Nano Read online

  The boy did as he was told and in three paces he was in the arms of the RAF men. Craig helped his father onto the nanonet and together they edged forwards and leapt into the Chinook.

  Steph looked over to see Gina edging her way along the platform towards the shattered wall of the tower. The pilot ducked in close to where Chloe lay on the stretcher. Another group appeared at the window, stepped over the parapet and onto the platform. Steph waved them towards her and one by one they edged across the nanonet and rushed into the chopper.

  Taking two paces back towards the wall, Steph felt the building tremble again. This time, the explosion was closer. She gripped the edge of the window frame to brace herself, feeling a shock of pain as a hidden length of razor-sharp glass shot through her glove and pierced her palm. She screamed, just managed to stop herself from falling backwards and dived into the building, the reverberations of the latest shock still juddering the floor.

  Charlotte Emmington, Mohammed, Saeed and Jessica were the last four remaining. Steph glanced towards Chloe and saw Gina easing her up, supporting her under the shoulder.

  Gina saw Steph. ‘I’ve got her,’ she said into her comms.

  The nanobots had made some progress and Chloe’s condition seemed to have improved a little. She could hold her head up and follow Gina’s instructions.

  Steph turned back to the others. The tower shook again, more violently than any of the other times. It really felt as though the end was near. A huge chunk of ceiling plunged to the floor at the front of the shop, close to where it opened onto the main gallery. Steph shot around just in time to see a 20-metre-long steel beam thrust up from the floor of the main walkway beyond the door to the shop. With a terrible crunch, it cut through the air and reared up like a whale breaking through the surface of the ocean, the sound of wrenching metal and shattering stone reverberating around the mall.

  Steph saw Saeed rushing onto the platform – the other three were close behind him. The Arab was a metre onto the nanonet when there came a sound like a knife slicing through silk. It was such an intense, high-pitched noise it echoed around the shop louder than any of the rumbles and crashes of the Tower’s death throes.

  Saeed disappeared. Steph and the three survivors between the tear in the platform and the wall were so stunned, they merely gaped in disbelief. Mohammed was the first to recover. He dashed forwards, pulling up short of the rent in the platform. He could just make out the fingers of Saeed’s good hand gripping the ragged edge of the tear. He crouched down and could see him, his filthy, ripped thoub billowing around him like a parachute, his face cut through with terror. The man was saying something but Mohammed could not hear a word above the barrage of noise. He extended a hand but couldn’t reach Saeed. Mohammed took a step back and lowered himself onto his stomach. Steph shouted to him and edged out onto the platform.

  Putting out both hands, Mohammed grasped Saeed’s fingers in his. Then he lowered first one hand then the other to grab the man’s wrist. Soon, he had Saeed under the shoulder and started to pull him up. Saeed’s head reached above the flapping fabric of the platform, his face drained of blood. He gripped the net and yanked himself over the edge of the chasm.

  Steph appeared at Mohammed’s side and took some of the strain, grabbing the material of Saeed’s robe and hauling him onto the nanonet like a catch aboard a fishing trawler. Saeed managed to lever his legs over the edge, grunting and gasping for breath.

  Then came another explosion from the tower. They all felt the platform rock. Steph turned to see that Gina and Chloe had reached the stretcher suspended from the cable. She saw them sway and then Gina gripped the cable and lowered Chloe to the metal tray.

  A loud ripping sound . . . It was unmistakable and dreadful.

  Steph span back and heard a muffled cry. She was just in time to see Mohammed slip through a new tear in the platform. His arms flailed around. He grasped at the tattered edge of the nanonet but it slipped through his fingers. He plunged into empty space, his mouth open, his scream nullified by the cacophony.

  96

  Singha Pitiya, Sri Lanka

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ War growled and started to giggle.

  One of the men stepped forwards. ‘Your friends sent me.’

  ‘Oh, go screw yourself!’ War fired back and pulled himself up from the lounger, his rolls of fat swaying, the sweat and suntan lotion dripping off the flab.

  One of the men hung back, the other took two paces towards War and raised a Luger. He stopped a metre from the fat man and lifted the barrel of the gun to a point a centi- metre from War’s forehead. The gun had a silencer pro- truding from the nozzle.

