Target Silverclaw (11 page)

“Power building,” said Chopper. “500 kilowatts stored… 600 … 700…”

“We are one hundred and eight seconds from the Palace of Westminster,” said Nero.

Drake suddenly aimed a kick at the nearest android and knocked its pistol to the floor. Wrenching himself to one side with a yell, Drake dived for the gun.

Gold Leader flung herself at him. Drake snatched up the gun and fired a volley of bullets. The impact sent Gold Leader flying back, screaming. She dropped to the floor, her mechanical limbs sparking. Her whole body became engulfed in blue arcs of electricity. For a moment she grasped at the air, then fell motionless.

Drake flung the gun aside. “She was right,” he gasped. “Our masters are never going to believe me. I’ve got to destroy that conference or I’m a dead man.” He turned to the android beside him. “Decrease altitude! Increase speed! We’ll land
directly outside the Palace of Westminster and launch an all-out attack!”

“We are not programmed to respond to unauthorized personnel,” replied the android calmly.

“Speed increasing,” said Nero. “59 seconds to impact.”

The bugs began to overheat as their brains soaked up the output of the ship’s computers.

“Holding 2 megawatts…” said Hercules. “2.2 … 2.4…”

“Prepare to send power surge!” said Chopper.

“We can’t!” cried Morph. “It’s too much!”

“47 seconds…” said Nero.

Drake stood close to the hole in the floor, holding on to one of the control consoles to steady himself. The base shook as it flew faster and faster.

Behind him, a smoking artificial hand groped for the gun he’d dropped. Above the howl of the wind, he couldn’t hear Gold Leader cry, “Traitor!”

In her last second of life, she pulled the trigger. Drake lurched and spun, an expression of horrified surprise on his face. He was dead
before he hit the ground.

“29 seconds…” said Nero.

“Now!” said Chopper.

Together, the micro-robots reversed the flow of power through their circuits. The surge ripped through their brains like forks of lightning. All five of them felt their electronic components begin to smoke and crack.

The whole aircraft bucked and shook.

“Flight controls … rebooting?” said Chopper weakly.

“22 seconds to impact…” said Nero.

At that moment, lights began to flicker on the control room’s main console. One by one they blinked red, yellow, green.

“Navigation online!” said Hercules.

“Steer us clear! Quick!” gasped Morph.

“Internal power … going…” said Chopper.

On Westminster Bridge, beside the Palace of Westminster, people watched in horror as a huge sleek silver shape shot towards them.
The Silverclaw base was out of control, racing along above the waters of the Thames, heading directly for the tower of Big Ben.

Screams broke out as it got closer and closer. People ducked for cover and braced themselves for an explosion.

At the last second, the aircraft turned in mid-air. It twisted and shot vertically upwards. Then it banked, slowed down, and dropped heavily into the murky waters of the Thames, sending huge waves crashing against the banks.

From all around came the sound of emergency sirens.

CHAPTER 11

Several days later, a meeting involving all the SWARM agents was held at SWARM HQ. Agent K had her arm in a sling and Sirena was still damaged, but she was able to take her place on the workbench alongside the others.

Agent J made his report to Queen Bee. “It took me quite a while to cut the five of them loose from inside that computer. Their power cells had been almost fried by the power surge that got them control of the ship. Once they were safely retrieved, I let the police tow away the wreck and recover the dead bodies of Morris Drake and
Alexis Vendetti.”

Queen Bee turned to the bugs. “How are you all feeling?”

“Mechanical and electrical systems are at ninety-two per cent efficiency,” said Nero.

“My circuits are still stinging,” grumbled Morph quietly.

“Fortunately,” said Professor Miller, “I was able to replace their burnt-out components without having to completely disassemble them, but it was a close shave. A few more seconds at that kind of power level and they’d have been destroyed. The damage to Sirena was mostly mechanical. I’m working on a new pair of wings made from a similar gelatinous material to Morph’s exoskeleton.

“I’ll be able to wrap my wings around myself for protection,” said Sirena.

“Well,” said Queen Bee, “you all risked a great deal and did a superb job.”

“Although none of us can take any official credit for foiling the Silverclaw plot,” said Simon Turing.

“That’s the price of having to remain top secret,” smiled Alfred Berners.

“There is still one mystery,” said Hercules. “Who were Drake and Gold Leader really working for? Who were the masters they were so afraid of?”

“Whoever they are,” said Queen Bee, “let’s hope that this defeat makes them think twice. For the moment, we can celebrate another successful mission for SWARM!”

