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  ‘Oh.’

  ‘But then I went through the files we captured at the time from the Four Horsemen. Do you remember?’

  ‘Of course, Sybil. It was as a result of my heroic cyberbattle with Francine Gygax. We found their operational files.’

  ‘Yes and in those I’ve discovered the name Azrael.’

  ‘In connection to what?’

  ‘Azrael was the Dragon’s second, his understudy. If the Dragon had been rendered inoperable earlier, Azrael would have stepped in. However, he was never used and moved up the hierarchy of those working for the Four Horsemen when the Dragon was killed.’

  ‘So the Four Horsemen are behind the attack on the Cloud Tower.’

  ‘And quite possibly the attack on the Eurotunnel.’

  ‘But why?’ Tom asked.

  ‘To answer that I’ll need a lot more data,’ Sybil responded.

  The buzzer of Tom’s comms sounded. ‘Tom?’ It was Mark.

  ‘Mark. What’s happening over there?’

  ‘The SAS have gone in and taken out the terrorist.’

  ‘That’s good, right?’

  ‘It’s good that he no longer poses a threat, but he killed three men. And we won’t have the chance of pumping him for information.’

  ‘That was always going to be unlikely, wasn’t it, Mark? Somehow, I don’t think he would have been the cooperative type.’

  ‘No, you’re probably right. Do you know something I don’t?’

  ‘Well, as a matter-of-fact, yes I do. Sybil and I have unearthed some interesting stuff about our newly deceased terrorist.’ Tom filled Mark in on the background to Azrael. ‘But the really interesting thing is who the bastard was working for.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Our old buddies, the Four Horsemen.’

  Mark was as surprised as Tom had been. ‘Well, that is very interesting. I’ll pass it on to the intelligence agencies, see what they can do.’

  Tom was nodding, watching Mark’s face on the holoscreen. ‘I’d like to see those freaks pay. Sybil thinks it’s possible they are also involved in the Eurotunnel incident.’

  A ‘boing’ came from Tom’s computer, a sound effect used to notify him if any relevant breaking news came in from the web. He scanned the three sentences scrolling across his screen. ‘CYBERATTACK AT ITAM HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA. STAFF THREATENED BY CYBERTERRORISTS . . . BUILDING EVACUATED. ITAM UNDER COMPLETE COMPUTER LOCKDOWN.’

  ‘Mark, I’m getting something through from Sybil’s weblinks.’

  ‘What?’

  He read the lines.

  ‘What’s ITAM?’

  Sybil cut in: ‘International Trade and Management Incorporated. A very large, very powerful multinational. Estimated market value is $114 billion, making it the 31st richest company in the world.’

  There was an ominous silence in Tom’s room and on the flightdeck of the Big Mac. Then, Tom said, ‘Sybil, are ITAM involved with the Cloud Tower?’

  ‘They are 46 per cent shareholders.’

  ‘And Eurotunnel?’

  ‘They have no involvement with SNCF, which is the national French Railway company, but ITAM are 81 per cent shareholders in Eurostar (UK) Ltd, which shares ownership of the infrastructure and Eurotunnel railway system.’

  ‘Well, Tom,’ Mark said. ‘I think you and Sybil have your work cut out.’

  64

  ‘Okay, computer, here we go,’ Tom said, flexing his fingers unnecessarily. ‘Syb, let’s see what sort of defences these goons have in place.’

  He tapped at the light keyboard, inputting a succession of passwords and alphanumeric codes. In under a millisecond Sybil had located the ITAM headquarters in cyberspace. Keeping out of range of any search-bots – cyber ‘organisms’ whose sole role was to detect intruders almost like a satellite defence mechanism trying to spot alien invaders in some computer game – Sybil analysed the parameters of the cyber-attack against the ITAM network.

  It took the E-Force quantum computer less than 3 seconds to construct a comprehensive image of the enemy.

  ‘The attack on ITAM’s system is extremely thorough, Tom,’ Sybil said, the computer’s voice resounding around the now silent room.

  ‘Well, I would expect it to be.’

  ‘This is probably the best computer invasion I have ever encountered,’ Sybil added.

  ‘Good. I like a challenge.’

