Authors: Simon Cheshire
Project Venom (7 page)
“I see,” said Seede. “There are major governmental meetings in both cities that day. Maximum chaos. I expect half the world’s leaders will be killed.”
“The world will not be able to act,” said Vinski, “when the EBLS stages revolutions in neighbouring South American countries, and then further afield.”
While she spoke, Seede took hold of the little
finger of his left hand. He gave it a sharp twist, then slowly pulled it away, leaving behind a tiny pair of plastic clips. Then, holding the fake finger by its tip, he unscrewed a small lid at its base and slid the phial of Venom out. He very carefully placed it on the table in front of Hernandez.
“You had it here in front of us all the time!” laughed Hernandez. “My friend, I take my hat off to you. You have outwitted the EBLS at every turn, it seems.”
A series of loud clangs came from the kitchen, followed by angry cries. The cafe’s cashier, perched on a stool close to the street, was arguing with an American over his bill. The diners and tourists paid no attention to any of it, and carried on eating and talking.
Vinski pointed to the hollow finger, amazed. “You created this just to transport the goods to us?”
“Actually, I’ve had it for quite a while,” said Seede. He didn’t tell her that he’d used it several times in the past, to sell the company’s secret formulas to foreign rivals.
Vinski scanned the phial using an app on her
phone. The results caused her face to pale. “The specs he sent us were correct,” she muttered, a tremble in her voice. “This is so toxic it’s off the scale.”
Seede clipped the fake finger back on to his hand, and stood up.
“Nice to do business with you,” he said. “Goodbye.”
“
Adios
,” smiled Hernandez.
Seede picked his way around the tables and back out into the street.
Hernandez whispered to Vinski, “I placed a guy at the airport. Seede arrived alone. Too tight to really buy protection, I guess. Not so clever after all.” He pointed to her smartphone. “Make sure someone hacks his account, gets the money back.”
Outside, Nero and Morph got ready to leave Seede’s jacket. “Nero to SWARM,” said Nero. “Confirm pursuit.”
“Confirmed,” said Queen Bee. “Track the phial, leave Seede. We can deal with him later.”
The robots slipped away from Seede as stealthily as they had hitched a lift on him. They
dropped to the pavement and quickly moved into the gutter, where they were less likely to be spotted.
Neither of them detected any unusual activity in the street. The armed EBLS terrorist on the roof of a nearby block of flats was too far away to alert their sensors. He ended his phone call from Hernandez and took aim with his automatic rifle.
Three loud cracks echoed along the street. People paused in alarm, looking around for the source of the noise.
Seede halted in mid-step. For several seconds, he stood motionless. He looked down. Three circular red stains were growing across his white cotton shirt. His shoulders slumped, his knees buckled, and he pitched forward, landing with a smack on his face. He was dead before he hit the ground.
“Leave him,” said Nero. “He’s not our concern any more.”
People in the cafe were either trying to see what was going on in the street, or else getting up and rushing outside. The robots hurried over
to the table near the back, where Seede had been sitting.
Hernandez and Vinski were gone. So was the Venom.
“Scan!” said Nero.
“The kitchen area shows two more humans than were there a minute ago,” said Morph. “They must be escaping through the back of the cafe.”
The robots scuttled at high speed into the kitchen. They were just in time to see Hernandez and Vinski leaving through a back door.
Three cooks in heavily stained chef’s whites were too busy arguing with each other and attending to their sizzling pans to care what else was going on around them. The robots hurried through the pot-clanking, steam-filled kitchen
and emerged into a dark, narrow alleyway. Walls dotted with lichen rose high on both sides.
Hernandez and Vinski were approaching a people carrier parked at the far end of the alley. Nero and Morph caught up with them as the terrorists climbed inside. Hernandez snapped orders in Chinese to a man in the driving seat.
The car pulled away at speed. The robots were clinging tightly to the mud-splashed rear wheel arch, the tyre spinning just centimetres below them. The rumbling roar of the car’s tyres against the road echoed around them. It was beginning to shower with rain. Water droplets sprayed off the wheels.
“My internal energy cells are running a little low,” transmitted Morph.
“Mine too,” said Nero. “We must watch out for opportunities to recharge. We don’t know how long we’ll need to track these terrorists.”
“Logically,” said Morph, “the terrorists will put their plans into operation immediately. Any delay increases their risk of being caught.”
“They’ll need to place small quantities of the Venom into explosives, or some kind of aerosol
device,” said Nero. “That will require specialized equipment and knowledge. I think Hernandez and Vinski will now head directly to find such facilities.”
“That could be many places in the world,” said Morph.
Nero made several million calculations of probability. Then he signalled SWARM HQ.