In a low, concrete room, a very long way from London, another meeting was in progress. Around a heavy wooden table sat nine people.

At the head of a table was their commander. “Now that The Nine are assembled,” he said in a slow, whispering voice, “we can assess the damage done to our plans.” He pushed gently at a few sheets of paper that were set out on the table in front of him. “It seems clear that there is a hidden department in the British secret service that has been directly responsible for ruining several carefully organized operations. The Silverclaw project has been defeated and our
agents Vendetti and Drake are dead.”

The others murmured respectfully.

“The Firestorm project was defeated. The New Age project was defeated. Our acquisition of the deadly toxin known as Venom was only possible at the last moment, because we had Drake inside MI5 at the time.”

The others nodded.

“This hidden department has caused us trouble for the last time. It is to be put out of action, permanently.”

A top-secret device with the power to bring down the world’s electronic communications has been stolen.

It’s a race against time for SWARM to locate and retrieve the dangerous weapon before the thieves crack the encryption code protecting it. Can the SWARM team stop the villains before it’s too late?

Turn the page to read an extract…

CHAPTER ONE

“Queen Bee to agents! Prepare to move out!”

Two electronic voices replied, one after the other. “I’m live, Queen Bee.”

Queen Bee sat in a high-backed black leather chair, in front of a wide bank of brightly lit screens and readouts. She was a tall woman with a shock of blonde hair and a smartly cut suit. She wore a pair of glasses with small, circular lenses that reflected the rapidly shifting light from the screens. Behind the lenses, her steely grey eyes darted from one readout to another, soaking up information. Her age was difficult to work out from
her looks, but her slightly pursed lips, and the way her long fingers tapped slowly on the arms of her chair, showed that she meant business.

One of the screens in front of her showed a man coming out of an office block. Numbers and graphs danced across the lower part of the image, sensor readings of everything from the air temperature at his location to his current heart rate.

Queen Bee leaned forward and spoke into a microphone, which jutted out on a long, flexible stalk. “Chopper, begin data recording.”

“Logged, Queen Bee,” said one of the electronic voices. It had a slightly lower tone than the other one.

Outside the office block, Marcus Oliphant sniffed at the morning breeze for a moment. He was a tall, stringy man with bushy eyebrows and a loping walk. His nose wrinkled. The smell of vehicle exhaust seemed stronger than usual today. He took a tighter grip of the small metal case he was
carrying, then set off along the street. The traffic of central London rumbled and roared past.

A long set of black-painted railings ran alongside him. He didn’t notice two insects perched on top. One was a tiny mosquito, the other a large, iridescent dragonfly. At least, that’s what they appeared to be. They didn’t jump and flit like insects usually do. Instead, they seemed to be watching him.

As he walked off down the road, the insects’ wings buzzed into life, and they rose into the air, following him at a short distance.

As the insects rose, so the image on the screen in front of Queen Bee shifted and moved.

Queen Bee swung around in her chair. Sitting behind her were half a dozen people with serious, quizzical expressions on their faces. Among them were the Home Secretary, the head of MI5 and Queen Bee’s boss, the leader of the UK’s Secret Intelligence Agency.

“As you can see, ladies and gentlemen,” said
Queen Bee, “the subject has no idea that he’s being tailed. Our micro-robots are much more effective than normal secret service agents, with their blindingly obvious dark glasses and their suspiciously unmarked fast cars.”

The head of MI5 shuffled grumpily in his seat. “And much more expensive. How much are these technological toy soldiers costing, Home Secretary? You gave the SIA the go-ahead for this programme.”

The Home Secretary looked slightly uncomfortable. “A lot. I’m afraid I don’t have the figures to hand,” she muttered.

“The latest technology is never cheap,” said Queen Bee. “But my section, the Department of Micro-robotic Intelligence, has capabilities that make it priceless. The existence of SWARM is known only to my staff, and to the people in this room. However, nanotechnology is the future. Micro-robots will soon dominate the worlds of spying and crime investigation. These SWARM operatives are the most advanced robots on Earth. On the outside, they are almost indistinguishable from real insects, yet each has equipment and
capabilities that make the average undercover agent look like a caveman.”

The Home Secretary pointed to the screen. “Who is that man? What’s this demonstration supposed to prove?”