  War suddenly realised how quiet it was.

  ‘Your staff have been given the afternoon off,’ the visitor said. He turned to his companion and beckoned him over. War could see this second man had a patch over his left eye. ‘You really should have your bodyguards better trained. They were a bit, well, easy.’

  War gave the gunman a contemptuous look. ‘So okay. My friends have learned about me offering Azrael some career opportunities. So what?’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ the visitor replied. He was a tall, slender man, Sri Lankan. The other man was shorter, heavier. War guessed they may have been former Tamil Tigers. Neither man had made any attempt to disguise himself – a worrying detail, War thought fleetingly.

  The visitor flicked his gun. ‘Sit.’ He nodded towards an ornate metal seat close by.

  War ignored him and started to giggle again. The visitor turned to his companion who removed an identical Luger from inside his jacket and fired a shot. The bullet hit the marble a centimetre from War’s left big toe. Shards of stone flew up, a couple nicking the Horseman’s calf. He yelped and started to hop.

  ‘Stay still,’ the visitor barked.

  This time, War complied.

  ‘Now sit.’

  He sat.

  ‘All right,’ War started. ‘How much do I have to pay you?’

  The visitor’s face remained completely impassive but he tilted his head to one side slightly. ‘Don’t be silly,’ he said.

  The visitor flicked his companion a glance and pocketed his gun. The second man covered him as the visitor walked over to the seat and removed a length of nylon cord from his pocket.

  War glared at him. ‘Don’t you dare!’

  The visitor said nothing, just calmly yanked War’s hands behind the chair back. He secured the cord far tighter than was necessary, making the fat man cry out. He took a step back and looked down at War. The fat man was panting.

  ‘Now I have a special treat for you,’ the Sri Lankan said and nodded to his subordinate.

  War noticed for the first time that the visitor’s colleague was holding a small metal case. The man placed it on the marble just in front of War. The visitor bent down, undid a couple of latches, opened the lid and extricated a china plate containing a pile of Turkish Delight.

  ‘Cherry,’ the visitor said, evenly. ‘Your favourite, I understand.’

  He walked over to War, plucked the topmost piece between finger and thumb and brought it up to War’s mouth. The Horseman kept his lips closed.

  The visitor straightened. ‘It is not poisoned. If I wanted to kill you in so prosaic a manner, I would have simply put a bullet in your head, or my colleague here would have.’ He offered the piece of candy again. ‘Now you eat it. Or I will shoot you.’

  War refused to open his mouth. The visitor pressed the barrel of the gun to War’s temple. He could see the Horseman was shaking, breathing heavily through his nose. It made him sound the way he looked – like a beached walrus.

  ‘It’s a simple choice really,’ the visitor went on. ‘If you eat it, you might live. If don’t eat it you will definitely die. And of course, I don’t have to shoot you in the brain. I could take your nose off, then perhaps a bit of cheek.’ He moved the gun around War’s face, the Horseman’s skin slick with sweat and oil.

  They all heard a soun
d. The visitor looked down and saw a stream of urine cascade through the metal grill of the seat. For the first time, he showed some emotion: he looked disgusted.

  ‘Last chance,’ he said quietly and pushed the Turkish Delight into War’s face. The Horseman opened his mouth and the sweet slipped inside.

  The visitor nodded approvingly. ‘Not bad is it? Bon appetit.’ He picked up a second piece, shoved it between War’s lips. ‘Swallow . . . I know you like it. You have to admit it tastes good, yes?’ He lifted a third piece and waited until War had made room, then jammed the icing-sugar-coated cube into the terrified man’s mouth.

  ‘Good,’ the visitor said. ‘Good.’

  He removed a roll of tape from his pocket, broke off a strip and slapped it across War’s mouth, bringing the ends around behind his neck. He nodded to his companion again. The man stepped forwards and plucked a couple of pieces of plastic from the metal box. They were spikes with little rubber suckers at one end. He took three paces in the direction of the pool, pushed one of the spikes sucker-first onto the marble and flicked down a recessed switch in its side. Taking a few steps back towards the house, he repeated the procedure using the second spike.

