Cyber Terror Page 5

  No one was making for Phil Lazenby. No one was threatening him. Yet.

  Jordan strode to the front and mounted the steps.

  Hearing the footfalls, the council leader said, “Please remain seated, everyone. It won’t be long.”

  A joker among the visitors called out, “Cut off, eh? You’d think the council would pay its energy bills.”

  “Or find a torch,” someone else added.

  Fearing that Short Circuit could make his next move at any instant, Jordan sneaked up to Captain Lazenby and touched his shoulder.

  In the darkness, the pilot stiffened but he didn’t jump in shock. He was practised at keeping his composure.

  Jordan whispered directly into his ear. “I’m Jordan Stryker. Someone’s told you about me, haven’t they? I’m here to protect you.” His words were lost to everyone else in the murmur and occasional giggle coming from the bemused audience.

  Phil turned towards Jordan and nodded. “Yes. But how do I know you’re...”

  Jordan was scanning the rest of the hall. Someone else was sneaking towards the front. It was a big man and he was stumbling around in the blackness. His right arm was stretched out in front of him, as if holding something, but Jordan couldn’t make out what it was. The object was cold. It didn’t have an infrared signal.

  Quickly, Jordan extracted his ID and phone. He used the faint glow from his mobile to illuminate his identity card.

  “Okay.”

  “Grab my arm,” Jordan whispered. “I’ve got to get you out of here right now.”

  One of the officials called, “I’m sorry about this. Are you all right, Captain Lazenby?”

  “Yes,” he called out.

  “Someone’s coming this way,” Jordan said quietly to the pilot. “It’s too risky here. Follow me before...”

  There was a thump as the approaching man accidently kicked the end of one of the benches.

  Phil’s reply was also hushed. “All right.”

  Jordan led him to the end of the raised platform.

  “Captain Lazenby?” the mayor called out.

  He said, “I’m just... It’s okay. No worries.”

  “Steps down here,” Jordan whispered. But when he looked up, he realized he wasn’t going to get Phil Lazenby to the side door before the man closed in on them.

  Jordan could make out his features now. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with very short hair and prominent ears. He was wearing a suit and tie. In his extended right hand was a gun.

  Phil Lazenby came down the steps slowly and unsteadily, feeling each one first with his foot.

  When he reached the bottom, Jordan didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to give the gunman any clues on the pilot’s position. Jordan simply grabbed Phil’s arm and urgently tugged him towards the door.

  But the guy with the gun would crash into them before they reached it.

  Jordan stepped forward, raised his artificial arm and brought it down somewhere between the man’s right elbow and wrist. There was a piercing cry of pain and a clatter as the weapon hit the floor.

  Jordan kicked the gun away, then thrust the door open and dragged the Captain through it as quickly as he could. Behind him, the chamber erupted with quizzical cries. In the next room, Jordan slammed the door shut and looked around. His night vision picked out a heavy table. He dragged it across the doorway to delay anyone who tried to follow them.

  “Come on,” Jordan said. “We’re not safe yet. If he finds his gun...”

  “Gun?” Phil spluttered.

  “Yes. He was aiming a gun at you.”

  “But... How do you know? How are you...?”

  Jordan didn’t want to explain about his capabilities. “Always been good at seeing in the dark. Come on. I’ll guide you again. There’s a door over there. It’ll be a way out.”

  “Yes,” the pilot agreed. “It’s where we came in. It goes into a corridor that leads back to the entrance.”

  “Good. We’ve got to get out.”

  “But what’s going on?”

  “I’ll tell you – in a minute.” He tugged Captain Lazenby’s arm. “This way.”

  The foyer was in chaos. There was enough light coming from the lamps in the square to stop officials bumping into each other, the furniture and the pillars, but not enough of a glow to see exactly what was going on. Jordan and the pilot slipped out unnoticed.

  “Round the back,” Jordan said, breaking into a jog. “You’ll be okay in my car.”