“He’s Marcus Oliphant, leader of the team that’s developed the new Whiplash weapon,” said Queen Bee. “It has been created by a private company, Techna-Stik International, and is being sold to the British government. The prototype is in that metal case there – it’s only the size of a matchbox. He’s on his way to meet with your own officials, Home Secretary, and show them the progress that’s been made. I’ve asked for my robots to shadow him today, to show their effectiveness. Normally, an MI5 operative would be assigned, but since Whiplash is every bit as secret as SWARM, this man’s visit has been judged low risk. No unauthorized person could possibly know what he’s carrying.”

“Whiplash?” said the Home Secretary. “Have I been briefed on that?” She turned to the man beside her.

“It’s an EMP device,” said the head of MI5.

“Extremely dangerous in the wrong hands.”

“Extremely dangerous even in the right hands,” muttered Queen Bee.

“EMP?” frowned the Home Secretary.

“Electro-magnetic pulse,” explained Queen Bee. “It emits an invisible wave of energy which knocks out all electrical circuits. Fries them beyond repair. It does almost no physical damage, but destroys electronics – everything from air-traffic control to TV remotes. Vehicles, computers, the lot, all made useless.”

“Whiplash shoots a narrow EMP beam across a few kilometres,” said the head of MI5. “It’s designed to target and disable enemy systems.”

Suddenly, the high electronic voice of the mosquito cut across the air. “Sabre to Queen Bee. Suspicious activity detected.”

Queen Bee leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. “Specify.”

Out on the street, Chopper the robotic dragonfly whipped around in mid-air to direct his high-definition
cameras towards a vehicle approaching from behind. His eyes zoomed in to reveal a powerful, dark blue BMW that was slowing down, causing cars behind it to overtake.

Chopper transmitted the data back to Queen Bee at SWARM headquarters. “The registration number does not match the car type listed on the national database,” he said. “Stolen car, I think. Or stolen licence plates.”

“Can you get a look at the driver?” radioed Queen Bee.

Chopper adjusted the thermal imaging in his eyes. “Negative, Queen Bee, too many reflections off the glass.”

“Sabre,” said Queen Bee, “stay close to the target.”

“Logged,” replied the mosquito. He buzzed closer to Oliphant, the man with the metal case, who took a casual swat at his shoulder.

Suddenly, the BMW roared ahead. Swerving violently, it bounced up on to the pavement in front of Oliphant, its brakes squealing. The doors were flung open and four men wearing balaclavas jumped out.

Oliphant stood open-mouthed, too alarmed to run. The man who’d been driving grabbed the metal case and knocked Oliphant flying with a sharp punch.

“Attack mode,” said Chopper calmly. “Target compromised.”

A tiny, needle-like proboscis flicked forward from Sabre’s head. He dived swiftly towards the driver and stabbed at the man’s neck in a lightning movement.

“Oww!” yelled the driver. “What was—?” Then he twitched, wide-eyed, dropped the metal case and toppled forward on to the pavement.

“Freezer sting delivered,” said Sabre.

The other three men hauled the driver to his feet, grabbed the case and quickly got back into the BMW. Chopper circled, recording every detail of the attackers and their car. Oliphant sat on the pavement, dazed and rubbing his jaw.

The car lurched into life, roared around in a U-turn and sprang back on to the road. An approaching bus braked hard to avoid a collision and blasted its horn at the BMW. A small group of pedestrians were gathering around Oliphant,
offering help. One was already calling the police on his mobile.

“The human is receiving assistance,” said Chopper. “Pursue the weapon.”

Chopper and Sabre swung round and darted off down the street after the BMW.

Queen Bee’s voice buzzed in the insects’ receivers. “Get to that car! Sabre, inject a tracker into one of those men!”

“Logged,” said Sabre.

Chopper’s vision zoomed in on the car as it raced ahead. “Windows closed. No entry. We may be able to gain access through an air vent.”

Both insect robots flew at maximum speed. Chopper the dragonfly was larger and faster through the air than Sabre the mosquito, but even he struggled to keep up with the BMW. The car was weaving through the traffic, honking other vehicles out of the way and shifting up a gear.

“Personal speed limits reached,” said Chopper. “The car’s too fast for us. We will lose it in 19.4 seconds.”

“Suggestion,” piped up Sabre. “I can inject a
micro-explosive into one of the car’s tyres. That will force it to stop.”

Chopper paused, his miniature circuits making complex calculations. “Chance of success on a moving vehicle is only nine per cent. That action is not advised.”

Sabre computed the information. “Your advice is ignored. I’m going to attempt it. The mission comes first. Our orders were to safeguard Whiplash, so now we must recover it.”