by Hammond, Ray
Makowski had delivered his rallying speech unblinkingly. But now, as he paused and the camera moved in tight on his face, he did blink, once.
‘We are bringing forward the deadline for the resignations of the trasnhuman cyborg leaders and the governments we have listed,’ he said quietly, as if getting down to practical matters at last. ‘If these resignations are not made publicly within four hours – by seven a.m. GMT, we will destroy all civilisation. No world will be preferable to a world run by machines.’
The TV picture faded out and there was a short silence in the Situation Room.
‘The key data in that webcast is that the HFDA claims to have loaded fourteen hundred attograms of Zilerium 336 anti-matter into the LHC induction chamber,’ said Theodore for everyone’s clarification. ‘Professor Nagourney has told us that the threshold above which an infinite zone of singularity would be created is one thousand attograms. However, I remain of the opinion that the HFDA’s threat of deploying a fail-safe device is a bluff. It would be too dangerous for them to run the collider in such a mode. Any unanticipated incident could trigger the weapon.’
‘Thank you Theo,’ said Robert Brabazon. Then he turned to his cabinet members. ‘What if I go on TV and say I am resigning? If Makowski sees that he’s getting what he wants it will buy us more time. He can see that the process is starting.’
‘That would just mean that Vice President Chalmers automatically becomes President,’ pointed out Theodore. ‘It would do no good.’
‘This is all about perception,’ Brabazon told his VA. ‘I don’t really intend to resign, and I want everybody in this room to be clear about that, but we’ve got to buy time to get our forces inside that complex and take these…’ he groped for the right word ‘…bastards down.’
‘But what about the impact of a resignation speech on the American people…?’ asked the Secretary of State.
‘They’ll understand when this whole thing is over,’ said Brabazon. ‘When you have a gun pointed at your head you sometimes have to tell lies to stop the madman pulling the trigger.’
‘And the leader of the U.S. Humans First party?’ asked the White House Chief of Staff.
All present in the room knew that Mr Benjamin Pace was now being given an extensive tour of the White House while the ‘outgoing’ President had returned briefly to a meeting.
‘Let’s install him in the Oval Office and show him on television after I’ve resigned,’ said Brabazon. ‘We’ll start talking to him about his inauguration and how he wants to handle things. Let’s just play along for the moment.’
‘And in the meantime let’s send in the Ninth Bomber Wing,’ suggested Edwin, the Defense Secretary’s virtual assistant. ‘You would then have the option of using the N-DEPs.’
‘What about the supposed fail-safe?’ protested the President.
‘I agree with Theodore, said Edwin. ‘There is an 89.811 per cent likelihood that they are bluffing. Makowski no more wants to die than you do, not when he thinks he’s on the brink of achieving his goals.’
‘I am indeed doubtful about the existence of a fail-safe device,’ said Theodore. ‘But you also have to weigh up the odds of him triggering the device deliberately. If he thinks he’s going to lose, why wouldn’t he take everybody with him? In those circumstances I have calculated that the percentage likelihood of ultimate use is 76.561 per cent.’
‘And if you use your N-DEPs you would kill hundreds of thousands of people in the region,’ pointed out the Attorney General, glaring at Diamand, as if he himself rather than his VA had been arguing for a nuclear strike. ‘And there’s no guarantee your bombs would affect the terrorists at all. This complex is buried in concrete thirty storeys down – that’s ten times deeper than your N-DEPs can go!’
‘If we don’t try to stop him, the whole world could disappear,’ pointed out Edwin politely. ‘The stealth bombers can be over their target in twenty-eight minutes and nine seconds. The correct logical response is to send them in.’
‘But wouldn’t our N-DEPs throw up billions of tons of radioactive material?’ demanded the White House Chief of Staff. ‘The contamination would affect the whole of the Geneva region for thousands of years. All the communities around the edge of the lake would be destroyed.’
‘That is correct,’ said Theodore, resuming control of the meeting. ‘Radiation effects would be felt over an area of 231.7 square miles. The mean half-live of such radioactive fall-out would be 485 years.’
There was a silence around the table.
‘I’m going to buy us some time by making a resignation speech,’ Brabazon said as he stood. ‘Theo will draft me some words which sound good but which don’t tie me down to something I can’t get out off’
As he reached the door he turned and glanced back at his anxious colleagues. ‘And let’s tighten the Ninth up on their target. But they are not to go in without my personal order.’
*
Floyd’s almost healed nose had been broken once again. Resigo had been beating him for almost ten minutes with a cold, savage ferocity, taking time between his blows, aiming carefully. Both of Floyd’s eyes were partly closed and he had lost at least one tooth.
He was bound to an upright chair inside a small office overlooking the main accelerator hall. Two of the FARC mercenaries, their automatic weapons held at the ready, stood on either side of the door. Whether Resigo was beating Floyd for his own pleasure, or whether there was some point to the sustained assault, was still unclear.