  Reluctantly, the pilot followed at a trot.

  When Jordan came to a halt and the Jaguar door clicked open, Captain Lazenby let out a short gasp. “This is yours?”

  Jordan nodded. “Get in. I’ll lock it from out here so you’re safe.”

  Halfway inside, Phil asked, “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ve got to go back.”

  “Why?”

  “To get the man with the gun,” Jordan replied. “Before I go, do you know Victoria Truman, Carlton Reed or Paige Ottaway?”

  Phil thought for a moment and then shook his head. “I don’t think so. Sorry. Doesn’t ring any bells.”

  “Try their pictures, then.” Jordan took them out of the inner pocket of his jacket.

  Reaching for the photographs, Captain Lazenby looked doubtful. “I come across a lot of people in my line of work, but I’ll see if I can put my finger on anything.”

  “Thanks. Turn the light on – it’s just above your head – and take a look while I’m inside.”

  “Will do.”

  Jordan shut the door, locked it with his BCI and steeled himself for his next ordeal.

  7 ARMED RESPONSE

  Running round to the front of the darkened building, Jordan didn’t hesitate for long on the steps outside. He stood a better chance against Short Circuit – if that’s who was inside – before the lamps came back on. His engineered eyes gave him an advantage in the dark, even if Short Circuit had been able to fumble around on the floor and find his gun.

  Jordan sped past the stewards. Two of them had located torches and beams of light were flashing from side to side like unruly headlights. Jordan didn’t believe for a moment that they’d keep the torches to themselves and leave the audience in total darkness. By now, the crowded chamber must have emergency lamps. He had no choice but to confront the gunman in the light.

  Then it happened. Like a firework illuminating the night sky, the lighting suddenly flared and the whole building shone brightly. Jordan’s delicate cameras took an instant to adjust and his hearing picked up the ironic cheers from the council chamber.

  He took a breath and then made for the hall. Just as he was reaching out for the handle, the door opened and the broad-shouldered man was standing in his way. He was holding his right arm gingerly against his stomach.

  Unsure, Jordan hesitated.

  In that moment, the gunman reached into his inner pocket awkwardly with his left hand.

  Jordan prepared his robotic arm.

  “Plain-clothes officer, Suffolk Police,” the man said. Wincing, he produced his badge and showed it to Jordan. “Armed Response Unit.” Then he demanded, “Stay still. Keep your hands well out where I can see them.”

  Jordan let out a breath. “I’m Jordan Stryker...”

  “Show me your ID. Don’t try anything.”

  Slowly, Jordan took the card from his pocket, making sure the officer could see that he was extracting a bit of plastic and not a weapon. He held it out.

  The policeman looked at it and nodded. “Let me see your right hand. I was told it’s false.”

  Jordan held it out and clenched his fist. The motors in each finger made a muted hum.

  At last, the police officer relaxed. “I don’t know what you do, but we were notified you’d be here.” He smiled wryly and added, “I can’t say it’s been a pleasure to meet you...”

  “Sorry about your arm. I thought you were... Anyway, have I broken it?”

  “I heard a crack. I imagine the bone’s fractur
ed.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Like hell.”

  “Sorry,” Jordan repeated. “I was protecting...”

  He nodded. “I know. I’d have done the same. I should’ve given a spoken warning in there, but I didn’t want to panic anyone. That would’ve made everything much worse. I couldn’t see anything, but I heard someone – you – creeping around at the front. That was worrying because the man who told us about you mentioned a potential threat to Captain Lazenby. That’s why I’m on duty.”

  “You looked pretty threatening to me.”

  The policeman said, “No hard feelings. But there’s something more important.”

  “Oh?”

  “What have you done with the guest-of-honour?”

  “Ah. Yes. I’ll go and get him. He’s safe. In my car. But...er...what about the power cut?”

  The police officer smiled again. “They found a smoking rat in the basement, apparently. It bit through the mains supply. Nothing to do with terrorism.” He gave Jordan’s shoulder a friendly slap. “You give them their local hero and I’ll get myself an ambulance.”