  ‘The invasion took less than 4 milliseconds. In that time the intruder, who I still cannot identify, assumed complete control of a million terabyte system. A not insignificant achievement.’

  ‘No,’ Tom commented, scanning the information flashing across his screen. ‘No, that is . . . pretty –’

  ‘CYBERATTACK!’ Sybil’s voice had been replaced by a screechy alarm preset, a sound Tom had always hated.

  ‘Okay, Syb. You locked down?’

  No reply.

  ‘Sybil?’

  No reply.

  Tom stabbed at his light keyboard, never moving his line of sight away from the screen. ‘Shit!’ he exclaimed. ‘Sybil, talk to me!’

  Nothing.

  Tom took several deep breaths. He had been in this situation before. He had survived and Sybil had survived. It was the nature of the game – attack and counter-attack. He would get the measure of this new opponent and he would win. He had the greatest computer in the world, the most powerful machine ever created by humankind.

  He dashed his fingers over the light keyboard at phe- nomenal speed. The holoscreen flashed with digits, colours, encrypted lines of text – codes only he and Sybil understood. All the time he was breathing steadily. He had recently begun to take a serious interest in yogic exercise and had spent an hour a day for the past two months simply modifying and improving his breathing technique. He found it greatly increased his ability to concentrate and to focus on a single task no matter what sort of stress he was placed under. But even Tom had to admit quietly that, at this particular moment, he was testing his newfound breathing skills to their limit.

  He looked away from the screen to check a control panel just to the right of his bed. A light was flashing on the strip of shiny plastic. It would have to wait, he thought, and snapped back to the holoscreen. The 3D image of a devil – eyes blazing red, flames licking around a grinning, cruel, mocking face – filled the holoscreen with terrifying clarity.

  65

  Floor 199, Cloud Tower, Dubai

  Steph stared down at Abu who was looking at her, awestruck. ‘You’re a very resourceful boy, aren’t you?’ she said, smiling.

  ‘I like computers and electronics,’ Abu replied earnestly. ‘I didn’t steal anything. It was all smashed up.’

  Steph lowered herself onto a beaten-up wall outside the shop front of Cloud Electrics and laughed. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that, Abu.’

  He still looked at her seriously, not quite knowing what to make of the E-Force rescuer in her cybersuit.

  ‘Are you really from E-Force? You’re really Stephanie Jacobs?’

  ‘Yes and yes,’ Steph replied.

  Then Abu smiled for the first time since the building had been hit almost three hours earlier.

  ‘Now,’ Steph said. ‘Are you alone, Abu?’

  The kid shook his head. ‘No. There are some grown-ups in the café.’ He pointed along the side of the building towards the Oasis. As they stared, Mohammed and Frank emerged through the doorway.

  Steph took Abu’s hand and helped him clamber over piles of jagged debris. He called out to the adults as he and Steph came around the far side of the rubble. Mohammed and Frank looked up simultaneously, watching Steph and the boy walk over to the café. The two men stared at the new arrival suspiciously. But then Frank’s expression changed to one of surprise.

  ‘My God!’ the Australian exclaimed. ‘I don’t believe it!’

  ‘What is it, my friend?’ Mohammed asked, turning to Frank.

  ‘Only bloody E-Force, mate.’

  Mohammed looked confused and stared at Stephanie’s stra
nge outfit.

  ‘The emergency rescue team. You know, “Meet a New Breed of Hero”?’

  Slowly a little realisation came into Mohammed’s face. ‘I think I have heard of this,’ he said slowly.

  Steph took a step forwards. ‘How many of you are there?’

  Mohammed answered. ‘I’ve seen some people on the emergency stairs. Five survivors. The last we saw of them they were checking out Floor 198. Our group consists of me, Frank, another man, Saeed Khalid, and two women, Frank’s wife, Carmen, and a young American woman, Jessica Frantelli.’

  A sound came from the centre of the mall. Steph span around and saw a small group of people heading towards them.

  ‘They’re the people we saw on the stairs,’ Mohammed said, a little surprised. ‘Plus a couple more.’

