Target Silverclaw (5 page)

“The people controlling the androids must have picked them up,” said Sabre. “At least we now know why Miranda Knowles was targeted for replacement. She’s in charge of the Ministry’s budget and could order those spares without arousing suspicion.”

“She was probably the first person to be replaced,” said Chopper. “Perhaps the spare parts were used to build more androids?”

“It’s the final consignment that’s the most worrying one,” said Morph. “It’s an order for advanced weapons, due to be delivered later today. Three large crates filled with guns, grenades and explosives.”

“Another faked Ministry project?” said Chopper.

“No,” said Morph. “Weapons can’t be ordered or moved around like other things. It’s a security measure. This is a regular order, coded AE-X-4567-beta, which was supposed to go to an army base in Dorset for use in training exercises.”

“It’s been re-routed to 11-88?” said Chopper.

“Late last night,” said Morph, “by the only person who would have the correct authority, namely the Secretary of State for Defence, Sir Godfrey Kite.”

“Surely a genuine order would be missed?” said Chopper.

“Yes,” said Morph, “but not until it becomes clear that nobody in the Ministry’s system has actually received the weapons. By then, it will be too late. The World Leaders’ Security Conference has its first session tomorrow morning at 10 a.m. According to the SWARM database, leaders are expected to begin arriving in London tonight.”

“When is this re-routed delivery supposed to take place?”

“In four hours’ time,” said Morph. “11-88 is three hundred and ten miles away from us. What can we do?”

“Sirena,” transmitted Chopper, “hold your position at the Palace of Westminster and remain on full alert.”

“Logged,” said Sirena.

“Sabre and Morph, we’ll update Queen Bee and intercept that delivery. It’s our best lead yet.
The weapons should take us directly to whoever made the androids.”

“So far, none of the android replacements here have been armed,” said Morph. “If they get hold of those weapons, they’ll have all they need to wipe out the conference.”

CHAPTER 6

“Switching to stealth mode.”

Hercules, Nero and Widow could all sense the extra power drain on their systems. They were now less than thirty metres away from the dark blue car carrying Drake and the three androids who’d freed him from the MI5 safe house. Traffic honked and shuffled below them. The micro-robots dropped down close to ground level, so that they could remain unnoticed by the drivers and passengers in the slow-moving cars.

They scuttled across the road’s surface until they were beneath the car. Then they hopped
up and gripped tightly on to its dirt-encrusted underside. Shortly after, the car suddenly turned left and began to accelerate.

“We’re on the exhaust system muffler here,” said Hercules. “I’ll get us inside.”

He flew up behind a tangle of pipes. The noise of the car’s engine reverberated off the road, and the rear wheels spun rapidly. Once he’d located the ridged area he was looking for, Hercules swiftly cut a circular hole in the metal and climbed inside. Nero and Widow followed him, crawling along the pipes, the microscopic grippers in their legs holding firmly to the bumping, greasy surface.

On the other side of the hole, they found themselves in the car’s boot. It contained only a large holdall and a jack, sitting on top of a thin piece of carpet. Ahead of them was the back of the car’s rear seats.

“At this close distance,” said Nero, “scans show that Drake is accompanied by three androids. One of the androids is driving, Drake is on the back seat. The car is now moving rapidly and I’m reading fewer vehicles in the immediate
area. Speed is increasing. Accelerating to 61 … 63 … 65 m.p.h…”

“Satellite navigation places us on the M1, heading north towards Luton,” said Hercules. “I’ll transmit our status to HQ.”

“I’ll record everything Drake and the androids say and do,” said Nero. He recalibrated his visual sensors to X-ray. “Drake is currently leaning forward past the front seats, adjusting the car radio.”

Drake stabbed at the radio’s pre-set buttons. Quick bursts of rock music, opera and news reports blared out, then he switched the radio off and sat back with a grunt.

“Rubbish,” he muttered. He tapped the driver – the android disguised as a postman – on the shoulder.