  Jordan hesitated. “It’s already on its way.”

  “Is it?”

  “I can hear it – just.”

  “I can’t,” the officer said. “Who called for it? Not me.”

  Jordan frowned. A shiver ran the length of his body. He had a horrible feeling that something might have happened to Phil Lazenby. He took off again. The policeman followed him as quickly as the throbbing in his arm allowed.

  Jordan skidded to a halt on King Street where he’d had special permission to leave the XJ. But there was nothing. It had gone. His breath came in short gasps as the full horror of the situation struck him.

  Clutching his injured arm, the officer slowed to a stop. “I can hear the siren now. It’s getting closer.” He pointed towards the Butter Market. “Looks like something’s going off down the road.”

  On the corner, there was a small cluster of people around the entrance to a shop – a shop that must be closed at this time in the evening.

  They both broke into a run again.

  As they approached, Jordan could see that the people were standing around his car. Plainly, the Jag had accelerated along the street, mounted the pavement and rammed the concrete arch of the shopfront.

  The officer shouted, “Police!” and showed his ID card as he pushed his way through the bunch of people. “Get back, please.”

  “We can’t open it,” someone yelled. “He’s locked in.”

  “I’ve called an ambulance.”

  When Jordan saw what had happened to Captain Lazenby, he turned aside, unable to concentrate on the code for unlocking the car door.

  Behind him, a man muttered, “It must be built like a tank. Hardly a scratch but... No seat belt. He’s all over the windscreen.”

  “It’s awful,” said the woman standing next to him. “Poor man.”

  “I wonder who he is. He’s in a uniform of some sort.”

  The policeman spread out his left arm and pleaded with the nosy onlookers. “Back off. Give him a bit of privacy, please. And leave room for the ambulance.”

  The sightseers shuffled away, but only by a few metres. They seemed to be transfixed by the tragedy.

  Jordan forced himself to look back into the car. It was clear that, when the car had come to a sudden stop, Phil’s body had kept going. The airbag hadn’t activated. The passenger hadn’t stood a chance.

  Finally, Jordan summoned the strength and concentration to transmit the code and the doors unlocked. He couldn’t hear the quiet click because an ambulance was screaming up Prince’s Street. It stopped in the middle of the road.

  When the crew turned off the siren, the town seemed morbidly quiet. Two paramedics rushed to the side of Jordan’s car. Leaning in from opposite sides, they reached the same conclusion at once. They went through the usual tests, but they already knew the outcome. When they stood up straight, they both shook their heads.

  The officer showed them his badge. “You can’t do anything for him?”

  “Sorry.”

  The policeman let out a long weary breath. “Don’t move him. It’s probably a crime scene. But you can do something for me. I need someone to fix my arm. It’s fractured, I think. First...” Seeing a patrol car drawing up, he added, “Let me brief the uniformed guys and call for reinforcements.” He turned to Jordan and asked, “Are you okay?”

  Jordan took his phone and said, “I’ve got an emergency number. I guess it’s time to use it.”

  The officer nodded sympathetically. “You do that. I’ll get rid of the crowd. And send someone to the Town Hall when we’ve got enough people to deal with this.”

  Jordan stared into the car where three crumpled photographs lay on the bloodied seat beside the pilot’s body. He would never know if Phil Lazenby had recognized the faces.

  It was Angel who answered the Unit Red crisis number. Jordan tried to give his boss a clear account of what had occurred, but it wasn’t easy when his brain was blunted by numbness.

  “All right, Jordan,” Angel said. “I sort of get the picture. Kate’s gone home and I don’t know where Raven is, but she’s not here. I’ll get myself helicoptered over to you. Won’t be long.”

