Great North Road

by Peter F. Hamilton

  Not that he had a lot to update anybody with. Since Sunday when Sid had unexpectedly called them all up to the HDA base, Linsell had run an exemplary operation. The sub-teams had acquired their targets with precision and minimum fuss. With the truly unlimited resources they’d brought to bear, nobody had skipped out of sight for a moment.

  Unfortunately, Sherman’s crew had turned out to be model citizens ever since that point. Jede had returned to Newcastle mid-morning, and dumped the van in a GSW. Five minutes after he walked away it had burst into flame, much to the delight of the local feral youths. After that, there’d been no contact between Sherman and Aldred. Sherman had gone about his usual dark business with care. The file Linsell assembled, containing calls about secondary money transfers, tox procurement, corporate data acquisition, and two blackmail scams being set up would have been enough for the city prosecutor to obtain a twenty-year sentence. Linsell wanted something else. Sherman had to be holding Umbreit’s family somewhere. It was their hold over him, the leverage to force him to build whatever it was they’d got him doing in the farmhouse barn. Ralph and Linsell were desperate to find them.

  Neither Clayton, nor anyone at Jupiter, could even guess what was being constructed at that remote location, nor why Aldred was apparently going rogue. Nothing in their analysis of bioil markets or general corporate manoeuvring could provide a reason for his behaviour. All they were left with was the connection to the strange slaying of the unknown North, itself linked to Bartram’s death twenty years ago. If for no other reason, Clayton was taking this more seriously than even Linsell appeared to be.

  It was six o’clock in the evening when the call was placed. All around the big, vaulting, underground room, agents looked up at the central wallscreen. It showed a map of the city, with all the target icons in bright purple. Aldred had just received a call from the farmhouse, linking through multiple cells right across the planetary network, and switching two hundred times a second to a fresh random route.

  ‘He’s finished the machine,’ a voice boomed out of the speakers.

  ‘Excellent news,’ Aldred replied. ‘Have you run the diagnostics?’

  ‘Yes sir. It’s got the parameters you gave us. Everything checks out.’

  ‘Right. Inform Sherman we’ll be moving to placement. I will see you all at the assembly point.’

  Both Linsell and Sid were immediately responding to calls. Clayton knew it had to be Ralph Stevens; they were nodding curtly and in unison to whatever points were being made. He exchanged a knowing look with Ian, who was helping out with the sub-team monitoring Boz.

  Up on the big map, icons were showing Sherman was now receiving a call from the farmhouse. Eva walked over to him.

  ‘We haven’t found the family, yet,’ she murmured.

  ‘I think that just became irrelevant.’

  ‘Abner, come on, if whatever the hell that machine is actually works then nobody has any use for the family any more.’

  ‘Aye, I know that, man, but we haven’t got a single lead. For all we know Sherman doesn’t know either. Suppose Aldred used someone else to kidnap the Umbreits?’

  ‘We have to try,’ she hissed.

  Up on the screen, Sherman was calling Jede, who in turn called all the others.

  ‘Everybody’s moving,’ Ian announced in satisfaction. All Sherman’s crew were heading for their cars.

  Sid joined them. ‘She’s agreed to let us accompany the assault team,’ he said, looking very pleased with himself.

  ‘What are we doing about the professor’s family?’ Eva asked.

  ‘Everyone holds back until Aldred and the machine are in the same place, then the armed interdiction team storm in. Once the survivors are in custody they will be offered a cooperation deal. They tell us where the family is, and in return they get that taken into consideration by the judge at sentencing. If they all tough it out, Ralph will take them away for interrogation. We saw what that did to dear old Ernie. We’ll find them.’

  ‘That could take days,’ Eva protested, with blood starting to heat her pale skin.

  ‘Best we can do. The sub-teams will remain here and try and spot any communication to the people holding the family. There’s a dedicated rescue team waiting on that.’

  ‘All right,’ she grumbled.

  Sid smiled, and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘You don’t have to come along. You can stay here and make sure they’re doing what they can for the family.’

  ‘Trying to get rid of me, boss?’

  ‘Aye man, no way. Not after all this.’ Sid chuckled. ‘How about you, Abner, you want in?’