Floyd’s jawbone received another massive sideways thump and he lost consciousness. A few seconds later he came round as a bucket of water was thrown over his battered face.
Now Resigo leaned down to stare into his prisoner’s eyes.
‘Who are you working for, Tipton’ he asked. ‘Is it the British – or the Americans?’
Floyd said nothing – there was nothing to say that would create appeasement.
Then he saw Resigo draw his long knife. He knew what was about to happen and he knew that unless he spoke now he was going to die bound into the chair. So he said the only thing he could. He made a statement that would not only buy him time but which would be guaranteed to get him back into the presence of Alexander Makowski himself. Once there Floyd would take even the most slender opportunity of killing the madman – even if it meant sacrificing his own life.
‘I am Richard Ellison of the British Counter Terrorism Unit,’ he said, using the alias he had used in his last undercover penetration of the HFDA. He spat blood out of his mouth as he did so. ‘I sold Alexander Makowski the dud nuclear weapon the HFDA planted in New York seven years ago. And I told the Americans where to pick up the HFDA direct action unit. It was from them that they learned the co-ordinates of your FARC training camps in Venezuela.’
Resigo froze, his knife in his hand.
Floyd had no idea how much the FARC sergeant would know about the HFDA’s operation to plant a nuclear warhead in Manhattan, but he would certainly know about the devastating campaign of cruise missile attacks that had subsequently been launched against the FARC camps. The attacks had lasted for almost forty-eight hours and had provoked international diplomatic outrage. Within the communist FARC rebel army the hatred of the American capitalists had grown to eclipse their original goals of unseating the democratic governments of South America – even to the extent of funding and supporting Makowski’s violent campaign against the Western technocracies.
‘I am Richard Ellison,’ repeated Floyd, repeating the name Makowski would certainly remember. ‘I am an agent of the British Counter-Terrorism Unit.’
Resigo transferred his knife to his left hand and then slapped Floyd across the mouth open handedly.
‘I met Alexander Makowski in Manhattan on July 11th, 2040,’ continued Floyd calmly, as if he had received no blow. ‘It was at 311, West 44th Street. Apartment 12.’
Resigo’s face contorted with fury and he smashed his fist into Floyd’s nose again and again. Then he hit the self-pro
claimed traitor sideways on his jawbone, knocking him back into unconsciousness.
Twenty-nine
The original squadron of R.A.F. fighters had been refuelled twice and now a relief escort was arriving on station. Although the long-range bombers were equipped to stay aloft for days at a time, there were no comfort facilities for the human supervisors aboard the fighters.
In-flight refuelling tankers had also topped up the bombers’ tanks for the next twenty hours and the Ninth Wing still circled slowly, making gentle, lazy turns high over the countryside regions of Jura, Rhone, Drome, Savoie and Vaud.
Flight Supervisor Ian Marshall had suggested that his co-super should grab some rest and the man was now in his bunk at the rear of the cockpit. The pair were used to overseeing long missions during training. Some of the sorties they had practised had lasted up to seventy-two hours and Marshall was fully resigned to the tedious waiting aspects of his job.
A display screen lit to announce an incoming communication from Command HQ at Fairford. VX-21 decrypted the message and then displayed it in plain text. Marshall read his orders, sent an acknowledgement and then spoke on open mike to the other flight supervisors in the wing. All confirmed receipt of their orders. Then he spoke to the commander of the newly-arrived R.A.F. fighter escort to confirm the upcoming course alteration.
‘Bob?’ Marshall called over his shoulder. ‘Gotta disturb you.’
The co-supervisor jumped down from his bunk and took his seat
‘I think this is getting serious,’ said Marshall with a sideways glance. ‘We’re changing course by two degrees. Going in closer.’
I have precise target co-ordinates and weapon configurations, said virtual pilot VX-21. When we go in we are to attack in four waves, three planes each. Whisky, Delta, Bravo, Tango. The drop pattern will straddle the entire site.
‘Proceed,’ said Marshall
Altering course now, said VX-21.
*
‘My fellow Americans,’ began the President, looking directly into the camera lens. Despite all of his transhuman rejuvenation therapy his eyes now seemed older than a single man’s lifetime. ‘This is a grave time for the United States of America, and for our allies.’
It was just after 9.30 p.m. Eastern time on a Saturday evening – prime time for network viewing – and Robert Brabazon knew that most of the American people would be on the networks, as would audiences all over the world.
‘I know that the news channels have been showing pictures of the demands being made by the leadership of the Humans First Party. You will also have seen the claims made for the weapon their terrorist organization have created in the CERN underground research facility.’
The President drew breath and the camera closed a little more tightly on his deeply lined face.
‘My scientific advisers tell me that the threat made by the Humans First Party is credible. Following the destruction in central London it has become clear that the organisation possesses weapons technology which is indeed a threat to the safety of the entire planet.
