Hard Targets: A Doc Palfrey Omnibus

by Richard Creasey

  “Yes,” said Sofia. “But these people have gone one step further than the usual drone control.”

  “By employing a brain computer interface,” said Marion.

  “Correct.”

  “And we believe these people, as you call them, are using children to pilot the drones.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” said Sofia. “Kidnapping them and using them.”

  Marion Palfrey’s face creased with thought. “But why twins?”

  “I have a theory about that,” said Sofia. “You see, at the cutting edge of this field they have discovered that you get better results by combining the signals from more than one BCI user. This is what they call collaborative BCI.”

  “Collaborative BCI?”

  “Yes. The advantage of this is that it eradicates the troublesome random noise that distorts EEG signals. You see, when you average signals from two people’s brains the noise cancels out.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” said Marion.

  “So using two operators, in this case two seriously underage operators, to pilot each drone or group of drones, would be an advantage.”

  “But why identical twins?”

  Sofia shrugged. “Identical twins have identical brains. Theoretically, you combine all the advantages of a single pilot with all the benefits of collaborative BCI. I imagine twins would be more responsive and nimble than any pairing of two people with dissimilar brains.”

  Marion Palfrey nodded. “Very well. We now have a good idea of what the weapon consists of. What we must find out next is the nature of the target.”

  Sofia smiled. “We may soon be able to answer that question.”

  “You’ve had a breakthrough in the investigation?”

  Sofia’s smile grew wider. “I didn’t want to say anything until we were certain, but you remember that tracking device in the headset?”

  “I’m hardly likely to forget it.”

  “Well, as I mentioned, it had the ability to transmit its location…”

  Now it was Marion’s turn to smile. “And when it transmitted, you were able to trace the signal.”

  “Exactly, to a house in Genoa.”

  “Not the villa by the sea?”

  “No, this house is located further inland, near the University. It belongs to a man named Raoul Duval.”

  Marion Palfrey froze. There was a look of dawning horror on her face. Sofia stopped speaking. She had never seen the head of Z5 look like this before. It was distressing and deeply unsettling. Suddenly Marion looked haggard, an old woman.

  “Is something wrong?” said Sofia.

  Marion shook her head violently, as if trying to shake unwanted thoughts out of it. “No. It’s a common enough name, Raoul Duval…” Then she paused, as if choosing her words with great care. “Do you have any reason to believe that… this man… was personally responsible for building the headset you found?”

  Sofia nodded. “Yes. We’ve researched him and we believe that is exactly the case. He seems to be some kind of electronics genius.”

  Marion Palfrey sagged in her chair. Her face had taken on a greyish colour and she seemed to have aged ten years. “And he is physically deformed.”

  Again Sofia nodded. “That’s right. How did you know? He suffers from Scheuermann’s kyphosis.”

  “He’s a hunchback,” said Marion Palfrey savagely.

  “You’d better tell me what you know about this man — which appears to be a great deal.”

  “Oh yes, I know him all right,” said Marion. “He used to be a member of Z5.”

  Sofia stared at her. Marion went on. “Indeed he worked with me here in London. He’d come to our notice when we were running an operation in France, against a drug cartel based in Marseilles. Raoul provided us with surveillance equipment that surpassed anything we’d ever used before. Despite that, our little venture went badly wrong, and I ended up saving his life. Anyway, he was brilliant, technically brilliant, as you’ve no doubt learned. But he was also deeply unstable. Mentally and emotionally. He, he… developed an obsession with me.”

  “You mean he was in love with you?

  Marion Palfrey laughed. It was a harsh, unpleasant sound. “If you want to put it like that. Of course, nothing could come of it. Not because of the way he looked — or rather, not just because of that. I was already in love with the man I eventually married. Tom’s father.” Marion Palfrey was the only person who referred to Doc as ‘Tom’ and it took Sofia a second to remember whom she was talking about.

  “Anyway,” said Marion, “things became extremely ugly. Raoul Duval eventually left Z5. We were sorry to see him go, in one sense — because of his technical genius. But in every other way I was happy to see the back of him.” She laughed that harsh laugh again. “Sorry, no pun intended. Of course, his back was his most unpleasant aspect. But, as I said, it wasn’t just a case of his physical appearance. His obsessive fixation on me was the most unpleasant thing. Today I suppose you’d refer to it as being ‘stalked’. He used to write poems for me. He sent me dozens of them. At the time I thought it was disturbing, I mean how many of them he sent. But when he left, we discovered they were just the tip of the iceberg. In his office we found more of them. Over a thousand.”

  “A thousand love poems,” said Sofia.

  “Don’t use that word. Anyway, there was no love lost between us by the time he departed. In fact, he swore revenge on Z5. He seemed to think he was being forced to resign.” She paused, looking blankly into the distance, then stared at Sofia. “Perhaps this is his revenge.”

  “Well, if so he isn’t in it alone. There is also this woman involved.”

  Marion Palfrey seemed to recover some of her poise. “The important thing for you to take on board, Sofia, is just how very dangerous this man is.” She paused. “I am only now beginning to realise the gravity of this situation. On the whole, I think it’s probably best if Tom comes back to London. We’ll have to think up some excuse to get him back here. You know how stubborn he is.”