  ‘I have to know what’s going down, boss. A brother was murdered because of this, whoever he was.’

  ‘Okay then, we armour up and follow the primary team in. Our job is observation and support.’

  *

  Sid led his people out into the fresh spring evening, feeling perspiration prickling his armpits and neck under the tough armour jacket and regulation padded shirt. It was warm out in the base’s car park, with the tarmac still radiating away the day’s sunlight. Stars were emerging as bright pinpoints in the cloudless gloaming sky.

  There had been a lot of decisions that delivered him to this point, and he could still just walk away and go home. Let Linsell and the interdiction team sort it out. After all, this was the reason they existed. Some stupid side of him was proud that he was here, doing what had to be done. But mainly he was scared shitless like any real, sane human being.

  When he looked up at the constellations, he saw silhouettes of three black Mil US-22 VTOL fan aircraft on the rooftop pads of the main building. Squads of HDA’s interdiction troopers were embarking through the broad side doors while the fans swivelled about as part of their pre-flight checks. The US-22s were silent and stealthed, capable of approaching urban targets without warning; in another twenty minutes when the gold twilight horizon vanished they’d be invisible to the naked eye and most sensors. The first thing any hostile would know about their arrival was when dark armoured figures came abseiling down out of the night sky.

  Sid had been allocated a big Mercedes 4x4 Allclime; one of a dozen similar vehicles parked ready to transport the rest of Linsell’s teams. As he opened the front door she came over to him, her armour looking as if it was tailored by the same store that made her suits.

  ‘I appreciate the help you’ve provided,’ she said. ‘But you will lock into position and follow tactical protocol only. I don’t want any deviation. You are designated secondary support now.’

  ‘Aye, pet, I’ll go with that,’ Sid said in his thickest Geordie accent.

  ‘Good,’ she snapped and walked over to her command vehicle, a ten-seat Jeep Hassar.

  ‘Wow,’ Abner said. ‘That’s an attitude. Ian, did you hit on her?’

  ‘No!’ Ian protested. ‘I don’t do that, not any more. Not now I’m with Tallulah.’

  ‘How’s that going?’ Eva asked with a lofty air.

  ‘Good, man. We’re together every night, at her place, like, not mine. I want to keep her well clear of everything we’re doing. And we’ve talked about moving in together, like. You don’t think that’s too soon?’

  Sid stifled a chuckle. This was not an Ian conversation as he knew it. ‘When you’re ready, you’re ready,’ he said. ‘There’s no set time.’

  ‘No, boss, I’m sure I heard there was a GE regulation,’ Abner said as they sat themselves down in the Allclime.

  ‘Fifteen weeks,’ Eva said with a straight face.

  ‘Ignore the cynics,’ Sid said. ‘You’re doing the right thing. She’s a great girl.’

  ‘You just make sure you treat her right,’ Eva said. ‘She’s been through a lot. That bloody fiancé of hers, then being dragged into our case.’

  ‘Aye, man, give me some credit,’ Ian moaned.

  Still grinning, Sid told his e-i to link the mission’s tactical coordinator net to the Allclime’s auto. His grid was displaying an aerial picture of the farmhouse. A
six-wheel Ford Telay van was heading away from the cluster of buildings.

  ‘Target A on the move,’ the tactical coordinator announced. ‘They put a large crate into the rear of the Telay before they left. Umbreit’s also on board with four hostiles.’

  ‘How bad would it be if they set off the D-bomb on the ground?’ Ian asked suddenly. ‘Are they big bombs?’

  ‘They have fusion initiators,’ Abner said quietly.

  ‘Well that’s good, right man?’ Ian said. ‘Fusion is clean energy, isn’t it?’

  ‘Ian,’ Sid said wearily. ‘He means the trigger is a fusion bomb.’

  Ian gave them all a nervous laugh. ‘Aye. Right. I knew that. So there’ll be no fallout, like?’

  ‘Do you want to go back to the command room?’ Sid asked. ‘It’s underground in a HDA base. Safe as you can be.’

  ‘No. We’re in this together. But what about your kids?’