‘I have discussed the situation with other world leaders and, given the nature of the threat we face and the deadline laid down by the leadership of the Humans First Party, I propose to resign my office.’
He said the last few words smoothly but as soon as they were out of his mouth, he glanced down at his desk, as if searching for words not provided by his virtual assistant. After a few seconds he looked up again.
‘We have always said that we will never give in to the demands of terrorists, no matter what the cost. But on this occasion we have no choice. I understand that similar announcements will soon be made by leaders of other Western democracies. God be with us all.’
*
Floyd came round as another bucket of water was thrown over his face. He gasped for air. Breathing through his nose was almost impossible.
He was still in the small office overlooking the Accelerator Hall and the two FARC guards now cut through the duct tape which had been binding him to the upright chair. They hauled him roughly to his feet and then checked that the tape which bound his wrists together behind his back was still secure.
Resigo strode back into the room. ‘Bring him,’ he barked to the guards. ‘Follow me.’
Floyd’s legs wouldn’t work properly as he was half-carried, half dragged from the room.
The party plunged down a short staircase, then through a maze of corridors until they came to a pair of double doors.
Resigo stepped inside, then returned and signalled for the guards to bring Floyd in.
Seated in an executive chair in front of a bank of screens was Alexander Makowski. He was twiddling a silver pen in his fingers. Standing beside him was the HFDA military commander, Colonel Andreas Poliza.
‘This man claims to be an agent of the British Anti-Terrorism Unit,’ said Resigo in English. ‘He says his name is Richard Ellison He says he met you in New York in July 2040 and sold you a nuclear weapon.’
Makowski rose and stepped forward. He stood a foot away from Floyd and stared into the prisoner’s bloodied face, his intense gaze as penetrating as paint stripper.
‘You look nothing like Ellison,’ said Makowski.
Floyd worked his aching jaw. ‘I had plastic surgery.’
‘So where did we meet in Manhattan?’ the leader of Humans First asked.
‘311, West 44th Street,’ Floyd said. ‘Apartment 12.’
‘Who were the other men present?’ demanded Makowski.
Floyd took a deep breath through his bloodied mouth. ‘Dan Moore, Hartwig Blecher and Dave Daniels. Your direct action volunteers.’
The guards were still gripping Floyd firmly by his upper arms and his wrists were still taped together behind his back. He could see no way of attacking the man standing in front of him.
Makoski turned away. ‘He’s obviously from the intelligence services,’ he said to Poliza. ‘But he could have been given those names by the Americans, or by the British. There’s no reason to think he is actually Richard Ellison.’
‘I will dispose of him,’ said the colonel, stepping forward.
‘You were wearing a dark green suit,’ said Floyd. ‘And you inspected the weapon yourself – you had to be sure I was selling you the real thing. Then you broke your nail on the case clip as you were opening it.’
Floyd glanced down at Makowski’s right hand.
The leader of the Humans First Party raised his hand and regarded his own fingertips. Then, with a sudden fury he bunched his fist and smashed it into Floyd’s already broken nose.
‘TAKE HIM AWAY,’ he screamed. ‘KILL HIM.’
*
‘O.K., looks like this is it,’ said Ian Marshall grimly. All three comms screens in the bomber’s cockpit had lit to alert the humans to an incoming encrypted message.
The flight supervisor leaned forward, entered his authentication code, touched his fingertip to the biometric scanner and then waited as his orders were decrypted.
We’re go for the drop, VX-21 said. I am descending to 30,000 feet and changing course to 42.2 west. Optimal payload delivery speed is 203 knots.
Marshall brought the other eleven flight supervisors of the wing into a radio conference to check that all had received similar authenticated orders.
When he was done Marshall exchanged a glance with his co-supervisor. The man was his closest personal friend, someone he had known since flight school. The flight super nodded once, a statement of encouragement and confidence.
Switching to attack guidance control now, VX-21 said as all twelve bombers we placed under the control of in-flight synchronised navigation, laser weapon guidance and automated launch systems.
The large plane banked sharply to the left as it started a turn that would bring it on course to fly directly over the top of the CERN Research Institute.
We’ll be over the target in 19 minutes, 41.254 seconds, announced the virtual pilot.
*
Floyd was hustled out of the room a
nd away from Makowski’s presence. With Resigo leading, the two FARC mercenaries manhandled Floyd back up the narrow staircase towards the small office in which he had been previously held and beaten.
At the top of the stairs Floyd twisted his torso violently and broke free from the hands holding him. One of the guards was still a step below Floyd and he kicked the man down the stairs. As the other soldier grabbed his shoulders, Floyd kicked him hard in the testicles.
Resigo had spun round and was now running at Floyd with his combat knife drawn. Still with his two hands bound behind his back, Floyd dived towards the sergeant, butting him hard in the groin area as he lifted the man high over his back and threw him to the ground.