  It was late. Very late. Jordan and Angel were the only customers in an all-night café. Force-feeding Jordan strong coffee, Angel stressed, “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t as if you left the handbrake off on a hill. You just provided the car. Someone else was driving – remotely – and crashed it deliberately. It’s called sudden unintended acceleration. I think we know who’s got the right bag of tricks to take control of the on-board computer. He used your car as a murder weapon.”

  “But I left the captain there. If I hadn’t locked the doors...”

  Angel interrupted. “You put him in what you thought was the most secure place.”

  “I bet another agent...”

  “Would have done the same.”

  “But...”

  “Everything’s easy with hindsight. You did a good job with the information you had at the time.” Angel lowered his voice in the empty café. “Anyway, I can’t criticize. I said Short Circuit wouldn’t attack Lazenby again because that’d tell us too much about him.”

  Jordan liked to think the head of Unit Red was infallible but, right now, he felt strangely comforted to know that even Angel could make a mistake.

  “He was here, wasn’t he?” said Jordan. “Short Circuit, I mean.”

  Angel nodded. “Planes take off from predictable places at predictable times. Even if they’re delayed, he can find out when to attack by looking at a departure board live on the internet. He might not have to be anywhere near. Tonight was different. Lazenby getting into your car wasn’t predictable. Short Circuit would’ve had to be here in Ipswich to know. I don’t suppose you saw anyone loitering around where you parked?”

  “No.”

  “He must have thought it was his lucky day,” Angel whispered. “No doubt, he came to see – or stop – Lazenby getting his award, found the Town Hall in complete darkness and spotted his victim sitting in a car full of microchips. A gift.” He spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness. “You weren’t to know. It’s a worrying development, though.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “He didn’t just knock out electrical components this time. Far more sophisticated than what he did with the planes. He got enough control over the circuits to start the Jag and accelerate. That’s electromagnetic interference with the electronic throttle, I imagine. He wouldn’t need anything else, like steering or braking.”

  “Does that mean he could...?” Jordan pointed to the side of his head.

  “No. He couldn’t make you do things you don’t want to do. He might be able to take over your brain implants, but they don’t control you, so he can’t either. They just help you to live. You’re a human being. You have free will.”

  Jordan sighed and sipped mor
e coffee.

  “According to the local force,” Angel added, “one witness was a driving instructor, so we can probably trust his judgement. He said the car was doing about eighty kilometres an hour and still speeding up when it hit the wall. That means Short Circuit disabled the airbag as well. He wouldn’t have hung around after that. He would’ve slipped away.”

  Jordan asked, “What happens now?”

  “I supply a story to the press. No mention of you and your car. A gagging order will take care of any witnesses who say something different.” He took a moment to think. “Lazenby had a bit too much champagne at the reception and had to leave. Maybe he was called away unexpectedly to some emergency. He jumped into his car and drove on too much alcohol. No one else involved.”

  “Can’t you do it without blaming him?”

  “I know it’s a pity to sully a hero, but... No choice, I’m afraid.” Angel finished his coffee. “A lorry’s coming over to take the Jag back. I’ll put every engineer we’ve got on it. New chips from a different source – so they can’t have Trojans in them. Bigger, better security – harder to hack. Then we need a way forward. You can put all this behind you by cracking on with the case.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “I’m not really in the mood.”

  Angel nodded. “You have proved a link, you know. You were right. Picking on Phil Lazenby twice can’t be a coincidence. It looks like Short Circuit’s after specific people in Suffolk, even if we don’t know why.”

  “Or who’s next,” Jordan replied.

  “Come on,” Angel said, getting to his feet. “There’s a chopper waiting for us.”

  8 TIP-OFF

  Jordan couldn’t sleep. His brain replayed the evening’s events over and over again. He tried to clear his mind, or think about something else, but, before long, he was talking once more to Phil Lazenby in Ipswich and deciding to leave him in the Jaguar before returning to the Town Hall. The playback skipped. He was staring at the smeared stain on the windscreen and the body that had been thrown forward at high speed before slumping back onto the seat and falling sideways.