“Let’s get you ready. The flight will take less than an hour.” Pierro had no time to waste on small talk.
Off with his left leg.
On with the NASA designed 2BKool fire resistant long johns and a long sleeve top.
A motorcycle, racing suit.
The exoskeleton, robotic suit, with Kevlar extendable folding bat’s wings.
A miniature, jet-engine backpack.
A prosthetic leg, which housed a pressurized hydrogen tank — enough to keep the motor going for a ten-minute flight.
And, finally, a fire resistant Balaclava that sat underneath the HMDS (Helmet Mounted Display System), which displayed the radio, GPS and airspeed on the visor.
The Falcon turned Doc into a human bird of prey.
He made a thumbs up to Pierro and flicked to an ultra-encrypted channel that was only available to Z5. For primary use between the Sea King and the Falcon — Pierro and Doc.
Pierro adjusted his Toughbook screen, which was now an exact replica of what Doc could see through his helmet.
He clicked through a final series of tests.
“Overhead Deauville Saint-Gatien Airport.” The Flight Lieutenant’s voice rang loud and clear inside Doc’s helmet.
“Let’s take her down.”
The giant, aging Sea King dropped down to Sofia’s sleek contemporary D-Jet.
Doc in his exo-skeleton suit leapt out as soon as the Sea King touched down.
Nothing amiss. No clues to Sofia’s whereabouts. Her kit had gone — all of it including her Z5 tracker. But her implanted Plan B tracker, linked to the base station beneath her seat was blinking brightly.
Fifteen minutes later the Sea King helicopter was above Sofia.
Beneath them a Renaissance castle, surrounded by a moat, set in four hundred acres of tree-lined park and farmland. All surrounded by a tall, fortified, stone wall.
A river flowed through the centre of the shaded property. A long drive led from a gatehouse to the heart of it.
The Flight Lieutenant crossed overhead at two thousand feet. High enough to cause no alarm, low enough for Doc to get his bearings.
Pierro spotted a hill a couple of miles to the west, far enough away not to register any anxiety for those in the chateau. The sun would mask the landing and the Sea King crew would have a direct line of vision and radio contact.
Five minutes later the mother ship was in place, just below the hill’s summit.
Doc would have to get a lot closer to lock onto the precise location of Sofia’s implanted tracker. He and Pierro agreed where the Falcon should land.
Doc, using the extraordinary power of the exoskeleton suit, jumped his way onto the crest of the hill.
Moments later the hunter was set free. Doc dived off the hill swooping down towards his prey.
After a burst of exhilarating full power Doc throttled back.
The Falcon, with its wings trimmed could shoot around the sky at over 200 miles an hour. But with its wings extended, Doc could cruise low and slow and quiet. Saving on the hydrogen in his pressurized fuel tank.
Hawk-eyed like the falcon he’d become, Doc glided down towards the chateau, approaching from the west, the bright sun provided full focus for him, but dazzle for the gatekeepers. Doc knew they would be alert to any movement — at ground level.
He circled low and slow over the chateau roof, registered a landing spot, cut the engine to reduce the noise to near zero.
With a gentle swish, Doc landed on a tower on the perimeter wall.
Alert. Confident. Vigilant. His adrenalin numbing away any phantom pains.
Doc’s radio squawked, a video stream appeared in the top right corner of his HMDS. He flushed with spontaneous delight as Benadir’s concerned face materialised.
“You okay?” she said
“In the pink.” A stabbing pain leapt out from where his leg had once been.
Damn. Don’t talk too soon.
“Sofia is in one of the out-buildings. Can you spot it?”
“Not yet. Who owns the chateau?”
“Not anyone you’d expect. Patching a feed through.”
Benadir’s face was replaced with a photos and captions. The captions read by a text to speech metallic voice. The first photo was of an imposing, silver-haired man looking side on into the camera as if for a portrait, not a passport photo.
“Chateau Grand Mote is the ancestral home of François Édouard.
“The family wealth stems from the early days of the French Colonial Empire.
