Deadlock (6 page)

chapter three

The black limousine rounded the corner of the hangar and slowed to a halt at the bottom of the steps that led up into the sleek fuselage of the private jet standing on the tarmac. A secret service agent stepped out of the car and opened the rear door. Senator Matt Ronson climbed out of the car and trotted up the steps leading into the plane. With his swept-back silver hair, immaculate suit and healthy tan, he was the very image of the successful American businessman and there was no bigger business than his current occupation. What neither the people who had elected him nor the men who had selected him as their party’s presidential candidate knew was that he was one of the most senior members of the organisation known as the Disciples. That organisation had been highly effective in ensuring his rapid rise through the political ranks and now he stood on the brink of claiming the most powerful office in the world. He smiled contentedly to himself as he sat down in one of the large leather seats that lined the cabin. His latest poll figures were excellent and all of the projections appeared to indicate that he would soon be moving into a new house on Pennsylvania Avenue. It didn’t hurt that one of the Disciples’ front companies was responsible for manufacturing the electronic voting machines that would be used in some of the most closely contested states during the upcoming election. Even if the electorate were foolish enough to choose his opponent the final result would be no different. All he had to do was sit and wait for November.

‘Your wife and son will be here shortly, Senator,’ the secret service agent reported. ‘They were slightly late leaving the hotel, but the pilot assures me that we can make up the time once we get airborne.’

‘Good,’ Ronson replied. ‘I have a meeting that I can’t be late for.’ The meeting in question was a teleconference with the other members of the Disciples and he was keen to get an update on how Anastasia Furan’s plan was developing. Nero and G.L.O.V.E. had been a thorn in their sides for far too long and it was about time they were finished off once and for all. Furan had dealt Nero a stunning blow with the assault on the H.I.V.E. training exercise known as the Hunt and now was the time to press home their advantage. Nero’s status with the other members of the global fraternity of villains had been weakened by his failure to protect his students and it would not take much to amplify that chaos still further. If Nero finally lost his grip on the reins of power, his fellow villains would turn on him in an instant, that much was certain. Ronson’s mobile phone started ringing and he glanced at the screen to see that his campaign manager was calling. He took the call just as his wife and son climbed aboard and the jet’s engines began to spin up. He mouthed ‘You’re late’ to his wife as she sat down across the aisle from him and she mouthed a ‘Sorry’ in reply as the plane taxied for take-off. He spent ten minutes discussing the latest polling data with his campaign director before finally hanging up.

‘What kept you?’ Ronson asked his wife with a frown.

‘Sorry,’ she replied. ‘I had to get changed.’

Ronson’s frown deepened. There was something funny about his wife’s voice. Her usual mid-west twang was gone, replaced instead by what sounded like a soft Russian accent.

‘We both did,’ his son added, in a British accent.

Ronson’s eyes widened in shock as their faces shimmered and faded to reveal a pair of smooth black skintight masks, with mirrored silver eyepieces. The pair of impostors pulled off the masks, revealing two faces that Ronson found horrifyingly familiar.

‘Good morning, Senator Ronson,’ Otto said with a smile as Raven pulled a snub-nosed pistol from her handbag and levelled it at him. ‘I do hope we’re not interrupting anything.’

‘What have you done with my wife and son?’ Ronson demanded, slowly sliding his hand into his pocket.

‘Oh, they’re fine,’ Otto replied, ‘if a little unconscious at the moment. As are the two secret service agents in the rear compartment that you just tried to summon with the panic button in your pocket. I took the liberty of disabling it the moment I boarded the plane anyway, just in case. We wouldn’t want any Air Force jets interrupting our little chat now, would we?’

‘Don’t bother shouting for the pilots either,’ Raven said calmly. ‘They are equally . . . indisposed. Now, hands where I can see them.’ Ronson complied, lifting his hands in front of him defensively.

‘Then who’s flying the plane?’ Ronson asked, a slight note of panic in his voice.

‘I am,’ Otto said, glancing towards the cockpit. ‘You’ve got to love fly-by-wire avionics.’

‘You won’t get away with this,’ Ronson said.

‘You’d be surprised how often I hear that,’ Otto replied with a sly smile. ‘Now, let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I’m sure you know who we both are since you’re a senior member of the Disciples, so I’m equally sure that you’re aware that my friend here is really unbelievably good at hurting people. All we want to know is where Furan is and where she’s keeping the H.I.V.E. students she captured. If you tell us with a minimum of fuss there’ll be no need for them to hose down the interior of this plane after we land, if you catch my drift.’

Ronson glanced at Raven. They had all heard the horror stories that were told about her amongst the massed ranks of global villainy. The way she was looking at him gave him no reason to doubt that those stories were true.

‘I don’t know where the Glasshouse is,’ Ronson replied, shaking his head. ‘No one does.’

Otto noticed Raven’s eyes widen very slightly. He knew by now that was about as close as she normally came to being shocked by anything.

‘The Glasshouse is gone,’ Raven said, a dangerous edge to her voice. ‘I watched it burn.’

‘The original Glasshouse, yes,’ Ronson said, ‘but she had a new facility built in a hidden location. No one knows where it is except Furan and a handful of her most trusted people. She has not shared its location with any of the rest of us.’

‘And you expect me to believe that?’ Raven asked, lowering her pistol and pointing it at Ronson’s knee. ‘I read that you enjoy running to keep fit. Such a shame.’ She cocked the hammer.

‘Wait, please,’ Ronson begged. ‘I swear it’s the truth. Furan’s paranoid about security – we don’t even know what country the Glasshouse is in, let alone its precise location.’

