by John McNally
“The telecoms line runs in cable housing under the false ceiling of the main service corridor.”
“Got it,” replied Kane, already there, punching up through a ceiling tile and firing through the cable housing.
In the ballroom, they heard the sound of smashing glass, and the shot, and watched the LED on the phone extension go out as they reached it.
“He’s shot out the line,” said Kelly.
Kane burst through the double doors, bleeding from the smashed glass. He saw them and his mouth contorted into a smile. He threw the lock on the double doors.
“Ah, we’re trapped,” said Stubbs, helpful as ever, as they took in the evil teen.
Kane picked up a chair and walked to the centre of the dance floor.
There was only one other way out, at the opposite end of the ballroom, which they could see through glass panels led into a large central kitchen.
“You are got!” Kane shouted, voice ricocheting round the empty ballroom.
“What do we do? Rush him?” asked Delta.
“I’m thinking…” said Kelly, options spinning through his mind.
Yo-yo issued a growl that ended in a whimper.
“Don’t be afraid, Yo-yo,” said Finn.
Then Kane heard a tapping at the window. He turned. He saw it. He smiled. He walked to window and let it fly in.
…kzzwkzzkzkwkwkwkzzzwwkwwkzzwkzzkzkwkwkwWKKKKZZZZZ…
Kill.
“OK, be afraid,” said Finn.
FORTY-ONE
Small Security Service teams had dispersed across the area surrounding Lanyard House after deep tyre marks were found in the gravel drive, but none had so far found any trace of an off-road vehicle, or indeed any sign of life.
One two-man team sped through the scattered, prosperous Sandy Heath neighbourhood towards Wellington when they approached the grandiose sign for the Sandy Dale Golf Club – Members Only.
“Up there?”
“OK, but we’re not staying to play a round.”
The car swung out to take the sharp right into the entrance with barely a touch on the brakes at 55mph, briefly lifting two wheels off the ground.
Ahead of them they could see the clubhouse rising out of the heather. They would reach it in nine seconds and get a clear view of the smashed lounge bar windows and of the quad bike lodged therein. Another three seconds and they’d see the mess made of the eighteenth green, and the drama now taking place in the ballroom.
But just as they were approaching the green…
“All cars – motorbike and car on traffic camera at intersection B237 and A38 three minutes ago.”
The driver hit the brakes and spun back round.
* * *
The trap was set.
Wkzzwkzzkzkwkwkwkzzzwwkwwkzzwkzzkzkwkwkw…
The Scarlatti circled the ballroom ceiling, sifting the danger, picking out the individual scents.
Yo-yo and the jeep shifted nervously on the dance floor, ready to bolt, eyes and Minimi trained on the beast above.
Kane retreated to block the kitchen doors, and enjoy the spectacle from the far end like an emperor watching the climax of his games.
The Scarlatti circled the ceiling for a final time then plunged down from the mirrorball at the jeep in a death-dive, tail curled, stings flexing and pointing.
Wkzzwkzzkzkwkwkwkzzzwwkwwkzzwkzzkzkwkwkw!
“GAS!” shouted Delta. The jet spluttered, then the jeep shot forward. The diving Scarlatti missed by millimetres. The jeep pulled clear across the polished floor. The Scarlatti levelled in pursuit.
Kelly braced himself against the Minimi on the roof of the jeep.
DTRTRTRTRTRTRRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRT!
The Scarlatti felt the first couple of impacts and wheeled away. Adapting. It had learned it could not take many hits on already damaged wings.
DRRRRT! DRRRRT! DRRRRT!
Kelly missed, as the Scarlatti dodged and swung back and forth around the speeding jeep, inviting further bursts of fire, trying to gauge the angle of its enemy’s sting.
With a screech, Delta spun the jeep back the way it came. The Scarlatti arced round after it, chasing it back down the ballroom in a dance of death.
Yo-yo paced, held fast by Finn, desperate to bite the flying thing, to snap it out of the air like a ball.