“François Édouard, is an active politician and prominent member of the Démocratie Libérale — the French political party that advocates conservative liberalism.
“Édouard was renowned for his outspoken views on the inadequacy of today’s trade unions and his despair at the shallowness of leadership in the Union Pour un Movement Populaire.”
“What’s he doing snatching Sofia?” Doc’s low murmur was picked up by the sensitive microphone.
“It seems he’s recently become a member of a little-known international group called the ‘League of Enlightenment,’” responded Benadir. “I’ll find out more. Be careful.”
*
Of course, François Édouard. Sofia woke up with a start. That was the man she’d heard.
In that nano-second her memory shrieked a reminder of where she was. That she couldn’t see as she was still hooded, and she couldn’t move. Her wrists were handcuffed to a wide leather belt that secured her to an iron bed.
Fury rushed to the fore. Her heart was pounding.
Sofia forced herself to breathe deeply, slowly. The intake of breath giving her energy, breathing out discarding the tension. Yoga. Get the heart rate down.
Sofia forced herself to settle. To close her eyes, despite the pitch dark.
She woke with a start. Her door had opened. Footsteps approached. A chair was being dragged across the floor. A lid clicked open.
Was that her laptop? “I need your help with some passwords.” Durand’s voice was clinical.
“But I can’t see.”
“You don’t need to.”
Sofia stayed silent, her heart beating, her inner voice strangled.
“I’ll be your eyes.” Sofia heard his hand rustle again his clothes, slide into his pocket.
“I’m sitting at a desk. You’re strapped to a bed, cast iron — it helps with handcuffs; wheels, easier to crash into a wall; the mattress is covered by a plastic sheet, easier to clean. On the table beside you are what you might like to think of as the carrot and the stick. The carrot: keys to your handcuffs. The stick: an aluminium case with syringes and capsules — sodium pentothal is the one I always use first.”
Sofia flinched. That is not what she had in mind.
“I see you’re familiar with the formulation. Perhaps Z5 uses it? It’s foolishly sometimes called a truth drug. Of course, it’s nothing of the kind. It simply makes you talk — sense or nonsense. To get the truth, other kinds of encouragement are needed. But, for now, I don’t want the truth. I just want the passwords.”
“Sodium pentothal?” Sofia failed to stop the words before she’d spat them out.
Durand’s response was a ruthless, savage backhanded smack across Sofia’s face, which shook her to the core.
Sofia took her time to answer.
“Everything’s encrypted.”
Durand tore off her hood, grabbed her hair and yanked back Sofia’s head. “I want the username and password.”
Sofia could see. Light gave her strength. Years of martial arts training kicked in.
Sofia swung her legs back and locked both feet around Durand’s neck. Wrenched it so his right ear was near her mouth, and whispered.
“Time to book an appointment with your dentist.” Sofia flicked Durand’s head forward and back, before smashing his chin into the cast iron bedstead with the power of a knockout punch.
Durand’s head accelerated backwards. The carotid arteries in his neck compressed. His head hit the bed
stead. His brain, slowed by its surrounding fluid, slammed into the inside of his skull. Durand was out for the count.
Fifteen seconds later Sofia the tables had turned. Making full use of the carrot Sofia was free and Durand was handcuffed to the bed.
“Quite a turn around,” she murmured mostly to herself but loud enough for Durand to hear as he came round.
“My men will be here soon,” growled Durand in response.
“Good point.” Sofia sprang off the bed and pushed it to the door, jamming it shut.
“Let’s hope they don’t blast it open!”
“You bitch.” Being impressed was one thing. Being beaten was another.
Sofia moved towards the basin.
“I bet this has seen plenty of blood.” She peered in the mirror above.
Her face was spattered red.
Sofia twisted on the tap, whipped off her top, and started scrubbing, refreshed by the cool water. She checked the towel as she dried herself — no more blood. But there was a nasty welt on her cheek where Durand’s ring had caught her.
Her glance at the mirror said she didn’t care. Sofia believed in moving forward. That was history.