His pupil dilation and cardio-pulmonary activity indicate an honest response
, H.I.V.E.mind said inside Otto’s head.

‘I think our friend here might be telling the truth,’ Otto said.

‘I agree,’ Raven said, ‘and unfortunately for you that means that you’re no use to us,’ Raven said, levelling the pistol at his forehead.

‘Wait, wait,’ Ronson said frantically. ‘There is one person who might know where Furan is.’

‘Talk,’ Raven replied.

‘The only person who might be able to tell you is the man who designed the facility,’ Ronson said quickly. ‘Furan let it slip that her new facility had been designed by the Architect.’

‘The Architect is a myth,’ Raven said, shaking her head slightly.

‘No, he’s real, I swear,’ Ronson said, sweat beading on his forehead. ‘He’s the only person who Furan would have trusted to have designed it. Think about it – who else could she be sure would never talk?’

‘Supposing I believe you,’ Raven said with a frown, ‘and the Architect did build a new Glasshouse for Furan? Where would I find him?’

‘I have no idea,’ Ronson replied. ‘You’ve heard the same rumours I have, no doubt. You don’t find the Architect unless he wants you to find him. I’ve never met anyone who has ever seen the man, much less talked to him.’

Raven stared at Ronson for a few seconds and then reached into her handbag and produced a pair of handcuffs.

‘Cuff yourself to the seat,’ Raven said, ‘I need to have a private conversation with my associate and I don’t want you going anywhere.’

Raven watched as Ronson did as he was instructed. She checked that he was firmly shackled to his seat before she gestured with a nod for Otto to join her in the plane’s rear compartment. He followed her into the conspicuously less comfortable area that provided seating for Ronson’s staff, who in this case were the two unconscious secret service agents slumped in their seats.

‘Find us somewhere to land,’ Raven said, ‘if what he’s telling us is true, then we have a considerably more difficult job ahead of us than we had anticipated.’

‘I’ll try to find somewhere quiet,’ Otto said, ‘but it’s going to start alarm bells ringing when a plane carrying a passenger like this diverges from its flight plan.’

‘We’ll be long gone by the time the authorities arrive,’ Raven replied. ‘Good work on the masks by the way.’

Otto had spent the previous couple of days adapting the hoods from the ISIS suits and combining them with the new holographic projector he had designed in such a way that their optical camouflage hologram projectors would display a perfect copy of any face that they scanned in. It had been relatively straightforward from a technical point of view. The hard part had been obtaining the high-resolution scans of Ronson’s wife and son’s heads. He’d left that part of the plan to Raven.

‘It was just a small logical step from what the suit masks already did really,’ Otto said. ‘It was no big deal.’

I have found a suitable landing site
, H.I.V.E.mind said.
It is an abandoned military airstrip that is only a few miles from our current flight path. It should serve our purposes.

‘OK,’ Otto said, ‘H.I.V.E.mind’s found us somewhere to put this thing on the ground.’

‘Good. I’ll go and take care of Ronson,’ Raven said, gesturing towards the forward compartment with her pistol.

‘No,’ Otto said. ‘I’ve got a better idea.’

‘Nero made it quite clear that he was to be taken out of play,’ Raven said. ‘We can’t take the chance that he’ll end up as President.’

‘I know,’ Otto replied, ‘trust me.’

Fifteen minutes later the jet touched down on the crumbling tarmac of the disused military runway. As soon as the plane stopped moving, the hatch popped open and Raven dragged the unconscious bodies of the secret service agents and the two pilots out on to the dusty scrubland next to the runway.

‘Make it quick,’ Raven said to Otto as she headed through the exit hatch for the final time.

Otto gave a quick nod and headed back into the forward compartment, where Ronson sat slumped, still shackled to his seat.

‘Please,’ Ronson begged, ‘I can help you. I have more information I can give you, just don’t let her kill me.’

‘Don’t worry she’s not going to kill you,’ Otto said. ‘I am.’

Otto closed his eyes for a moment and reached out with his senses for the jet’s autopilot system.

‘The Disciples abducted and imprisoned some of my best friends and murdered dozens of my classmates,’ Otto said, fixing Ronson with an icy stare. ‘Did you really think there wasn’t going to be a price to pay for that?’

The jet’s engines began to spin up as Otto turned his back on Ronson and headed out of the forward cabin. He climbed out of the hatch and down the stairs to the tarmac. As he walked away from the plane, he connected to the plane’s controls and the hatch whirred shut behind him. The plane began to turn in a tight circle, leaving it pointing back down the runway.

‘
Bon voyage
,’ Otto said, closing his eyes and mentally activating the autopilot. The plane’s twin engines throttled up and it accelerated away down the wide strip of tarmac, before lifting off and banking away into the bright blue sky.

‘It should run out of fuel somewhere over the Atlantic,’ Otto said, his voice calm. ‘Plenty of time for him to think about it.’

‘A bullet would have been quicker,’ Raven said, watching the departing jet as it grew smaller and smaller.

‘Too quick,’ Otto said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

Laura placed the metal tray on the tabletop and sat down on the bench. The sectioned compartments of the tray contained portions of brown and grey sludge and a couple of dry military-ration biscuits. It was the only meal that the Glasshouse trainees ever ate and while it might mean they didn’t starve it was a very long way from appetising. Another tray clanked down on to the table and she looked up to see Nigel Darkdoom taking a seat opposite her.

‘You OK?’ Nigel whispered. Chatter was frowned upon during mealtimes and though the guards on the far side of the room seemed not to care there was no point giving them a reason to start swinging their stun batons. Nigel frowned as he saw the fresh cuts and bruises on Laura’s face.