The Radical (Unity Vol.1) (34 page)

Ryken

Minutes later, I rounded the corner and was outside the tent. I checked nobody was inside and ducked in. It was deathly quiet in the area and I wondered whether UNITY had spread the word to stay off the streets. I keyed in the code and a manhole cover sprang open. I jumped in and the door retracted as soon as I was down. I was in a pitch-black tunnel, and after walking at least 30 yards, I came to a set of climbing stairs and launched myself up. I was then in a well-lit corridor with plastic floor tiles underneath my feet and cream-painted walls.

I
walked along precariously, waiting to discover whether anyone had noticed my arrival. I strode on and came to an elevator, pressing the button to go up. Just when I thought this all seemed a bit too easy, a woman noticed me in my full kit and screamed. She ran off down the corridor, shouting, ‘Intruder, intruder!’

The
elevator arrived and I stepped in. Pressing the button for the 20th floor, I heard the pounding steps of emissaries rush by as the door shut.

Seconds later I
arrived on the 20th floor and as the elevator doors opened, I took two pistols in hand and fired off rounds at the ceilings. Screams from the staff rang out. I also shot at all the elevator computer systems too so I wouldn’t have company without them traversing 20 flights of stairs first.

‘Everybody out, everybody get out now. I’m going to blow this place up!’
I shouted in a vain bid to extort damage limitation.

I
fired off some more rounds, shooting holes in the ceilings. I marched up and down corridors between frightened members of office and laboratory staff running for their lives at the sight of the armor-clad menace rampaging around.

I
went into an empty office amid the commotion and took out an AK, pointing it at the window. I held my finger on the trigger for three seconds.
This should do it
, I thought, and released my digit. A high-velocity blast made light work of the window, puncturing it instantly. The recoil reminded me of being shunted in a scrum during my rugby-playing days in the Army.

I
replaced the gun in its holster and took out my suction pads, strapping them to my knees to aid the Clever-Grips on my hands. I went out of the window and began setting up the first of the explosives outside, balancing perilously against the building on my knees.

I
attached the device to an iron frame and set it to detonate in 30 minutes’ time. Quickly, I climbed to the top floor and set a load there too, carrying out the same routine. I ascended to the roof and ran to the other side of the building, sliding along the edge and down to set two more charges at that side too.

Once I felt sure my chances of blowing the place to kingdom c
ome were set, I moved back down to an office on the 19th floor, where I knew the deep freeze units were kept. For personal reasons, I needed the phials, despite Camille’s warnings. I took out the Imp – a slim, sophisticated rectangular device with a concentrated nuclear power cell.

I
clipped it around the metal join of a window and set it to pulse. I climbed away quickly, back up to the 20th floor, and heard the low rumble of what sounded like a seismic tremor. I reached down and kicked my leg against the pane; the glass shattering into dust as I did.

I launched my
self into the lab as the material eroded. Just as I did so, an emissary came upon me, trying to grapple me to the linoleum. I shoved the man and whacked him around the head with my gun, before shooting him in the leg. Two more arrived and I shot them down too, before launching off to the storage compartments.

I madly searched for the ones I
needed and found them, slipping them into a tiny refrigeration case, before bending down to tuck it into a small pocket at the bottom of my cargos. It was then I felt someone roughly tug my shoulders, pulling me back all of a sudden. I managed to swing my legs up in the air to perform a semi-handstand, grabbing the emissary with my ankles, before twisting his neck.

I
leapt back up and took out two pistols, one in each hand. One emissary after another started leaping at me and I had to shoot each one of them, felling them easily. In their seemingly safe realm, they weren’t wearing any armor. I took a few shots myself but was impervious to their impact; I was in such a mode of concentration that I couldn’t feel one single part of myself. I had to switch off to complete the task.

I
climbed over their bodies to get out of the laboratory and ran down a corridor, heading back in the direction of the elevator. This time I took the stairwell, smashing the door back into a wall as I began racing on up to the top floor. I took two steps at a time but another emissary soon came my way. I threw the man over my head as I chased on up, my body a furious battering ram determined to reach its destination. The brutes were sloppy and ill-equipped for real warfare. They used their size to intimidate but rarely engaged in actual hand-to-hand combat. Plus, they had all the grace of a dancing hippo.

I roared in self-congratulation when I got to the p
enthouse, the 23rd, thinking I had done all the hard work. I raced down another corridor toward the palatial director’s office, which covered half the top floor.

I
took hold of the gold doorknobs and was surprised to find they turned easily. The door was open. The room inside was empty. Suspicion set in immediately.

I had been over-confident.

I was a fool. This had not been a hard task. It had been easy to get in. They had anticipated my arrival, I knew.

Something was going to undo me. An
ything could be waiting for me.
Anything
. There was no official welcome party but I sensed I was being watched, being given easy access for some reason. I slammed the tall, oak doors shut and lodged an AK between the handles to barricade myself in. I walked into the gigantic, air-conditioned room, observing the surroundings.

I
breathed deeply and tried to slow my heart, but felt pure hatred as I walked further into the room. The art deco wood paneling and ceiling crevices seemed so vile. I saw high shelves littered with stuffed animals and momentarily considered that I wouldn’t be surprised if he had the Poison Fowl stuffed somewhere. There were other various antiquities, most likely stolen in the aftermath of 2023, including a chunk of the
Elgin Marbles
laid across an enormous granite platform. The
Magna Carta
was kept in a protective casing, while what I presumed to be the original
Bill of Rights
sat alongside it. I shook my head, distaste bitter in my mouth. The man really was evil. I had that confirmed when I saw a globe liquor cabinet left open in the lounge area, a tumbler with a dram inside waiting. No doubt, for me. He knew my weakness, this director, and I knew I was going to have to overcome it.