She turned towards the desk and her laptop. She hit the space bar and the MacBook Air blinked to life.
“Now what was the password? Oh, I never gave it to you.”
She could feel Durand’s fury heat the back of her head.
Her fingers sped across the keys.
As Pierro’s face appeared on the screen, a mirror image of what Doc saw on his video stream at one o’clock on his HMDS, Sofia’s fourth right finger stretched to F11 and cut down the sound to zero.
‘I’ve got company,’ she typed. ‘Expecting more.’
‘I’m on my way.’ Doc’s voice was transformed to text on Sofia’s screen.
‘In what?’
‘Falcon.’
‘On whose authorization? It sure as hell wasn’t mine and I’ll wager it wasn’t your mother’s.’
“Mine.’ That was Benadir.
Sofia was angry but she sensed Benadir’s embarrassment through the silence. This was not the time for reprimands.
“Use the window. He’s lashed to a bed that’s blocking the door.”
“Got it.”
“Who’s he?” That was Pierro changing the subject at the same time as sticking to it.
“My hitchhiker — Jean-Pierre Durand.”
“Shall I come in with the Sea King?”
Sanity at last. “Affirmative.”
And with that burst of texted shorthand all three knew what would happen next.
Sofia knew that Pierro was in the Sea King. Doc was now a Falcon in his exoskeleton, which she’d designed and tested herself. Her internal tracker had registered exactly where she was.
Which window was also obvious.
Pierro and Sofia knew that Doc was on his way and should have no trouble blasting through the window. Getting her and Durand out. What none of them knew for certain was how the guards would react to a helicopter hovering noisily and then landing in their territory.
Smoke and a lot of gunfire and flashes, all dummies, usually sorted that.
“Let’s go!” Pierro turned to the Flight Lieutenant and his crewmen and thumbed up. The Sea King mother ship lifted into the air and tilted forward. When the altimeter showed 250 feet Pierro thumbed again. “That’s good.” The door gunner stood by his mounted M60D machine gun. “Sure you want blanks?” Pierro nodded and moved towards a smoke canister by the door.
Copying Doc, they arrived out of the west, this time, though, the sun cast a monster moving shadow across the hedgerows and fences, roads and tracks. The rotors thumped the air, causing the birdsong to be replaced by anxious alarm calls.
Every guard in the gatehouse looked up, every servant and guest in the chateau pricked their ears. But not François Édouard. He would be sure to react to the sound of a helicopter. He knew that if there was a problem he’d be alerted.
Doc leapt off the tower. No need to fire up the engine. He knew he’d reach his target on the glide. And did so as accurately as a falcon targeting its unsuspecting prey.
Crashing through the window, splintering the frame.
Thumbs up to Sofia who, taking advantage of this new shock to Durand, whipped off the leather belt and handcuffs.
“I’ve got him,” hollered Doc as the Sea King hovered less than a foot off the ground, just a stone’s throw away, engulfed in clouds of red smoke.
Doc, threw Durand over his shoulder like a rag doll and leapt back out through the smashed window, followed closely by Sofia.
The Sea King’s rotor blades swept refreshing air over her body as she followed, Doc, and Durand, still reeling from his beating into the Sea King.
Sofia though was taking no chances and handcuffed him to the helicopter’s frame.
Pierro slid off Doc’s helmet, raised an eyebrow, and then helped him out of his exoskeleton as the Sea King rose majestically into the air.
Sofia caught Durand swivelling his head around like a spinning top desperate to drink in all he could. “I think you’ve seen enough.” She slipped a hood over his head, tying it tight.
“You must be hungry,” shouted Doc, much louder than necessary, to Sofia handing her a food bar and a canteen of water.
As Sofia looked up quizzically. Doc pointed at his right armpit, then at his stomach and then at Durand.
Sofia got it and nodded an okay as Pierro who had been watching, unlocked a compartment in Doc’s backpack, took out and slipped off the wrapper of a single bite Mars Bar before handing it to Doc.
