Escape Velocity

by Mark Walden

  ‘Go,’ he said, though Raven only saw his lips move, and despite every instinct screaming at her to ignore him she knew that he was right.

  ‘Put your hands on your head and stay on your knees,’ a voice commanded over a speaker mounted on the nearest helicopter, ‘or we will open fire.’

  Raven turned slowly to face the helicopter and raised her hands, then in a lightning movement she tossed a smoke grenade that she had palmed moments earlier into the helicopter. Smoke instantly filled the cabin and Raven sprinted the few feet towards the edge of the capsule roof and leapt. She just caught the landing skid of the helicopter as the blinded pilot sent it spiralling down towards the river. She started to haul herself up, knowing that if she could just get into the cabin she might be able to fight her way to the controls. Suddenly, what felt like a giant fist punched her in the back and she lost her grip, falling like a rag doll towards the icy water below. There was a small splash as she hit the surface, and then nothing.

  ‘Good shot, unit four,’ the bald man said calmly as he watched the woman’s limp form hit the water. ‘Have the river dragged. I want to see the body.’

  He allowed himself a small crooked smile as the special forces team rappelled down lines from one of the helicopters on to the roof of the gondola. Their mission was accomplished. They had their prize.

  .

  Chapter Two

  Three months later

  Professor Pike took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with a protracted sigh. He yearned to be back in the Science and Technology department; that was where he really belonged, not here, trying to fill the shoes of one of his oldest and best friends. He leant back in what he still thought of as Nero’s chair and looked around the headmaster’s study. Nothing had been touched since Nero last left the room nearly three months previously.

  This was not the first time that the Professor had assumed the role of acting headmaster of H.I.V.E. He had often taken Nero’s place temporarily while he had been called away on some mission or to report to the G.L.O.V.E. high council. But this time was different and the Professor knew it. As the days stretched first into weeks and then months it became increasingly clear that there was something badly wrong. The only reassurance was that Raven had gone with him, and if there was one person in the world that you wanted watching your back in a dangerous situation, it was her. The Professor had, of course, reported the situation to the council and he had been reassured that they were investigating but that in the interim he would remain as acting head of the school. He had the uncomfortable feeling that in reality they knew as little as he did about Nero and Raven’s whereabouts, but he knew better than to suggest as much directly. Then, without warning, he had been summoned to his desk in the middle of the night to receive an unscheduled call from Number One, G.L.O.V.E.’s supreme commander. So now he sat there waiting for the monitor on the desk to flicker into life, trying hard to suppress the feeling of dread that was slowly crawling up his spine.

  The communications console emitted a soft chime and the G.L.O.V.E. logo of a fist hammering down on to a splintering globe filled the screen.

  ‘Professor Pike?’ a neutral female voice asked over the speaker.

  ‘Yes, this is Professor Pike,’ he replied.

  ‘Please hold for Number One,’ the voice replied and the line went dead. A moment later the screen displayed the silhouette of a seated figure. No detail of the man’s true appearance could be made out other than the fact that he definitely had a head.

  ‘Good morning, Professor. I’m sorry to make an unscheduled call at such an hour but a serious problem has come to our attention,’ Number One said calmly.

  ‘Of course,’ the Professor replied, even though they both knew that he could have been performing brain surgery and he’d still have been expected to drop everything to take this call.

  ‘We have intercepted a transmission,’ Number One continued. ‘It has been sent to all major international news agencies and will therefore doubtless be broadcast very shortly to the world. I think you should see it before we discuss this any further.’

  A window popped up in the corner of the screen displaying the first frozen frame of a video showing a man sitting at a desk in front of a plain grey backdrop. In the middle of the wall, just above the man’s head, was a symbol of a stylised angel flying upwards with a sword held aloft in its outstretched hand. Above the angel was the single word H.O.P.E. The man himself was thin, pale and completely bald, save for a neatly clipped band of white hair above each ear. He looked straight at the camera; his steady gaze was somehow unnerving.

  ‘Citizens of the free world,’ the man said as the video began to play, ‘my name is Sebastian Trent and I am the commander of a new organisation that will soon form an essential part of the ongoing war on terror. This organisation operates with the full support of the security agencies of the democratic nations and is designed to be the tip of the spear in the ongoing struggle against the terrorist groups that would seek to destroy our way of life for ever. This organisation is called H.O.P.E., the Hostile Operative Prosecution Executive, and it is our dream to give back to the people of the world exactly that: hope. It is our job to combat the forces of evil wherever we may find them, to cast a light into the darkest corners of the globe and bring the fight to any who would strike without warning at innocent people.’

  It was, of course, not the first time that the Professor had heard this kind of rhetoric, but there was undeniably something about this man and the conviction with which he spoke that marked him out from the usual buzzword-spouting politicians.