  “But Marion…”

  “I won’t listen to any arguments from you, Sofia. You’re a mother yourself. You must understand. I have to protect my son. And if that means his ego taking a bruising, then so be it. I don’t want Tom involved in this operation any more. Send him home immediately.”

  “But Marion, we’ve already sent a strike team to Raoul Duval’s house in Genoa.”

  Marion Palfrey went deathly white. “And Tom is with them?”

  “He’s leading them.”

  11: Basement

  At the exact moment Marion Palfrey and Sofia were discussing Doc, he and his team were preparing to breach Duval’s house.

  They were just going to force open the gate when they discovered, using the fibre optic flatworm, that the key had been left in the letterbox. So they simply extracted it and unlocked the gate and went in, Doc in the lead. He was followed by Benadir, Rocco and Paola then two more of Sofia’s people from Milan and the two local Z5 men who had joined them in the raid on the coastal villa.

  It was dark now, the sky the deep purple of a Mediterranean summer night. The glow of the street lamps spread a faint light over the high wall, casting shadows of tree branches on the concrete slabs of the garden. Dry leaves crunched and stirred under their feet as they approached the front door of the house. The two Genoese agents and the two from Milan went around the back of the house to see if they could get in that way.

  Doc and Benadir ran the fibre optic flatworm in under the front door. The eerie saffron night vision image from inside showed an empty house. Apart from the occasional whisper of a passing vehicle in the street, it was utterly silent. Doc considered blowing the door open with a shaped charge or a shotgun round, but it seemed a shame to spoil that silence.

  Instead Paola picked the lock, peering intently through the thick lenses of her spectacles and then beaming with delight when the door clicked open.

  Doc went in first and the others followed. His gun hand jumped up w
hen he saw a shadow approaching him, but then he realised it was one of the Genoese. His three companions joined them and then all eight members of the strike team were gathered there, in the quiet entrance hall of the house.

  They quickly searched the ground floor.

  They discovered nothing except that Raoul Duval had splendid taste in furnishings and works of art.

  With the ground floor secure, the team divided up again, Doc and his three companions going down into the basement while the other four went upstairs. In the basement they hit the jackpot.

  A large, utilitarian workspace filled with electronics equipment and computers. It was tidy and well organised, yet disorderly, with circuit boards spread out on a worktable beside a soldering iron. Doc touched the tip of the soldering iron. It was cold, of course. “This must be where he builds his equipment,” he said.

  “Doc, take a look at this,” said Benadir. The tension in her voice commanded his immediate attention. He went over to join her. She was standing in an alcove where there was a desk. On the wall in front of the desk were two framed photographs. One was of a beautiful young woman.

  The other was of Marion Palfrey. Doc felt a sudden cold lurch in his stomach. Benadir watched his face as Doc stared at it. He thought he recognised a structure in the background. Silverstone racetrack. “This was taken recently,” he said. “Just this year.” He looked again at the picture of the lovely young woman and belatedly realised that this, too, was a picture of his mother. He felt a deepening chill. “And this was taken many years ago.”

  “But why are they here?” said Benadir.

  “I don’t know. But let’s take them and show them to my mother.” Doc reached out to take the older photograph down from the wall. But as soon as he touched it there was a mechanical hum and then a sliding noise, as of a heavy object moving on oiled bearings. Touching the picture had triggered some mechanism. Doc turned to his left and saw that what had looked like a blank section of concrete wall had opened to reveal a doorway, opening into darkness.

  He moved swiftly towards it.

  “Doc, wait — ” called Benadir.

  Doc stepped through the doorway and found himself in a large room. He moved into it, trying to estimate its size. It was perhaps as big as the basement he had left behind. It was hard to tell because the room was completely dark. He reached in his pocket for his LED torch. As he did so, he heard the sliding noise again and turned around to see that the door was shutting behind him, closing around a rapidly narrowing band of light.

  He caught a glimpse of the startled faces of Rocco and Paola. They were on the other side of the basement, too far away to do anything. But Benadir was racing towards the closing door.

  Doc started towards the door himself, but he knew he was far too late. The gap in the door was just a narrow band now, barely a hand’s width. The light in the gap was suddenly obliterated by the hurrying figure of Benadir. She had twisted her body sideways and flung herself through the tiny gap.

  And she made it.

  She came stumbling into the darkness towards Doc. He moved forwards and embraced her. They held onto each other in the darkness. He could smell her perfume and the sharp acid tang of her fear. And his own.

  “Doc, you shouldn’t have come through here on your own.”

  Doc felt the corners of his mouth creasing in a smile. “I’m not on my own. I’ve got you.”

  “What is this place?”

  “I don’t know, but the first order of business is to get some light going.”

  As he said these words, the entire room lit up, dazzling white light pouring down from the ceiling. It was so bright Doc was momentarily blinded.

  Then he saw the man. Standing right beside them.

  A tall black man with tribal scars radiating out on either side of his mouth. He was neatly dressed in a business suit. In each hand he held a taser.

  He reached out and applied the taser to Benadir and Doc before they could react. There was a crackling sound as the device delivered its electric shock and they both fell to the floor, stunned.