  The visitor walked over to his companion. War was shouting behind the gag, his eyes bulging, his fat cheeks squashed in by the tape so that his face looked like a giant number eight.

  The two men turned and walked back the way they had come.

  97

  72 metres beneath the English Channel

  The Pram tore away, throwing the passengers around inside the cabin as it accelerated to over 100 kilometres per hour in a couple of seconds. Mai stumbled forwards and came up hard against a seat, smashing her helmet into one of the chair’s legs. The helmet saved her from serious injury but the collision jarrred her so much she felt vomit rise in her throat.

  Mary had also landed heavily. She picked herself up quickly and scrambled over to where Gabir was cradling Billy in one arm and gripping a steel beam running the length of the Pram’s roof with the other. He helped her down to the seat beside him and between them they managed to pull on their safety belts. Billy was secured against his mother’s body. He was screaming again but the sound was barely audible above the tumult.

  Adam was at the rear of the passenger compartment. He stifled a scream of panic as he looked through the rear window. ‘The water’s almost on us,’ he cried, but he went unheard.

  The Pram was shaking and rocking violently on its axis as it continued to accelerate: 120 kilometres per hour . . . 150 . . . 180. Pete was steering it around piles of rock brought down by the explosion in the parallel tunnel. He flicked a glance at his rear-view mirror and saw the huge wall of water. It was crashing onward at phenomenal speed, rippling over obstructions as though they weren’t there. But he could hardly dare believe it – they were pulling away.

  He flicked his eyes over the control panel. They were touching 195 kilometres per hour. At this speed, it took incredible reflexes to keep the Pram steady and avoid any debris. It was a remarkably powerful machine, but it was also a sensitive one. If they hit something too big it could puncture the skimmer under the main body of the vehicle, flipping it over.

  The sound began to quieten as they put more and more distance between themselves and the wall of water.

  ‘We’re winning!’ Josh exclaimed, pulling himself to the front of the vehicle and into the copilot’s seat without thinking about what he was doing.

  The Pram rocked and lurched. Pete let out a desperate cry as the vehicle clipped a pile of twisted metal sheets that had slipped loose from the wall of the tunnel. There were shouts of panic from the passenger cabin as the Pram slid sideways, skidding out of control along the tunnel.

  Josh just caught a glimpse of a metre-square lump of concrete as it hurtled towards the windscreen. He ducked involuntarily. It hit the supertoughened carboglass and bounced off. But Pete hadn’t strapped himself in. The impact jolted him clean out of his seat, throwing him forwards. His head smashed against the control panel and he slid to the floor, unconscious.

  Josh immediately switched primary control from Pete’s steering module to his. Pulling on the steering wheel with his good hand, he dodged another concrete boulder somersaulting towards them and skirted a pile of smashed-up electrical apparatus, knocked the Pram’s starboard side against the tunnel wall and bounced back. Yanking the wheel to the left, then the right, he brought the vehicle around another unidentifiable obstacle and skidded onto the central tracks, the skimmer slithering over the train rails.

  Mai was standing immediately behind the driver’s seat, holding onto the headrest as Pete collapsed into the space between the front seats.

  Josh turned quickly to see her crouch down beside Pete. ‘Is he okay?’

  She checked her wrist monitor as her team member stirred. He winced as he pulled himself up on one elbow.

  ‘I’m all right,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Except my arm.’

  Mai placed a hand gently on her colleague’s left arm and checked his computer screen. ‘Fractured in three places, Pete. Nanobots are on their way. Your suit is fine.’

  ‘And the painkillers are coming too, I hope!’ he groaned.

  ‘Here.’ Mai pulled a metal container from under the driver’s seat. Inside was a med-kit, a thermal blanket and a pillow. She put the pillow under Pete’s head and covered him with the blanket.

  ‘Good driving there, Josh,’ Pete managed to say. ‘Even though you don’t have a licence anymore!’

  Josh could just about hear him. He kept his eyes on the path ahead, but smiled.

  ‘How’s Louis?’ Josh called to Mai. She was kneeling on the floor of the Pram, tucking the blanket under Pete’s good arm with one hand and gripping a rail close by to steady herself.