“Where exactly are we going, then? Luton airport? Are we taking a flight?”

The android didn’t answer.

“Where’s Gold Leader’s base?” said Drake.
“Do we have far to go?”

The android’s voice was flat and emotionless. “We have a further five hundred and eighty-nine miles to travel.”

“What?” spluttered Drake.

“Current estimated duration is nine hours, thirty-seven minutes,” said the android.

Drake muttered something under his breath, then said, “You’ll have to pull in soon. I’ll need a pee.”

“You should have expelled liquid waste when we stopped for fuel.”

“And I’m starving!”

“You should have purchased food intake when we stopped for fuel.”

“Oh, shut up!” sneered Drake. “Are all Gold Leader’s androids as irritating as you lot?”

“The six androids based in London have the most advanced programming, including social-interaction modules,” said the android, reciting lines from its memory store. “We are functional to Level 7B, while worker androids at Silverclaw base are—”

“Yeah, yeah, button it,” moaned Drake. “It was
a rhetorical question.” He slumped back in his seat and stared out of the window.

In the car’s boot, the micro-robots immediately began transmitting this new information to SWARM HQ.

“Checking databases…” said Nero. “No references to a ‘Silverclaw’ at MI5 or MI6. Widening search criteria…”

“Let’s see now,” said Hercules. “A journey of five hundred and eighty-nine miles will place us … somewhere in the Scottish Highlands.”

“Come in, SWARM HQ. Approaching drop zone.”

“Logged.” Simon Turing’s voice sounded tinny inside Agent K’s flight helmet. She dipped the nose of the military stealth jet fighter and the gently curving horizon slid into view in front of her. The sun had just set, and the sky was streaked with orange and red, but Agent K’s goggles showed the landscape below her as a detailed green glow surrounded by readouts on the aircraft’s altitude and course.

“Reducing speed,” said Agent K. “Falling to 10,000 metres, ready for payload drop.” She banked the fighter to the right, then levelled off. “Airfield 11-88 dead ahead, HQ.”

“SWARM ready?” asked Simon.

“Affirmative,” signalled Chopper.

Chopper, Morph and Sabre were packed into a thick liquid within a transparent plastic sphere about the size of a tennis ball. The sphere was loaded into a specially modified rocket launcher fitted beneath the fighter’s wing.

“Coming up on drop zone,” said Agent K. “Five seconds … four … three … two … releasing now!”

She flicked a switch on the control board in front of her. The rocket launcher shot the plastic sphere into the air with a loud popping sound.

The fighter veered off to the right and flew back the way it had come, the roar of its jet engine gradually fading to a low boom. Meanwhile, the sphere tumbled down, buffeted by the wind, until it finally hit grass. It bounced twice and rolled to a stop.

The sphere beeped and split in half, and the
three micro-robots crawled out, shaking the liquid off them. Both the sphere and the liquid were designed to biodegrade within an hour of landing, leaving no trace. The robots scuttled across the grass to get their bearings.

“Agent K is a good shot,” said Sabre. “We’re right in the middle of airfield 11-88. The delivery of weapons is scheduled to be in sixteen minutes.”

“This place looks abandoned,” said Morph.

The airfield was little more than a large flat expanse of grass surrounded by a high chain-link fence. At the far end of the field were a couple of small shed-like buildings and, attached to the fence beside an entrance gate was a metal sign saying “Ministry of Defence – KEEP OUT”.

Beyond the airfield was plain, featureless moorland stretching for miles and dense woodland to the east. It was growing dark, and the wind was picking up.

“Visual circuits to night vision,” said Chopper. “Airfield 11-88 was set up during World War II. It’s hardly been used since. The Ministry keep it for emergency use, or for top-secret training exercises.”

“It’s certainly a lonely spot,” said Morph.

At that moment, all three robots picked up the sound of an approaching helicopter. It was still several miles away, beyond human earshot.

“Bearing 382.2,” said Chopper, “coming in at low altitude. Are we all clear on the agreed plan?”