  There were seven of them now: four men and three women. They all looked exhausted but one of them, a tall woman wearing a shredded business suit, appeared to speak for them. She looked in her mid-thirties but it was difficult to judge because she was filthy, her hair a mess with black smudges around her eyes and a streak of dried blood running down her right cheek. She had a nasty-looking gash along the other side of her face and blood had dripped from her neck and soaked the collar of her blouse.

  She approached Steph and shook her head in surprise. ‘Well, you are a welcome sight,’ she said and stuck out a hand. ‘Charlotte Emmington, PA to the Tower Supervisor, Ahmad bin Zadhi. Unfortunately, he’s dead.’ Her voice was crisp, pure BBC English. ‘This is one hell of a mess, is it not?’

  Steph raised her eyebrows. ‘Stephanie Jacobs,’ she said. ‘There are seven of you? Have you seen any other survivors?’

  The small group gathered behind Charlotte Emmington. All of them were injured in some way or another.

  A woman in a torn floral-patterned dress stepped forwards. ‘Only this man,’ she said and nodded towards Mohammed, ‘the boy and one other man with them. That was maybe a couple of hours ago on the emergency stairs. I’ve lost track of time. We tried to find a way down but it was completely blocked. We met Charlotte here and another survivor, Trevor West, about half an hour ago.’ She nodded towards one of the men in the group.

  ‘Let’s get you into the café,’ Steph said. ‘I can talk to you all and we can patch up your wounds.’

  Charlotte Emmington stopped for a second as she passed Stephanie on her way to the café. ‘We are grateful,’ she said.

  66

  ‘This is Saeed Khalid,’ Mohammed said, walking over to the main counter in the café. The young Arab gave Stephanie a blank look.

  ‘I’m Carmen and this is Jessica,’ Frank’s wife said, stepping up to shake Steph’s hand.

  Steph turned to the gathering. ‘Okay, everyone. It seems you are the only survivors above the site of the missile attack.’

  ‘Is that what happened? A missile?’ Frank asked.

  ‘Yes. It was a terrorist attack. We do not yet know who perpetrated it, or why, but the top floors are cut off. Local emergency services are doing a fantastic job evacuating everyone below the impact site.’

  ‘But what about us?’ Saeed said, a nasty edge to his voice. ‘My father is a major shareholder in the company that owns this damned building. He will already know I’m trapped here. He will do something.’

  ‘Perhaps he will,’ Steph replied diplomatically. ‘But we cannot rely on it.’

  ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

  Steph held the young Arab’s gaze and Saeed looked away.

  ‘We are doing all we can. My colleagues are in a rescue vehicle positioned above the roof. One of the team is working her way down through the rubble in a special machine to reach us and that will hopefully open a way up to the . . .’

  ‘She?’ Saeed interrupted.

  ‘Yes “she”. Do you have a problem with that?’

  The man shrugged and walked off, shaking his head.

  ‘Don’t mean to be rude,’ Charlotte Emmington said softly, ‘but it does sound a bit of a long shot.’

  ‘Not really,’ Steph responded. ‘We’ve conducted missions like this before. But the fact is, there’s no other way out. I can’t take you down and until we clear the path up we can’t go higher than this level.’ She said nothing about the tower’s structural integrity. It would only cause panic and achieve nothing. She glanced at her watch, touched her wrist monitor and tried Chloe. As Charlotte went to ask a question, Steph raised a hand and spoke into her comms. ‘Chloe. Come in, Chloe. Are you receiving me?’

  No reply. She tried again. Nothing. She turned to Charlotte.

  ‘So,’ the woman said. ‘What should we do now?’

  ‘We have to wait for the way to be cleared. In the meantime,’ and she turned to the group, ‘does anyone here have medical training?’

  Jessica stepped forwards. ‘I’m an intern at MGH.’

  ‘Massachusetts General?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Carmen looked at Jessica and then turned to her husband with a surprised expression. ‘Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘Complicated,’ Jessica replied and gave the older woman a weak smile. Looking back to Steph, she added, ‘How may I help?’

  ‘Right, well, I have a field med-kit that will get us started.’ She turned to the men in the group. ‘Could one or more of you search for some medicines, please? This is a mall after all. Just have to hope there’s a pharmacy on this level.’