“The other robots confirm your mathematical analysis,” said Simon Turing, in the lab. “Because we now know that their first target is Smith-Neutall, a return to London is the most likely outcome. The EBLS will want to have as few members involved in the operation as possible, to further reduce the risk of capture. Therefore, Hernandez and Vinski themselves are likely to be the ones who’ll blow up Smith-Neutall, then weaponize the Venom. Then they’ll split up to place devices in New York and Brussels.”
“Correct so far,” transmitted Morph. “We’re arriving back at the airport now.”
Queen Bee’s voice cut into the communication channel. “Don’t worry about being out of contact again. We trust your judgement. SWARM are
making preparations here. Our plan will be put into action the moment you re-enter UK airspace. We’ll close comms for now.”
“Logged, Queen Bee,” said Nero and Morph.
As the car pulled into a passenger drop-off bay, the robots descended to the ground. Hernandez and Vinski got out. The robots watched the terrorists’ feet go around to the back of the vehicle, and heard the clunk and wheeze of the rear hatch lifting. Two small travelling cases were unloaded.
“Time to hitch another ride,” signalled Nero.
Morph scurried rapidly to the back of one of the knee-high boots Vinski was wearing. He flattened himself against the leather, so that he would appear to be nothing more than a curling design on the boot’s surface. Nero slipped into one of the dusty turn-ups at the bottom of Hernandez’s heavy black jeans.
“Wait! I can’t detect the Venom,” said Morph. “They must be carrying it in something that blocks scans, like Seede did. If only we had Sirena’s high-res sensors here! Could the Venom be hidden in their luggage?”
“Unlikely,” said Nero. “Just like Seede, they’ll want to keep it with them. The luggage will be part of their disguise as tourists.”
The terrorists checked into Air Weihan’s next flight back to the UK. The robots powered down while Hernandez and Vinski went through security, to make sure they weren’t detected, then rebooted while the terrorists waited in the departure lounge. Vinski flicked through a technology magazine, while Hernandez stood watching aircraft come and go.
Unlike Seede, the terrorists travelled in the First Class section, towards the front of the plane, screened off from the other passengers. Of the ten seats in First Class, and thirty in Business Class, only half were occupied.
“They’re making sure they’re noticed by as few people as possible,” said Morph.
As soon as the flight had taken off, and the “Fasten Seatbelts” sign had gone out, Hernandez and Vinski both tipped their plush seats back into a reclined position. Vinski squeezed off her boots and let them bump on to the thick carpet. Morph crawled under the seats, and Nero joined
him in the shadows. The springs of Hernandez’s seat squeaked above them as he settled down for a nap.
Using his pincers, Nero snipped three sides of a square into the carpet, and flipped up the resulting flap to reveal a small access port for the aircraft’s electrical system. “We can tap into the power grid from here, and recharge.”
The robots sent tiny fibre-optic probes into the access port. They soaked up power to bring their internal energy cells back up to maximum.
On the flight deck, the pilot and co-pilot sat in front of a wide dashboard covered in instruments, dials, readouts and switches. Above the complex array of controls, sunshine could be seen reflecting off the tops of the clouds at 30,000 feet above the ground.
The co-pilot noticed a fluctuation in the power grid. He spoke into the microphone attached to his headphones. “Mike, I’m reading a small tap on the electrical system. Definitely not plug sockets, passenger Wi-Fi or our own equipment.”
“Whereabouts?” asked the pilot.
“Somewhere among the passengers,” said
the co-pilot. “Can’t pinpoint the exact spot. It’s probably nothing, but I heard London had a security issue earlier today, so…”
“You’re right, I’ll put the cabin crew on alert, get them to run a discreet search. Storage lockers, under seats, that sort of thing. Some sort of hidden device may be operating, maybe data gathering. Probably just a glitch, but better safe than sorry. If there’s trouble brewing we should find it, before it finds us. Call a flight attendant in here, will you?”
With the minimum of movement, Vinski nudged Hernandez awake. He blinked and grunted at her for a moment. With her eyes, she pointed over his shoulder. Frowning, he slowly turned around, trying to make it appear he was having a yawn and a stretch.
A female flight attendant was making her way slowly along the aisles of the First Class section. She was opening the overhead storage compartments as quietly as possible, peeping inside, then clicking them shut again. She kept stooping to peer under seats and between them.
She smiled warmly at anyone who gave her a funny look, and asked them if they’d like anything to drink.
Hernandez leaned close to Vinski and whispered. “What’s she looking for?”
“I’ve no idea. Maybe someone just lost something?”