“Affirmative,” replied Morph and Sabre.

Before the robots had left SWARM HQ, Queen Bee and Professor Miller had told the robots to stay close to the weapons. Thanks to Drake, they now knew that the delivery would be taken to “Silverclaw”. The robots were not to attempt to intercept the weapons.

But Simon Turing and Alfred Berners had argued that allowing Silverclaw to receive the weapons could pose too great a risk.

Chopper had come up with a clever solution to both problems – and one that meant Silverclaw would never know what had happened.

The sharp beam of a helicopter searchlight appeared in the distance. It swept along the ground ahead as it rapidly approached the airfield.

The robots switched to stealth mode.

Within seconds, the helicopter touched down
on to the grass, about twenty metres from the robots, its rotors whipping up a storm. It had a cargo hold at the rear, and was painted in dark camouflage colours. The whine of its engines slowly died away.

Two figures got out of the cockpit, both wearing British army uniforms. One was dressed as a colonel.

“Androids,” confirmed Chopper.

The robots quickly moved towards them, keeping hidden from sight. They took up position beside the helicopter and waited, still and silent. A few minutes later, the rumble of a small lorry cut across the low moan of the wind. Headlights bumped into view as the lorry swayed along a muddy track to the gate. Someone got out of the cab, opened the gate and waved the lorry through.

It was a standard green army vehicle and SWARM analysis confirmed the four soldiers were human. A captain in a peaked cap walked over to the androids carrying a torch, while three officer cadets piled out of the lorry and unhooked the drop-down section at the back. Inside were
three large crates.

The captain saluted when he saw the colonel. “Evening, sir,” he nodded. “Do you have the Transfer Order ready for me to sign?”

The androids didn’t answer for a moment.

“There is no order,” said the colonel android. “This is a top-secret security matter.”

“No Transfer Order, sir?” said the captain. “I, umm … wasn’t informed.”

“Sir!” called one of the soldiers from the back of the lorry. “Are we loading these crates?”

“Oh, er… Yes, carry on!” called the captain.

The men began hauling the heavy wooden crates off the lorry and carrying the first towards the helicopter.

On Chopper’s signal, he and Sabre flew up into the helicopter’s cargo compartment. Chopper carried Morph with him. They kept to the shadows, moving only when no human or android was looking in their direction.

The captain cleared his throat. “Sorry, sir, but you know what the procurement pen-pushers are like for paperwork. They’ll have me on a charge if they don’t get their signed Transfer Order.
What am I supposed to tell them?”

The android gazed at him. “This is a top-secret security matter,” said the colonel.

The officer frowned. He stared back at the two androids for a moment. “What sort of security matter? I’m sorry, sir, but I haven’t been told about any of this.”

“It’s top secret.”

“What base did you fly out from?”

“This is a security matter. Are you questioning my authority?”

“No, sir, of course not!” said the captain. “But … who’s your C.O.?”

“You are not allowed to question us.”

The captain swung his torch so it shone into the androids’ faces. Like the androids who had freed Drake, they looked completely human, but neither of them flinched or shielded their eyes from the glare of the beam.

The captain was clearly getting nervous. “Right, both of you. Names, rank, serial number, you know the drill. There’s something fishy going on here. Osgood!”

“Sir?” answered one of the squaddies.

“How many crates have you loaded on to the helicopter?” said the captain, keeping his eyes firmly on the androids.

“Two, sir.”

“Well, take them both off again.”

“Sir?”

“You heard what I said, jump to it!”

Inside the helicopter’s cargo compartment, the SWARM robots watched as the grumbling squaddies heaved one of the crates back out.

The two androids began to walk towards the captain.

“We require the weapons,” said the colonel android.

“They’re needed for a top-secret security matter,” said the second android.

The captain took several steps back. He drew his pistol.

“Stay right where you are!” he cried.

The androids continued to advance. Alarmed, the three soldiers stopped what they were doing.