  ‘There is,’ Abu replied. They all stared at him and he suddenly looked nervous. ‘It’s a few doors further on from Cloud Electrics. I saw it earlier.’

  ‘Perfect,’ Steph responded and ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘What would we do without you, Abu?’

  The kid beamed.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Mohammed said and Frank stepped forwards with him.

  ‘Jessica, could you go too? I could get started with the med-kit. You’ll know what we need. We could work up a wishlist, yeah?’

  The young American nodded. ‘Sure.’

  It took only 10 minutes for the group to return with a shopping list of medical supplies. This included several boxes of bandages, antiseptic, antibiotics, painkillers, scissors, sterilising kits, steristrips and an inhaler for Carmen. Steph took off the Hopjet and placed it against the wall at the back of the café, then found her med-kit. Jessica began to set up a makeshift treatment area. Between them the two doctors triaged the survivors and then started patching them up.

  There were no critical injuries. One of the women from the new group had a badly lacerated arm, a similar injury to Saeed’s. Steph sealed up both the woman and Saeed’s wounds with a wonder substance from the E-Force med-kit called SkinGloo. This, as its name implied, healed wounds without the need for stitches or even steristrips.

  The other serious injury was a fractured cheekbone sustained by one of the men in the party. Steph injected him with fast-acting painkillers followed by an infusion of nanobots, tiny dedicated machines that would find their way to the wound site and begin to reconstruct tissue, deal with damaged cells and restore proper circulation. Using this system, the injured man’s face would be fully repaired within an hour.

  The two women had everyone patched up within 15 min- utes and the café fell quiet. It was almost as though they had all agreed by mutual, subconscious consent that nothing could be done immediately and that they might as well get some rest. Steph tried Chloe again but the line was still dead.

  ‘You look all-in,’ she said, watching Jessica slump into a chair.

  The girl glanced over to where some makeshift mattresses had been thrown together using tablecloths and cushions from the café’s sofas and armchairs. ‘Guess I am. It’s not been a typical morning, exactly. Usually by now I’d be onto about my tenth manicure.’ She gave Steph a wan smile.

  ‘So how did you end up doing that for a living?’

  ‘Oh, it’s not a career,’ Jessica laughed. ‘I’m travelling. Landed in Dubai three weeks ago. I was planning to move on next week.’

  ‘What
about medical school?’

  Jessica’s expression darkened. ‘I, um . . . decided to take some time off. Needed to sort myself out.’

  ‘Well, you know, Jessica, medical school has to be the most stressful years of your life. I almost gave up a dozen times.’

  ‘I had particular problems.’

  Steph decided not to probe and just gave the girl a sympathetic look.

  ‘My, um, my parents were killed in a crash, three months ago.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  Jessica raised her hands. ‘No, I don’t mind talking about it. I . . . I’ve been bottling it up, really. I thought by getting away from Boston, from my old life, I could escape from the memory. But there’s nowhere to run to. You can’t erase the past.’

  ‘You can always go back.’

  ‘Yes, MGH has been great. It’s just . . . I don’t know whether I want to practise medicine anymore.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘My parents were brought into the ER of the hospital. I was on duty. The Chief Resident wouldn’t let me get involved, of course. But when Mum and Dad both died, I dunno, I sort of lost faith I guess. Up to then, I saw doctors as saviours and I wanted to dedicate my life to the profession. But . . .’

  ‘I understand,’ Steph said, placing a hand on Jessica’s arm. ‘I think it’s a perfectly natural reaction. And if you want my opinion, you did the right thing by getting away from it all. You can’t run away from the past but you can give yourself some breathing space, time to analyse, to really question your drives and what it is you want to do next.’ She looked up and saw a tear trickling down Jessica’s cheek. She was about to say something when her comms sounded.

  ‘Chloe? Thank God! What’s your status?’

  ‘I’ve broken through to the mezzanine just above 199. I can see the door ahead.’

  ‘We’re in a café to the north of the emergency stairway.’

  ‘See you in a few minutes.’

  Steph looked back into Jessica’s face. ‘That was my colleague. She’s coming down to 199 in what we call a Cage. It’s a great machine that can shrug off anything you can throw at it.’