Wkzzwkzzkzkwkwkwkzzzwwkwwkzzwkzzkzkwkwkw!
“Low on fuel. Low on ammo,” Stubbs reported to Delta.
“Where have I heard that before?”
Kill kill kill…
The dancers turned.
The tiny jet screamed.
The Scarlatti, frustrated by the jeep’s evasions, sensed an easier prey.
Finn saw the beast wheel away in a long elliptical line and head straight towards them. He gripped two handfuls of dog fur. The Scarlatti skimmed the dance floor at speed, growing in size and momentum as it zeroed in. Finn felt his heart beat faster, faster, faster…
But Finn was not afraid. Finn knew this game. This was British Bulldog by any other name.
As late as he dared, he yelled, “Run, Yo-yo! Get the jeep! Run away!”
Yo-yo barked in protest, but sprang up, dodging the venomous imp like a toreador.
The Scarlatti overshot and – WHACK! – bounced off the end wall before it could turn. It struggled in a frenzy of brain-bleeding pure fury for a couple of seconds, fizzing like a lethal puck across the dance floor.
It was as Yo-yo shot skittering down the ballroom after the jeep – which had turned too, heading back towards Kane and the kitchen end – that Finn saw it.
Just left of the double doors to the kitchen that Kane was guarding was a serving hatch. Just like at home. Its doors were closed. But surely they wouldn’t be locked?
There was only one way to find out.
“Go, Yo-yo! Go!” Finn said. “Who’s at the hatch? DINNER!”
An override synapse fired in Yo-yo’s brain – he saw only Grandma’s hatch and everything turned dog food.
“Jump, boy! Jump!”
Like no jockey ever rode a horse at the Grand National, Finn clutched the dog’s neck and urged him on. And like no horse ever leapt those famous fences, Yo-yo sprang like Pegasus for the serving hatch.1
And, to Kane’s disbelief, they sailed right past him, burst open the hatch doors and crashed skidding into the kitchen, scattering crockery like some mental dog bomb.
Kane kicked through the double doors and snatched up a knife from the scattering steel.
“YO-YO!” screamed Finn.
From deep within his wolfish past, Yo-yo reacted, springing past the flashing blade to sink his blunt teeth hard into Kane’s armpit, one canine tooth penetrating the muscle deep enough to nick Kane’s median nerve.
Kane fell back against the double doors. His hand opened. The knife dropped to the floor. So did Finn – spinning from Yo-yo’s collar and bouncing off Kane’s gut to land on the kitchen floor as Kane and Yo-yo struggled, a cacophonous nightmare of growls and screams and flailing limbs the size of buses, one blow from which would kill Finn in an instant. He ran for cover, any kind of cover, but – WHAM! – down came a paw and – WHACK! – down came an arm.
As man and dog fought on the floor, the door to the ballroom was kicked open creating a momentary gap. Delta went for it.
The jeep shot through – hitting Kane’s hand which acted as a ramp and sent them leaping over the battling pair before the doors could swing shut again. They narrowly missed Finn as they landed.
>
“Brake!” screamed Delta and she spun the jeep, executing a tight figure of eight in order to pick Finn up – Kelly leaning out of the cab with an arm like steel to snatch him off the floor – and spin back out again, away from the fight.
“RUN, YO-YO! CHASE THE JEEP!” Finn screamed back at the dog.
Yo-yo left off Kane immediately, and bounded through the kitchen doors after them, chasing them through canyons of stainless steel as they led the way out through the lounge bar double doors, smashed wide open by Kane.
Kane was still flailing on the kitchen floor… they were getting away… they were getting away…
The Scarlatti sensed his pain. An attack on the swarm.
It buzzed and whacked against the kitchen doors in frenzy again, until Kane kicked them open to let it through.
Wkzzwkzzkzkwkwkwkzzzwwkwwkzzwkzzkzkwkwkw…
Kill…
The Scarlatti flew arrow-straight after them, out through the kitchen, through the lounge bar and its smashed French doors. Zeroing in on them as they raced round the terrace.