  A door in the opposite wall opened and two more men came in.

  As they picked Doc up and carried him towards the open door, the first man drew a pistol and went back to Benadir.

  He stood over her, carefully estimating the position of her heart. He fired a single shot into her chest then he followed the other men out.

  12: Desert Devil

  The first thing Doc saw when he woke up was the lizard.

  It was a lean, streamlined creature, pale brown with irregular darker brown stripes. Desert camouflage, whispered a remote corner of his brain. The lizard opened its mouth and extended a long forked pink tongue silently towards him. Doc realised the creature was in a glass cage, a kind of dry aquarium, with sand and some rocks in the bottom for it to crawl among.

  Doc tried to remember what had happened to him. His brain seemed reluctant to function. His mouth was very dry. He fingered the stump of his left thigh. His prosthetic leg was gone. He was lying on a cot, on fresh bedding. He sat up and saw he was in a large, clean, well-lit room. Judging by the sinks and Bunsen burners, and a large amount of other equipment he couldn’t identify, it was some kind of laboratory. There were no windows. The only sound was a faint murmuring of air conditioning.

  There were more lizards in more glass cages, on a long counter in front of him. Doc stared at them and wondered where the hell he was.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Doc’s shoulders jerked in surprise. He turned to see a woman sitting on a stool, watching him.

  She wore a white lab coat, which made sense in this setting. But the formality of the coat was offset by the tight jeans and stylish shoes that emerged from under it. She was disquietingly attractive, with dark eyes and black hair.

  In her hair she wore a silver comb.

  She had been so silent he’d had no idea she was there until she spoke.

  “If you’re worrying about your leg, please don’t. We have it safely stored away and we will return it to you at the proper time. Meanwhile, you must be thirsty.” The woman got up and took a glass from a cupboard and filled it at a sink. She handed it to Doc and he drank it down greedily. He felt he could talk now, although he still couldn’t quite think straight.

  “What are the lizards?” he said. His voice came out as a rasping croak.

  “They are Varanus Desertus Diabolus, known colloquially as the Desert Devil. They’re a subspecies of the monitor lizard or Desert Monitor, Varanus griseus, of the order Squamata, which is found throughout this region.” She smiled at him. “I imagine your next question is, ‘What is this region?’ Well, you are in Tamanrasset Province, in the Ahaggar Mountains of southern Algeria.”

  Algeria.

  Doc tried to think of something to say. He cleared his throat. “What are you doing with the lizards?”

  “Extracting their venom.”

  Well, thought Doc, that made as much sense as anything else.

  “Don’t worry,” said the woman. “Once we have finished our project, we shall release them back into the desert unharmed.”

  “I wasn’t worried,” said Doc. He shook his head groggily. Our project. That phrase rang alarm bells somewhere deep inside him.

  “You can’t think clearly, and you’re having trouble articulating.”

  Doc nodded, grateful to the woman for putting his thoughts into words.

  “That’s absolutely normal. You were stunned with a handheld electroshock weapon and then given a powerful sedative before you were flown here to join us. My name is Therese Morency, by the way.” She leaned forward on her stool. “Perhaps I should tell you a little about myself. When I was young girl — 9 years old — my parents were teaching at the University of Annaba. I was their only child. It was our great misfortune to go on holiday in the Ahaggar National Park, where we were set upon by insurgents. Both of my parents were killed. And I was abducted and carried over the extremely porous border into Niger.”


  She spoke dispassionately, as if she was discussing someone else.

  “The group who took me called themselves the Desert Devils. That’s right, they took their name from these lizards, for reasons I shall get to in a moment. In some ways I was fortunate to have fallen into their hands. Other so-called rebel groups would have killed a small girl out of hand, or raped her and then killed her. But the Devils specialised in training child soldiers. And, uniquely among such groups, they didn’t discriminate between boys and girls. In that respect they were very enlightened.”

  She smiled and the smile chilled Doc’s blood.

  “Their method of training children was also unique. Most such groups simply depended on brutality and terror to condition their young recruits. But the Devils were more sophisticated. They made use of a drug, a traditional compound known in this part of the world for thousands of years.”

  Doc glanced at the caged lizards and Therese nodded. “That’s right. A drug derived from the toxin of the indigenous reptiles. It made the stolen children both more obedient and more aggressive and agile — their reflexes were considerably enhanced. Such children would unquestioningly follow orders, and they would fight with such savage fury they could vanquish adults who were much larger and, theoretically, physically stronger.”

  Doc remembered a glinting blade and a room full of floating feathers.

  “Does this drug turn the eyes red?” he said.

  Therese nodded again and gave a warm smile of approval. “Exactly. That is one of its curious side effects. Another is that it can prove lethal if administered to anyone except a child. It cannot be used safely on adults. So when the child soldiers of the Desert Devils reached a certain age, they had to be taken off the drug. And they were confronted with two choices — serve willingly, without the drug, or die.”

  The smile faded from her face. “I chose a third alternative. I escaped from the Devils and set up my own organisation. I went freelance, so to speak.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Exacting retribution against those who had wronged me.”