  ‘I am aware that many of you will feel that you have heard this before,’ Trent continued, ‘and so our actions must speak louder than words. I am here today not just to publicly announce the formation of our new organisation but also to show you that we are more than capable of producing results.’

  The picture changed and the Professor inhaled sharply. It was Nero, looking old, thin and pale, dressed not in his usual immaculate suit but in orange prison overalls. There was a familiar, defiant look in his eyes, but beyond that there was little about the slightly dishevelled figure on the screen that anyone who really knew Nero would recognise.

  ‘This man is Maximilian Nero,’ Trent paused. ‘He is one of the most senior figures in perhaps the most dangerous criminal organisation the world has ever known. He was seized by H.O.P.E. operatives while planning an act of terror in London, a scheme that with his capture and the death of his associates no longer represents a threat to the innocent people of that city. His arrest has given us a unique insight into the workings of this organisation and will be the first and most crucial step in its final destruction.’

  The picture of Nero vanished to be replaced once again by Sebastian Trent.

  ‘As I speak, H.O.P.E. operatives are active all over the world, hunting his associates and shutting down their operations permanently. The time has come for the forces of justice to reclaim our world from those who would destroy it and give hope to us all. The fight has just begun. Thank you.’

  The video faded out, leaving the angel symbol on the screen.

  ‘A potentially disastrous situation,’ Number One said calmly, ‘and one that we will be moving to resolve as quickly as possible. We clearly cannot allow someone with the knowledge that Nero possesses to remain in the hands of our enemies.’

  ‘No,’ the Professor replied quietly, stunned by what he had just seen. Not only did it appear that Nero had been captured, but – from what Trent had said about the ‘death of his associates’ – that Raven had been killed during the operation. It was hard to imagine a more catastrophic turn of events. ‘What do you intend to do?’

  ‘Rest assured that we will find a way to eliminate the risk to G.L.O.V.E.,’ Number One replied.

  The Professor stared back at the shadowy figure on the screen. ‘You can’t mean . . .’

  ‘It is not up to you to decide what I can and cannot do, Professor. I hope that I do not need to r
emind you of your position within this organisation,’ Number One said quickly, a cold edge to his tone. ‘Your first priority at this stage is H.I.V.E., and as such I feel you should consider how this news is delivered to the students and staff.’

  ‘We should do it soon,’ the Professor replied sadly. ‘The rumour mill in this place has been grinding for weeks already. The truth may be terrible but ongoing wild speculation is arguably worse. I should brief the staff and then call an assembly of the entire student body.’

  ‘Very well,’ Number One replied. ‘I also need to consider the issue of appointing a replacement headmaster.’

  ‘I am prepared to continue in the role for now,’ the Professor said quietly.

  ‘We need a more permanent solution than that,’ Number One replied. ‘I shall appoint someone over the coming days. You shall, of course, give them your full cooperation.’

  ‘Of course,’ the Professor said. Number One had clearly decided that Nero’s return was extremely unlikely. ‘I shall inform the staff.’

  ‘Good. I understand that this is difficult, Professor, but rest assured that we will prevail. Do unto others.’

  ‘Do unto others,’ the Professor replied, repeating the G.L.O.V.E. motto – words that suddenly sounded hollow and tasted bitter.

  The screen went dark and the Professor slumped in his seat. Nero captured, Raven dead and all that Number One seemed to care about was the efficient running of the school. Nero and Raven had been two of his most loyal and long-serving operatives, but their loss seemed like little more than an inconvenience to him. The Professor put his head in his hands and let out a deep sigh. It was going to be a very long day.

  Otto closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He tried to block out the sound coming from the shower in the bathroom and focus only on the glowing network of pulsing lights that he could see in his mind. As he concentrated, the image seemed to become clearer in his head. It almost looked like an overhead view of an enormous city at night, with the lights of the traffic coursing along the streets impossibly quickly. He felt himself drifting closer and closer to the grid, subconsciously analysing the patterns in the lights that raced around it, attempting to decrypt the information that he knew was stored within. He’d been awake all night, unable to sleep as his brain tried to decipher these patterns, sensing that he was getting nearer and nearer to his goal but finding tougher and tougher obstacles along each step of the way. Then something clicked into place in the back of his skull and he felt himself reaching out and becoming one with the pulsing flow below, steering it subtly away from its original course and setting it racing to its new destination.

  ‘Otto,’ Wing said sharply, placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder. Otto opened his eyes with a gasp, feeling a moment of total disorientation as the neon traces of the grid were suddenly replaced by the cool white walls of the room that he shared with Wing.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Wing asked, looking slightly worried.

  ‘Yes . . . yes, I’m fine,’ Otto said croakily.