“Then why be so secretive about it? Why not ask?” whispered Hernandez. “I don’t like this. Something doesn’t feel right.” The flight attendant was now carefully and casually sorting through a rack of newspapers and magazines at the front of the cabin.
Beneath Vinski’s seat, the two micro-robots had also noted the flight attendant’s odd behaviour. “It looks as if she’s searching for us,” said Morph, “but how does she know we’re here?”
“Their suspicions must have been raised somehow. Perhaps our recharge registered on the electrical systems,” said Nero. “They may incorrectly suspect some kind of sabotage.”
“We can’t stay here, then,” said Morph. “She’ll see us as soon as she looks under the seat.”
“We’ll hide in Vinski’s boots,” said Nero.
The robots took cover inside one of the boots, which still lay discarded on the cabin floor. By now, the flight attendant had finished searching the magazine rack, and was progressing down the aisle towards Hernandez and Vinski. Hernandez kept a close watch on her. She drew level with him, her attention fixed on the area around the empty seats behind him.
“Can I help you, miss?” he said with a smile.
The flight attendant suddenly snapped upright. “Oh no, thank you. It’s fine.”
“Have you lost something?”
“Umm, yes. A passenger on an earlier flight left their, er, contact lens case behind.”
Hernandez flashed a meaningful glance at Vinski. In whispers, they had been weighing up the possibility that their plans had been discovered by the authorities. They had also discussed options, in case their cover was blown and they had a fight on their hands. They decided they’d take one or more of the cabin crew hostage; they would hijack the flight and divert it. The look the two terrorists exchanged was filled with unspoken messages.
The flight attendant was a little flustered. “All a bit embarrassing. For the airline, you understand. We like our passengers to—”
“Here, let us help you,” smiled Hernandez.
Hernandez and Vinski made a show of pulling their seats upright and looking around on the floor.
“Oh no, really, thank you,” twittered the flight attendant, “I don’t want to put you out, I’ll be—”
Vinski twisted around to get a better look at the area beside her seat, touching at her bun as she moved her head. Her feet swung to one side, and she accidentally kicked her boots. They were batted aside, hitting the metal supports of Hernandez’s seat with a clatter.
Before they could react, both Morph and Nero were knocked out into the open. Morph instantly wriggled flat into the carpet and disappeared into the gap Nero had cut under Hernandez’s seat.
Nero landed on his back. He had to flip his body over before he could scuttle away. His mathematical brain knew immediately that he was very likely to be spotted.
“What’s that?” cried one of the passengers. “Is it a scorpion?”
“A scorpion?” echoed the woman he was travelling with.
The First Class section was suddenly filled with voices. Passengers who had been dozing, reading or watching movies all scrambled to get to their feet.
“Please remain seated, ladies and gentlemen,” called the flight attendant. “I’m sure it wasn’t, er, anything to worry about.”
“Are you joking?” piped up the passenger who’d seen Nero first. “That was a scorpion! They can be deadly, you know!”
Nero had scurried for one of the air-ventilation ducts, located at floor level around the edge of the cabin. He ducked inside, safely hidden from view.
“Nero,” signalled Morph, “stay put. I’ve monitored the flight deck’s avionics, and we’re currently heading west over Norway. It should only be a few minutes before we’re in UK airspace. SWARM will be on their way then.”
“Have your sensors picked up where the
terrorists are hiding the Venom yet?”
“Negative,” said Morph. “It’s well shielded, wherever it is.”
“I’ll stay as close to the terrorists as possible,” said Nero.
“Logged,” said Morph.
Nero recalibrated his eyes and looked out into the cabin, between the thin metal slats of the ventilation duct. The flight attendant had managed to calm the passengers. However, all of them were sitting in their seats as if they expected to get an electric shock at any moment. Hernandez and Vinski seemed nervous for the first time. Nero’s analysis of their movements showed that they were jittery and uncertain.
The micro-robot considered the current mission status: the Venom was still hidden, the aircraft’s crew suspected sabotage, and now every pair of eyes on board was looking for what they thought was a dangerous scorpion. Not an ideal situation.
At SWARM headquarters beneath the streets of London, the 3D display in the laboratory glowed into life. Data Analyst Simon Turing and Professor Miller, SWARM’s Chief Technician, both looked up sharply from what they were doing.
A stream of data and graphics appeared on the screen.
“The aircraft is sixty-four kilometres off the coast of Norfolk,” said Simon. “It’s about to enter the area run by Heathrow air traffic control at Swanwick.”
“I’ll call Ms Maynard,” said Professor Miller.
Within a minute, Queen Bee was in the laboratory. “Those EBLS operatives could do any number of things, if they think they’re cornered,” she said. “We have to treat the situation aboard that aircraft as the highest level of emergency. Current status of our human agents?”