“You too!” shouted Doc into Durand’s ear, before placing the mini Mars Bar under his hood to his lips. “Go on, it’s only chocolate.”
As Durand struggled Doc thumped his back and banged the bottom of his chin. Durand’s teeth clicked loudly and the Mars Bar slipped down his unwelcoming throat.
Pierro turned to his computer screen and thumbed up.
Durand had swallowed a tracer that would stay in his gut for up to a week.
“What are we going to do with him?” shouted Doc loud enough for Durand to hear and flinch.
“Turn him in” Sofia shouted back.
“Not going to question him first?”
Sofia shook her head.
“Might get some info out of him.”
Pierro was a step ahead. He grabbed Durand’s right, handcuffed hand, for fingerprints and DNA. He ripped of the hood and snapped some mug shots. “Any distinguishing marks? Apart from the horseshoe moustache?”
Durand shot an ugly, angry stare but, pinned back by Pierro, could do nothing more.
Sofia, with surgical scissors in hand, cut his clothes right down the middle. And forced up his right arm as far up as the handcuffs would allow.
“Surprise, surprise, he’s got a tracker implant.” she shouted to Doc and Pierro.
“We’ll need that out.” Durand struggled as Pierro overwhelmed him with a cotton pad doused in chloroform.
Half an hour later Sofia and Pierro were dropped off at Deauville Airport to pick up Sofia’s treasured D-Jet and fly it back to Milan.
An hour later. The Sea King dropped onto the still, dusky grounds of Brett Hall.
As Inspector Ford and his sergeant led Durand to an armoured police van, Andy Barlow ordered two groundsmen to help unload the Falcon.
Doc leapt down to Barlow and shouted above the sound of the whirling rotors.
“I’m taking her onto Northolt.”
“The Falcon’s staying here. Your mother’s orders.”
“Clipping my wings is she?”
“Something like that.”
“Where is she?” Doc started striding to Brett Hall to have it out with her.
“Meeting the Home Secretary.”
“Oh”.
Ninety minutes later the Sea King dropped off Doc at Northolt — minus the Falcon.
Just two hours later Durand’s implant and other data were being exa
mined by Benadir’s night team at Z5’s Digby Mews HQ.
At No 5 Digby Mews, Benadir gave Doc one final goodnight kiss and climbed out of bed. She’d had stroked away his ruffled Falcon feathers and together they’d put the finishing touches onto a long day.
“Aren’t you staying?” Doc knew she wouldn’t.
“Not tonight. You need some sleep and so do I.”
“What was my mother bothering the Home Secretary about?” Doc was trying to work out the connection.
“Slapping on a press embargo when Durand makes his escape, I guess.”
Benadir had guessed right. If Durand escaped, and Dame Marion had little doubt he could, from Inspector Ford’s low-security lock-up, then Z5 would be free to make use of the tracker Durand had swallowed and gauge the strength of their foe.
This time Doc’s impetuosity had paid off.
CHAPTER TEN
BBC
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/7637327.stm
Précis:
A Swiss man has become the first person to fly solo across the English Channel using a single jet-propelled wing.
Known as "Fusionman," the former military pilot took less than ten minutes to complete the crossing and parachute to the destination.
YOUTUBE
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P-oQ--U-WaQ
Swiss "Rocket Man" Yves Rossy becomes the first person in the world to fly with wings under rocket power.
Scientific American
http://www.sciam.com/article.cfm?id=real-life-iron-man-exoskeleton
Précis:
Japan’s Cyberdyne, Inc. has a sleek, white exoskeleton now in the works that it says can augment the body’s own strength or do the work of ailing (or missing) limbs. The company is confident enough in its new technology to have started construction on a new lab expected to mass-produce up to five hundred robotic power suits.
YOUTUBE
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kat8I5UM_Vs&feature=related
Lockheed Martin's latest promo video of the HULC exoskeleton designed to ease a Soldier's load by turning him into a temporary robot.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Eternity's Sunrise (A New Doc Palfrey Thriller) Page 6