  ‘You do not look fine,’ Wing replied, handing him a tissue and gesturing towards Otto’s nose. Otto raised the tissue to his face and dabbed at his nostrils. It came away stained with crimson. ‘In fact you look like someone who has not slept in two days.’ The note of disapproval was clear in Wing’s voice.

  ‘I almost had it,’ Otto said wearily, still dabbing at his nose. ‘I think it’s getting easier.’

  ‘If this is easy I would not like to see hard,’ Wing replied, sitting down on the end of his bed.

  Otto knew that Wing was worried about him. He’d seen Otto struggling to control this strange new ability for the past couple of weeks and from his perspective it probably did not look like Otto was any closer to an answer. It had started in his dreams: that was where he had first seen the grid and been immediately fascinated by the tantalising puzzle it represented. Slowly, however, it had begun to intrude on his waking hours as he started to see it more and more clearly in his mind and then, by degrees, even be able to consciously control it.

  ‘I still think that you should discuss this with the Professor,’ Wing said, pulling his long dark hair back into its familiar ponytail. ‘You do not properly understand this. It may be harmful.’

  ‘No,’ Otto replied firmly, looking his friend in the eye. ‘I have to work this out for myself. I almost had it today. I think that –’

  Otto was interrupted by a soft but insistent beeping from his Blackbox, the PDA that every H.I.V.E. student was issued with and expected to have with them at all times. He picked the shiny black device up from his desk and flipped it open. The screen was flashing ‘Download Complete’. Otto jabbed at the touch-sensitive screen and opened the file, letting out a small gasp as he saw what it contained.

  ‘It worked,’ Otto whispered, staring wide-eyed at the tiny LCD screen. ‘I got it . . .’

  ‘What is it?’ Wing asked, looking over Otto’s shoulder.

  ‘This, my friend, is what I’ve been trying to retrieve for the past two days,’ Otto beamed, holding the screen up for Wing to read. There, clearly displayed, was an official-looking title page that read, ‘Applied Villainy, final year two examination’.

  That was the secret of the grid, the mystery that Otto had finally worked out. He could not begin to explain how or why but he had somehow acquired the ability to mentally interface with computers – at first just to observe their function, but now, apparently, he was able to control them as well. It was an ability that had first manifested itself, albeit unconsciously, the previous year when Otto had been instrumental in derailing Cypher’s insane plan to steal the Overlord Protocol. Since then he had been trying and failing to bring the ability under his conscious control and now, at last, it seemed that he had been successful. He could not wait to tell Laura that he had retrieved this file from a system that just a week before she had described as ‘unhackable’, not that he could truly explain to her how he’d done it.

  ‘So you have put yourself through all of this just so that you can cheat in an exam,’ Wing said with a slight smile. ‘An exam, I might add, that you would almost certainly have passed with flying colours anyway.’

  ‘Well, it’s the principle of the thing,’ Otto replied with a grin.

  ‘I am not sure that I approve,’ Wing said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Cheats never prosper.’

  ‘You know, sometimes I really think that you might not be cut out for this place,’ Otto said. ‘I take it then that you won’t be needing a copy?’

  ‘Well,’ Wing replied, ‘I perhaps wouldn’t go so far as to say that –’

  Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the three long beeps from the intercom system that indicated a school-wide announcement. It was followed a moment later by the voice of Professor Pike, their Science and Technology teacher and current acting head of the school.

  ‘Attention, all pupils. There will be a full-school assembly in the main hall at nine o’clock this morning. Attendance is, of course, compulsory.’

  The intercom fell silent. Otto could imagine the effect that this announcement would have had throughout the school. Full-school assemblies were extremely rare, since the staff clearly felt that gathering that many children, all with a particular talent for villainy, in one place at one time was not really a very good idea.

  ‘Curious,’ Wing said softly, ‘and unusual.’

  ‘Yes, I wonder if we’re finally going to find out where our esteemed headmaster has been hiding himself,’ Otto replied. If the wild conspiracy theories that were circulating H.I.V.E. were to be believed, anything could have happened to Nero, from alien abduction to retirement, but as the weeks had gone by with no sign of either him or Raven it was becoming increasingly clear that something was wrong.

  ‘Come on,’ Otto said, standing up and smoothing down his now rather crumpled black uniform. ‘Let’s go and find the others.’

  ‘So what have you done this time, Malpense?’

  Otto smiled as he heard t
he familiar soft Scottish accent of Laura Brand behind him. He turned to face her and returned her wry, lopsided smile.

  ‘What on earth could you possibly mean?’ he replied with a look of wounded innocence.

  ‘Well, a full-school assembly usually means that something has gone really horribly wrong and I find it hard to believe that you’re not involved if that’s the case,’ she grinned. ‘So, come on, spill it.’

  ‘I’m afraid that for once I’m just as much in the dark about this as anyone,’ Otto said honestly. ‘We’ll just have to wait and see.’