Yo-yo saw it and barked. The beast responded and headed straight for him.
Finn screamed, “NO, YO-YO! RUN!”
But Yo-yo couldn’t hear. Didn’t want to hear.
SNAP!
He leapt up and his jaws tried to bite it from the air.
“NOOOO!” Finn screamed.
Both beasts wheeled, Yo-yo growling and snapping at the Scarlatti as he bounded away from it towards the woods, the Scarlatti in hot pursuit, coming in at crazed trajectories, trying to get an angle to dive, Yo-yo in a world of his own, in a whirligig conflict that Finn could only despair of as they disappeared through dense brambles into the woods and out of sight.
“We’ve got to stop them!” Finn shouted. He felt the blood drain out of him and panic flow in.
“YO-YO!” he called. “YO-YO!”
* * *
In the woods Yo-yo snapped and snapped again at the flying thing, still dodging its stings, but he only had so much energy left… he would have to lie down soon… he would have to submit and sleep… let the thing bite him… they would give him a treat today surely… biscuits he thought… biscuits…
…then he heard something, felt something, passing into his very soul.
Home, he thought. Home…
FORTY-TWO
Finn looked desperately into the woods as they shot round the perimeter of the eighteenth green.
“Where is he? Where did he go?”
There was no sign. Finn suddenly found he couldn’t deal with anything and his head filled with tears. Not Yo-yo. All of a sudden he wanted to go home, he really badly wanted to go home. It had been fun, it had been extraordinary, it had been wild, but not Yo-yo, nothing was worth losing Yo-yo.
Kelly said, “He’s chasing him down. He’s wearing it out for us. Come on, kid. He’ll be OK.”
Delta grabbed Finn’s shoulder. “Hey! He’s a warrior! He’ll be back! What did I tell you about Kelly?” she demanded.
“You said he’d be back…” Finn said, deciding to hold on to it, to believe it, if only to stop himself crying. “You said he’d be back… and he came back.”
“There you go then,” said Delta.
“How much fuel have we got left?” Kelly asked Stubbs.
Stubbs checked the plastic bottle of fuel Kelly had filled overnight.
“Five minutes at the most.”
“Which way?” said Delta.
“There’s a town on the horizon, at the bottom of the course,” said Kelly, pointing back down the eighteenth fairway.
“Wellington… I think that’s Wellington,” said Finn. “I recognise the spires.”
There was still no sign of the Scarlatti or Yo-yo.
“And if we head cross-country and run out of fuel before we hit a road…?” Stubbs started.
“If we run out of fuel, we’re screwed either way,” said Kelly.
Delta hit what was left of the gas.
* * *
Kane could just hear the jeep screaming away as he finally got the quad to sputter back to life. The engine fired intermittently – which, together with the escape of the jeep and the dog bites, made him even more psychotic.
He kicked the quad round, scattering shattered glass, and it stuttered back out on to the terrace. As he yanked at the spark plug leads to get the quad engine to behave, the Scarlatti emerged from the undergrowth on the far side of the eighteenth green and flew erratically towards him.
It all but flopped into his lap – a black-red rat, struggling, disoriented and fatigued. Kane picked it up gently, let it taste him. He could see how weak it had become. Its weakness, its need, calmed him. True and faithful, Kane opened his shirt and placed it on his chest. Let it jab and sink its barbed mouthparts into his skin. Let it attach itself and feed on his blood. On his dark life force.
The voice of Li Jun reported in his ear, “Target heading northeast, towards the B237.”
Kane revved the quad.
FORTY-THREE
The ghost ship Oceania Express had travelled at full speed northeast of Felixstowe and arrived at a point ninety miles into the North Sea. It was nearer the coast of the Netherlands than that of the UK, and almost dead centre of the network of military formations that stood ready to board it or attack anyone who came near.