“Agent K is already in the air, piloting the stealth jet,” said Professor Miller. “The remaining SWARM robots are with her, active and online. Agent J is at Heathrow.”
“Agent K is twenty-two kilometres from the Chinese aircraft,” added Simon. “She’s ready to
use the experimental G-Launch device.”
“Excellent,” said Queen Bee. “Remain on alert. Looks like action will be taken within minutes!”
“This is Flight AW92 Air Weihan to London Heathrow, come in LHR.”
On board the plane, the pilot spoke calmly and clearly into his headset. He adjusted controls on the flight-deck dashboard in front of him.
“Swanwick tower, acknowledge that, AW92,” buzzed the reply from the airport’s air traffic control centre.
“ETA at outer marker is seventeen minutes,” said the pilot. “AW92 out.”
He turned to the flight attendant, who was standing behind him.
“Well?” he demanded. “Have you caught that thing yet?”
The flight attendant paused for a moment. “No. Sorry, Captain. We’ve got every member of the cabin crew on it, I assure you.”
The pilot growled with frustration. “Do you
have any idea how bad it would look if one of our passengers got bitten? We’d lose our jobs, you can be sure of that!”
“Stung,” said the flight attendant quickly.
“What?”
“Stung, Captain. Scorpions don’t actually bite.”
“Oh, get out! Find that insect!”
In First Class, Nero was keeping watch on Hernandez and Vinski, who in turn were keeping watch on the aircraft’s crew, who were searching the cabin from top to bottom. One of them was questioning Vinski about the “scorpion”. Had she known it was there? Had she brought it on board the flight? How did it get inside her boot? Was she playing some sort of prank?
Nero could tell that Vinski was very irritated by this attention, but the terrorist continued to smile politely. She protested that she had no idea how anything of that kind could have happened.
Hernandez was becoming more anxious by the minute. He kept glancing up and down the cabin, reacting to every movement.
“Where are you, Morph?” signalled Nero.
“I’ve crawled up into one of the overhead
lockers,” said Morph.
“I think I may have to render Hernandez unconscious, with a sting from my tail,” said Nero. “He’s losing his nerve. When humans become agitated, their ability to think clearly is impaired. Everyone on this aircraft could be in danger.”
“Be careful,” said Morph. “I’m continuing to scan for the Venom. Any clues you can give me would be welcome.”
“Logged,” said Nero.
Meanwhile, Hernandez shooed the flight attendants away and spoke quietly to Vinski. “If these idiots think you’ve deliberately brought a dangerous animal on board, we’ll both be detained at Heathrow. We cannot put our fake identities at risk. I’m going to collect our insurance.”
He stood up and walked away down the aisle towards the Business Class and Economy Class sections. Nero dashed out of the ventilation duct.
“Morph, it sounds like they’ve hidden the Venom somewhere else in the plane,” he signalled. “Hernandez may be fetching it now. I’m going to disable him.”
The robot scuttled rapidly underneath the line
of seats beside the cabin’s port-hole windows. He overtook Hernandez, and zipped across the floor. He aimed directly for the terrorist’s right ankle.
Suddenly, Nero’s motion sensors and vision circuits registered a flash of movement. He was trapped, surrounded by glass.
“Got it!” cried one of the First Class passengers. “Look, it’s a scorpion all right! I saw it crawling under those seats, so I got ready to pounce!”
The others craned their necks to see. Nero had been caught under a large upturned glass. The passengers cheered with relief, and gave a round of applause. The nearest flight attendant bustled over, gushing congratulations.
“Well done, sir! I’ll tell the captain at once. And I’ll fetch something to hold that pesky little so-and-so in until we land.”
Nero’s claws and tail were dotted with drips of the lemonade which the glass had contained. He could easily have thrown the glass aside, or cut a hole in it, but no real scorpion could have done that. To maintain secrecy, the SWARM robots had to look and act like real insects. With many unauthorized humans gawping at him, Nero had
to maintain his cover.
Meanwhile, Hernandez had entered the toilet cubicle at the rear of the First Class section. In the dull glow of the overhead light, he crouched down beside the tiny wash basin. He pushed at a rectangular panel at its base.
The panel gave way. He reached far inside, searching along the water pipe with his fingers. At last he found what he was looking for, and wrenched it free of the sticky tape which was holding it in place. Earlier that day, he’d arranged for his contact at Shaghai airport to do two things. The first was to monitor Seede when he arrived from London. The second was to disguise himself as one of the airport’s maintenance crew and secretly place this item on Flight AW92, for Hernandez to retrieve if needed.
