Cyber Terror (6 page)

The paved square outside the gothic building was alive with people. Some gathered in small groups, some strode past on their way to somewhere else, some went up the steps and through the Town
Hall’s imposing arches below the clock tower.

A steward eyed Jordan suspiciously and checked his pass carefully before welcoming him into the Town Hall. “Good evening, Sir. Can I remind you that we’re not allowing cameras or
phones that take pictures tonight? You can leave any such devices with the cloakroom staff. Then you can go right in and take your seat.” He waved his arm towards the ground-floor
chamber.

Jordan nodded, but he had no intention of handing over his mobile. He might need it in an emergency. He asked, “Has Captain Lazenby arrived?”

“I believe so, Sir. I imagine he’s being treated to a glass of champagne.”

“Thanks.”

Jordan cringed. He didn’t like being called
sir
. The whole occasion was far too formal for his tastes. Looking round at the other male guests, he realized that he was the only one
without a suit and tie. He stood out in his black trousers, black sweatshirt and leather jacket. When people turned and glanced disapprovingly at him, he told himself that they were merely guests
of the council while he was on an important mission. He also smiled internally at the thought that he owned the most expensive car parked in the area.

Jordan went straight into the windowless chamber because he thought people would not stare so much if he made himself less visible by sitting down. At the front of the room was a raised row of
ornate wooden seats for about eight people. That’s where the Lord Mayor and Phil Lazenby would sit, no doubt. Facing them were several rows of semicircular benches for the guests. Jordan took
a seat at the end of the first row.

When everyone had assembled, a door on Jordan’s side of the chamber opened. The room hushed as the dignitaries filed in and glided towards the thrones at the front. When they’d
settled, the mayor leaned towards the microphone and said, “Welcome to the Town Hall on this auspicious occasion as we celebrate an outstanding achievement by one of our own sons. I am
delighted...”

Reminded of his old school’s speech day, Jordan took a deep breath. It was going to be a long dull evening, full of never-ending lectures. He turned down his hearing, studied the weird
wooden carvings in front of the panel of speakers and then focused on Captain Lazenby. The fifty-year-old was dressed in a neat pilot’s uniform, but, outside of an aeroplane’s cockpit,
he looked out of place and embarrassed. He wore a fixed grin. It was probably an attempt to hide his discomfort.

The Leader of the Council talked at length about pride in Ipswich and its people. Then someone else went through the events of Monday 5th March. Behind the speaker, on the bland wall, was
projected the news coverage of Captain Lazenby’s amazing life-saving splash-down in the Firth of Forth.

Without warning, the film flickered and died. At the same time, the announcer’s amplified voice was replaced by her natural quiet tone and all of the lights went out.

There were gasps of surprise, shock and annoyance. From the front, an authoritative voice boomed. “Ladies and gentlemen. It seems we have a power cut. Please remain calm. Stay exactly
where you are – we’re all perfectly safe as long as we don’t start stumbling around – until the stewards can provide emergency lighting or someone replaces the fuse.
I’m sure it’ll only be a moment.”

Jordan was having none of it. Immediately tense, he guessed that the failure of the electricity supply was the work of Short Circuit. He imagined that Phil Lazenby was in imminent danger.
Ignoring the announcement, he decided to act without hesitation. The room might be a blackout to everyone else, but not to him. Switching to infrared vision, all of the nearby people were
recognizable. Further away, they were yellowy blobs. The chamber was various shades of rippling grey.

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.

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 fractured.”

“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.”