  ‘Visiting the grandparents in Rutland.’ As soon as he’d found out about Umbreit on Sunday he’d told Jacinta to get out of the city. He hadn’t broken security, hadn’t given an explanation. He simply told her that she had to do it, that something had developed in his case, that he didn’t want her and the kids exposed to risk. She’d been on the A1 heading south before lunchtime.

  ‘Oh,’ Ian said. He glanced at Eva.

  ‘Mine are back in the old country,’ she said. ‘It’s an important cultural time in Iceland. They shouldn’t miss out.’

  Ian turned to Abner.

  Abner shrugged. ‘It was a brother you fished out of the Tyne. I have to know.’

  The Allclime started to roll forwards, slotting into a line of vehicles heading out of the base. When he peered up through the windscreen Sid could just make out the shape of the US-22s lifting into the darkening sky. His grid showed him Sherman and Boz both approaching Last Mile. Jede and Ruckby were also heading in the same direction, though they were further out.

  ‘Makes sense,’ Abner said. ‘If you’re going to use a D-bomb anywhere, I suppose it should be in a gateway.’

  ‘Why?’ Eva asked as they passed through the base’s main entrance. ‘Aldred’s spent his life working for your family company. St Libra is his life. All of you have worked so hard to make it successful.’

  Sid watched the frown creep across Abner’s face as if he’d just realized something. ‘All but one,’ Abner muttered, tasting the name as if it was something strange.

  ‘Zebediah,’ Sid said immediately. He remembered accessing the file Elston had given to the investigation. Zebediah was odd even by North standards. But then he’d been in Bartram’s mansion on that night. ‘Did any of your brothers sympathize with his cause?’

  ‘No. None of us do. St Libra is where our wealth comes from, it’s what’s made us the force we are.’

  ‘The most evangelical followers of any cause are those who converted to it,’ Eva said. ‘They’ve sacrificed the most.’

  Abner shook his head. ‘No.’

  Sid could see the North hadn’t convinced himself. He checked the grid. ‘Looks like we haven’t got far to go,’ he said. Boz’s car had slowed, turning into Eleventh Avenue North, on the southeastern corner of Last Mile.

  The interdiction force vehicles were separating, turning off down side roads as the coordinator network guided them along different routes into Last Mile.

  A micro-drone showed Boz’s car driving through a roll-up door on a big warehouse-style building. Two minutes later, Sherman arrived at the same location.

  ‘Looks like we have our site,’ Sid said. Data on the warehouse was running down his grid, the listed ownership was Mountain High, who supplied clothes and bedding suitable for tropical climates. Sid’s e-i switched to building blueprints, showing the big discount store that took up a third of the ground floor, names of employees, company accounts, suppliers. Nothing cross-referenced to the case.

  Their Allclime turned off the A167 and headed down the slope into Last Mile. It parked them on Marquis Way outside a store selling wind turbine kits and regen-cells. The street was almost deserted; hologram adverts shone gaudy turquoise and crimson across the 4x4’s unwashed paintwork; store windows still shone, optimistically trumpeting goods that nobody was buying. The rest of the interdiction team vehicles were taking up position, parking in various streets in easy range of the Mountain High warehouse.

  Jede and Ruckby arrived and went inside. The micro-drones tracking the Ford Telay van showed it travelling along the A1, curving round Newcastle’s western suburbs. Ralph and the agents from his observation team were following a mile behind, hidden by the heavy stream of traffic.

  ‘Here we go,’ Eva said.

  The sub-team covering Aldred showed his dark Mercedes coupé sliding up out of the St James singletown garage. A squadron of micro-drones took off to pursue him through the torrent of cars flowing smoothly along the city centre roads.

  Sid realized he was still sweating despite the car’s air-con. Nobody was saying anything, they all just sat there on the new leather seats with their eyes closed, reviewing whatever image or data the coordinator sent to their iris smartcell grids. As the critical people closed on the warehouse Sid felt as if he was the one with a noose constricting around him. The air in the car was thin, difficult to breathe, it made his heart race. In all the years he’d been police, all the raids he’d been on, all the busts, the arrests, even the chases, nothing had ever been like this. He wasn’t ready for it, didn’t want it. Ego had brought him to this point, that stupid refusal to quit the case, to simply do the job according to procedure and pick up the monthly salary transfer. Now look where it had brought him, sitting right next to a crapping great fusion bomb. The only way he was going to live through the next half-hour was if everybody else on the interdiction team followed procedure perfectly, didn’t forget their training, and their government-issue equipment worked flawlessly.