It now slowed. Why? For effect, thought King.
Pure theatre.
Kaparis must know that they would have deduced the whole thing was a red herring and that what he really wanted were the sequencing codes. So why all this? Why bother with this whole charade?
The display of power: the first instinct of the insecure and idiotic throughout the ages.
He was showing off, enjoying himself as the world danced to his tune.
How depressing to be brought so low by such a person, King thought. He had rarely felt so hopeless. In Central London a room full of ‘cryptanalysts with a romantic bent’ waited to hear Al’s cryptic mnemonic key. Should King let them in on the secret scrap of poetry?
Uncertainty was all. Uncertainty and fear.
And, as everyone else waited for, indeed demanded, action, King decided he wasn’t ready to give in. Not just now. Not just yet.
Not to him.
* * *
In Siberia, Kaparis watched similar images of the container ship, and examined similar maps, showing the extraordinary disposition of forces. He had rarely felt so satisfied.
He actually managed a laugh. Which alarmed Heywood.
“Li Jun, would you be so good as to find me a secure line to Commander King?”
“Yes, Master.”
* * *
SPPPS SSH CHUKCHUKCHUK… SCHHHHUP… UPH…
“Come on… Come on…” said Finn.
The jeep was slowing.
SSH CHUKCHUKCHUK SSSSF UPH…
They still hadn’t hit the road.
Kelly and Finn were either side of the plastic fuel bottle, tilting every last drop of liquid into the fuel line.
“She’s dying,” Stubbs lamented.
“Burn, baby! Burn!” Delta urged, slamming the power lever back and forth.
The jet was running dry.
A final CHSSSSS sent the jeep over a last rise before it stopped altogether.
Silence. They came over the top of the rise and their momentum took them downhill – towards a road.
“There it is!” yelled Delta.
“Make it make it make it make it…” Finn repeated as all four of them willed themselves heavier in order to generate momentum.
Down the slope they rolled – under a wooden fence, and up, just enough to clear the lip of ground that banked the road, rolling forward on to the asphalt of the B237.
Slowly, oh so slowly, they rolled a few centimetres further to come to a halt on a white line in the middle of the road.
It could not have been e
mptier. The houses they could see were far ahead, big buildings set back from the road. They may as well have been on the dark side of the moon.
They weren’t going to make it. Not in the jeep. Maybe not for hours. Maybe not at all. In the distance, they heard the quad spluttering down the course behind them.
“We need to get out of here,” Delta said.
“We’d better abandon ship,” said Kelly.
All four grabbed what they could and leapt down on to the white line.
“Ow!”
“Argh…”
“Ooh, nasty…”
From the cries of pain, Finn realised he was the only member of the crew not carrying an injury, or over sixty. He was looking round to see if there was anywhere they might hide when –
“What the…?”
Coming down the road towards them on an old BMX, knapsack on his back, was a kid.
“It’s a kid!”
“On his own?”
“It’s a KID!” said Kelly, heart swelling.
“No… it’s not…” said Finn, recognising the mop of brown hair, the thick glasses, the awkward shrunken body and outsize limbs.
“It’s bloody Hudson!”
* * *
DAY THREE 08:47 (BST). Hook Hall, Surrey
Over the line from Kaparis, King heard the sounds of a choir singing a sentimental dirge.
“Go to the dreamless bed, where grief reposes
The book of toil is read, The long day closes…”
“Ah, ‘The Long Day Closes’, Commander King. Do you know it? It’s a great favourite of mine. The sequencing codes, please, as per our agreement,” said Kaparis.
“I don’t remember an agreement. I remember a threat,” said King.
“If you will, as per our threat.”
From screens around the CFAC, King could feel the eyes of the world upon him.
If he failed to act, he would be exposed to nuclear attack from historic allies as an alternative to releasing Armageddon in insect form. If he surrendered, he would hand over a technology with unimaginable potential to a lunatic trillionaire terrorist.
