grappling for Max’s arms. Max struggled, writhing from side to side, pushing away with his hands.
Max clenched his hands and struck out. A left cut got lucky and landed on the side of the guard’s head. Instinctively, the guard relaxed his hold.
Max struck again. A blow to the man’s right. He missed his head but connected with his neck. A yelp.
Elbows pressed into the floor, Max twisted his body and tipped the guard off balance. It was enough to scramble free. They both got to their feet. Max reached round for his gun, but it had slipped off his shoulder and lay at his feet.
With a grunt, the guard lunged forwards. Caught, off balance, Max reacted too late.
“Oomph.”
He slammed into the wall, wincing at the pain from his side.
Max jerked his head down, his forehead smashed against the guard’s nose and the arms let go. Blood spurted, hitting Max’s face, and the guard staggered backwards, his broken nose gushing blood down his face. Max didn’t hesitate and grabbed the rifle from the floor.
“I don’t want any trouble,” Max said through unsteady breaths.
“Bit late for that,” the guard said, holding a red soaked tissue to his nose.
“Sorry about that.”
The guard didn’t answer, but his eyes told Max that he’d better not drop his weapon again.
The door to the ladies toilet opened, and a petite young woman in jeans and a red jumper stepped into the corridor.
She caught sight of the two men instantly.
“Oh my god!” Her voice was shrill and panicked.
“Stay where you are,” Max commanded.
“Don’t hurt us.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
She looked behind Max, to the guard, and Max thought she was going to faint; her face as white as a blank sheet of paper.
“He wasn’t being helpful,” Max said. “Are you going to be helpful?”
She nodded, her eyes wide and teary.
“How many people in the building?” Max swung round.
She looked to the guard.
“Don’t look at him. I’m asking the questions.”
“Four, including me. Five including Peter,” she said, pointing limply towards the guard.
Max smiled. “Where are they all?”
“In the terminal room,” the girl pointed to the room at the end of the corridor with the pair of wooden doors.
“What’s your name?”
Her eyes widened. “Stacey.”
“Well, Stacey, there’s nothing to worry about. We’re all going to go in there now so I can introduce myself to your friends.”
“What do you want?”
“A woman. She came here tonight. Have you seen anyone wandering around?”
The tiniest shake of her head. Stacey’s eyes were fixed on the rifle in Max’s hands. “You’re the only stranger I’ve seen tonight.”
Max gestured for them to move along to the double doors. He chanced a peak through the narrow windows set into the door panels but couldn’t see anyone on the other side. Music was playing. Metallica.
Max nodded at the doors. “You’re going to go in first Stacey, then you Peter.”
Peter shrugged, the tissue still pressed against his nose, his eyes dark.
Obediently, Peter pushed open the doors and he and Stacey entered, followed closely by Max.
The music was blasting from a CD player resting on a bank of terminals to the left. Max looked across the room and was momentarily stunned by the view the far windows had of the Lovell telescope, framed perfectly.
“What’s going on?” A man in a checked shirt, with glasses perched in a mass of unruly, brown hair approached Max’s party. He stopped when he saw the rifle. Everyone stops when they see the rifle, Max thought. The man looked from Stacey to Peter, before fixing his eyes on Max. “My god, man. What the hell do you think you’re playing at? You can’t just barge in here and assault my colleagues.” The security pass clipped to his shirt identified him as Dr Graham Foster.
Two young men, both with the carefree dress sense of students, raced over from the terminal they’d been hunched at in the corner of the room. Max made sure they both got a good look at the rifle. He shook his head slowly at one of the young men who looked like he might actually try to take him on. His friend put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back.
“I didn’t plan on assaulting anyone,” Max said. “I’m just looking for someone.”
“Looking for someone?” the checked shirt man repeated. “And this is how people go about looking for other people now is it? With guns. And scaring young woman.” He stared at Max.
“There’s a lot at stake. I wish I had time to explain but I don’t.”
“Try me.”
“You talk a lot. I’d suggest zipping it shut tonight professor. And that goes for the rest of you. From now on, we’re having a strict ‘no speaking unl
ess spoken to’ rule. Are we all agreed?”
No one spoke.
“Good,” Max continued. “And whilst I’m on about no speaking. I’d like Stacey here to collect your mobiles.” Max kicked the metal bin by the door. “Put them in there, Stacey.”
Stacey nodded, and soundlessly picked up the waste paper bin. She went round in turn to the men who all placed their mobiles inside. Peter hesitated, but Max nudged him with the end of the rifle, and he dropped it in, his face thunderous.
Max glanced at the clock on the wall. Damn, he’d been on site for ten minutes already. He needed to hurry things up.
“Everyone go and sit by the windows, look outside.” Then as they started to move, Max interrupted. “Not you Peter. You can grab a chair. You might want to put your head back, stop the bleeding.”
He grunted. It might have been a reluctant thanks, but he did as he was told and went to sit on one of the wheeled chairs by the central bank of instruments. None of this stuff looked particularly cutting edge.
“I’m looking for my wife,” Max announced to the room.
Five faces looked back at him with questioning looks.
“This is all about your wife?” The professor asked.
“She’s dangerous.”
“You’re the one with the gun.”
“That’s because she’s dangerous.”
“Why on earth would she be here?”
“I’ve followed her.”
“OK. But why here? What would she want with us?”
Max shook his head. “It’s nothing to do with you. It’s the dish she wants.”
“The dish? You mean the telescope?”
“Yeah, only I’m not sure what she plans to do with it.”
“If she wanted access to the telescope, she’d have to do it from this room. This is the main control station. But what would she be trying to do? We’re not a security target. We’re academics. These are students you’re pointing that gun at.”
“I know, I know,” Max lowered the gun a fraction, and made sure it was pointing away from the—hostages. My god, what have I become?
The Face Stealer Page 27