  When he looked around he saw Eva and Ian both toxed out on the same verge-of-panic moment as himself. He managed a weak smile, which they returned. It was a poignant, almost intimate connection.

  Abner however was still concentrating on the information in his grid, oblivious to the tension and worry the rest of them suffered from. Sid shook his own head in disbelief, not understanding how anyone could be so absorbed by what was happening they weren’t emotionally affected. But that was the Norths for you, ridiculously focused.

  ‘Target B approaching,’ the tactical coordinator said. ‘Target A inbound, estimated time to arrival five minutes.’

  Sid watched Aldred’s Mercedes drive into Last Mile and turn off into Eleventh Avenue North. Target A, the Ford Telay, was three minutes out, driving steadily along the A1.

  ‘Target B has entered the building,’ the tactical coordinator said in a level voice.

  ‘Weapons check,’ Sid announced calmly. He was carrying a nine-millimetre Walther pistol with a linked sensor sight. The target graphics materialized in his grid, blue and green, night-vision sensors functioning. He checked the chamber, confirmed the safety was on. It went into his holster. Taser fully charged, clip with five spools loaded. He twisted it onto the armour vest’s Velcro strips.

  The others in the 4x4 were going through the same methodical checks. Sid put in his earplugs, designed to cut out the immobilizer sonics. A helmet finished the protection.

  ‘Everybody working?’ he asked.

  They were.

  ‘Target A on approach,’ the tactical coordinator said. ‘Go to condition red. Strike initiation in fifteen – one-five – seconds after Target A enters the building.’

  Sid switched on the strikeproof communicator sitting on the dashboard, a small black plastic box with a simple LCD display on the front. He told his e-i to go to standby mode. His grid faded away just as the Mountain High’s roller door opened; he needed uncluttered sight. The Ford Telay was twenty metres away.

  ‘Target A entering the building, on my mark. Mark.’

  Sid started counting down, his lips mouthing the nu
mbers silently.

  ‘Ten seconds,’ the tactical coordinator said, his voice coming from the strikeproof communicator’s speaker.

  Linsell knew what she was doing, Sid told himself. He’d seen the assault plan she’d drawn up with Ralph and other officers from the interdiction division. He’d even been asked if he’d had any comments. After reviewing it twice and seeing the hardware they intended to deploy, he’d just shaken his head and said: ‘Looks good to me.’

  ‘Five seconds.’

  Sid slipped the gasmask on, and took a deep breath. His world acquired a strong emerald tint as a tactical display scrawled across the mask’s vision slits and interfaced with his iris smartcells; icons popped up identifying team members.

  That plan was the main reason he was here. He had confidence in the professionalism of others. An irony for him, given his usual attitude towards the mechanism of government. But Ralph and Elston and even Linsell didn’t operate like the apparatchiks he had to deal with at Market Street and City Hall.

  ‘Initiate strike.’

  Three Lockheed F-7009s had scrambled from their base in Scotland as soon as Ralph confirmed a crate had been placed on the Ford Telay. They’d flown high patrol over Newcastle ever since, stealth-shielded from civilian radar. Now they dived from two thousand metres, afterburners on full, powering them up to Mach 1.8 so they outran their own sound waves. Even if there were sensors watching for hostile aircraft, they wouldn’t notice them until they’d streaked overhead.

  Burnpulse cannons in the noses locked on to the Mountain High building, and fired superfrequency electromagnetic pulses. They were designed to scramble any active electronics and overload all communication links. If the hostiles in the building had warning they might conceivably suicide by detonating whatever Professor Umbreit had built. But fifteen seconds after the Telay’s arrival, Linsell had determined they wouldn’t even have the van doors open, let alone arm the device. The burnpulses should disable whatever systems operated the device.