  ‘He’s lost a lot of blood from the head wound.’ She glanced back and rocked with the movement of the vehicle. She could see the Frenchman laying on the floor. He too had been covered with a thermal blanket. The others were silent, hollow-eyed, shocked, exhausted. Mary was sobbing quietly.

  Mai touched her comms control. ‘Sangatte? Come in Sangatte?’

  ‘Good idea, Mai,’ Pete said, his voice pained.

  ‘This is Sangatte Control.’

  ‘Sangatte, you have to close off the tunnel at your end. We have a breach.’

  ‘We were hoping you would call. We’re monitoring the cave-in, leaving it to the last minute to seal the doors. Where are you?’

  ‘Heading towards Folkestone, Sangatte. Close the door. I repeat, close the door.’

  She heard the voice at the other end become muffled, then an order barked at someone close by. ‘Process initiated, E-Force. Good luck! Sangatte out.’

  Mai pulled herself up and struggled back to where Louis was lying, a stream of blood running down his face and neck, his breathing shallow. ‘How much further to go?’ she shouted to Josh.

  ‘Look for yourself.’

  She turned and a circle of light had appeared directly ahead. They sped towards it at almost 200 kilometres per hour and the darkness of the tunnel gave way to bright sunlight.

  98

  The Pram shot out of the tunnel exit a few kilometres from the town of Folkestone on the South Coast of England. As they emerged and sped along a length of deserted tarmac road, a voice came through the comms.

  ‘This is UK Control. Do you read? This is UK –’

  ‘Receiving you, UK Control,’ Josh responded.

  Mai pulled herself along the central aisle of the vehicle and jumped into the co-driver’s seat. ‘Mai Buchanan, E-Force,’ she said. ‘Emergency . . . There’s a breach. Water is . . .’ she checked the controls on the Pram, ‘seven kilometres from exit. Close off exit immediately.’

  ‘Copy that, E-Force. Program initiated. It’s good to see you. Please head directly to the quarantine bay. We have a biohazard facility there.’

  ‘Wilco.’

  Through the windscreen, Josh saw a man in a biohazard suit beckonin
g them to his left. They slowed and passed under a canopy. Josh reduced their speed to a crawl. The man walked around behind the vehicle and pulled down a large plastic awning, zipping up the sides.

  The Pram stopped. Josh killed the engines and their roar died away quickly. Then came a great rush of sound as the vehicle was bombarded by chemicals fired from an array of power hoses. Six suited figures could just be seen through the windscreen moving slowly around the vehicle, dousing it.

  It took several precious minutes for the biohazard team to complete the first round of sterilisation. Mai was growing angry. She punched the comms control. ‘We have injured people here,’ she declared.

  Silence for a moment, then, ‘This is Quarantine Station Control. Understood, E-Force,’ a woman’s voice answered. ‘Please be assured we are working as fast as possible.’

  Mai did not reply. She just shook her head. Another couple of minutes passed and Josh could tell Mai was about to explode.

  ‘Control!’ she said sharply. ‘Mai Buchanan, E-Force. I demand you release us. We have two injured people here. One is critical. I repeat, critical.’

  No reply.

  ‘Screw this!’ Mai shouted and jumped up. At the door, she yanked on the handle. It wouldn’t open. ‘God damn it!’ She turned, giving Josh and Pete a despairing look. ‘They’ve taped up the doors!’

  The door clicked and opened. A figure in a biohazard suit stood in front of her. Behind him were two women dressed in identical suits but with red crosses on their left sleeves.

  ‘Thank Christ,’ Mai sighed and stepped back.

  99

  Singha Pitiya, Sri Lanka

  Captain Arjuna Siriwardeen of the Sri Lankan Police Force was at the wheel of his team’s workhorse road vehicle, a Land Rover Defender, bumping and bouncing along a half-kilometre dirt track off the main road a short distance north of the nearest town, Katunayake. This lay approximately midway between Colombo and the city of Madampe. Beside him sat Sergeant Iranga Ranatunga and, in the back of the vehicle, two young constables. All four men carried AK-47s.