There were
tall brass lamps, numerous wingback chairs, worn-out leather sofas, matching pouffes and solid side-tables. This was a disgusting gentleman’s club where no real gentleman would want to be. The lighting was dim and there wasn’t a natural window in the place. I shuddered. This was a mausoleum of hell itself; a den of iniquity in which the director gathered his depraved minions about him.

As I moved quickly between
items of well-used, old-fashioned furniture in the lounge, I reached the office area and began searching for what I wanted. The safe. I tried to put myself in the position of the director, trying to imagine where he might have hidden such a thing. I began frantically searching through oak cabinets and cupboards pushed up against walls at either end of the room, throwing them open and slamming them shut, attempting to discover where my destiny lay hidden. There was nothing. It wasn’t going to be that simple.

I
walked to the far end of the room to view the semicircular library that reached up to the top of the high ceiling. A very large, wide writing desk sat just in front of that: dark oak, with a green leather pad laid on top. A gold, art deco lamp shone a sliver of light amongst the darkness at that end of the room.

It wouldn’t be here near the desk,
I reasoned.

I
turned about and was beginning to despair when I saw something. The sliding ladder was positioned at one end of the library, but I saw the parquet floor was scratched at the other end more prominently. I looked up at the shelves and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There were simply rows and rows of burgundy, gold, navy-blue and racing-green-bound leather books, all of similar width and height.

I
noticed a lot of the books on that side had no lettering on the spines. I leapt toward the ladder to pull it to the other side, racing on up after I had done so. I pulled a couple of the suspicious objects out and found they were merely cardboard boxes made to look like tomes. I pulled a load away, throwing them madly to the ground.

I
decided that this was it. This was where it would be.

Fuck
. I could hear banging outside the door and realized I wouldn’t have much more time. They would soon get in.

Once I had thrown away the dummies, I
saw the safe. It was a large, grey metal panel on a high shelf, with a sophisticated locking system that would only open up with the DNA of the director. I took out my xGen and loaded up its hackware, before connecting to the safe via Wi-Fi. I found Camille’s message with the DNA fingerprint and overrode the safe’s security system to convince the computer that I was the director. Within seconds, the safe clicked open. I retrieved numerous files from inside and slid back down the ladder.

I
threw the documents onto the desk and had the sudden feeling that a ghost had entered the room. The banging outside the door subsided. I saw out of the corner of my eye a figure appear from behind a gold curtain hanging against a full-length, fake window across the room.

‘Captain Hardy, I’ve been looking forward to your arrival.
May I say I am impressed by your skills.’

The gravelly voice revealed
a habit of after-dinner brandy and cigars, as well as an accent seeming to belong to some Cambridge or Oxford-educated gentleman of substance. I instantly recognized him to be Crispin Childs, the head of Officium.

I took out a pistol
and pointed it at the man. ‘Don’t move a muscle.’

The very elderly
“statesman” stood with his hands held together in front of him. His white hair and tanned complexion contrasted starkly, while his cordial, patriarchal demeanor did nothing to assure me of his humanity.

I
held the man’s gaze and waited. I tried to calm my heartbeat, sure the man would be able to tell even from a few meters away how tense I was. I held the gun in the air but my arm felt as if it were about to break in two. I was fighting the urge to simply shoot. That would have been much easier, but never better.

‘Did you think it would be
that
easy? Did you really think we would let you in that easily?’ He goaded me. The man tutted and grinned mockingly. I hated him more in that moment, though I didn’t think it possible. ‘You must have been out of your mind to think that we would allow you and that
wench
to simply undo years of progress with one, futile attempt. You are the one done for. Give up now and I will let her live. There is no chance of escape.’

I still held my
arm out though I was struggling not to pull the trigger. I wiggled the gun in my opponent’s direction, absolutely furious at the term he had just used for Seraph. I remained silent, knowing any word would make me seem weak.

The old man continued,
amusement in his voice and expression, ‘We knew as soon as you offered yourself up as an emissary what you were up to. As if we would ever believe someone like you, the son of the great Nathaniel Hardy, could be acting for any purpose other than revenge.’

I sniffed. I
couldn’t help myself.

I growled
, ‘I didn’t delude myself that I was safe even for a second, I promise you.’

‘No, but I bet she did. Told her about your little sideline, have you?’

The man goaded me with a menacing smile, threat in his soulless eyes. I was constantly battling an overwhelming desire to just shoot the monster down. However, some part of me wanted answers and resolution. I wanted to know how a man could have become so detestable, losing any semblance of remorse.

‘She thinks that she can make you bend to her will. Well, now you will bend to mine.’

‘Why are you doing this?’ I demanded, shouting. Desperation was a hard thing to battle.

The old man made a move across the room to sit in his black leather desk chair.
I followed his movements with my gun and waited for a response.

With his hands resting casually on the armrests, Crispin began, ‘Fate tasked me with bringing this
world back to reality. People believed they could turn their backs on those who slaved away for their country for years, gave their lives, turned up for work every day on time and labored for the benefit of their people, all the while getting pitiful rewards and little thanks.’