STORM: The Black Sphere

Charcoal carpet covered the floor. On the white walls were black-and-white photographs of smiling African children, with what looked like wind farms in the background, gleaming in the sun.

Methodically, Will scanned the walls and ceiling. He couldn’t actually see any cameras, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. At least, the bug-spotter in his watch was telling him there were no hidden mikes.

Very slowly, Will stepped into the corridor. To the right, at the far end, a black-tinted glass door stood ajar. A plaque on the wall beside it said Sir Evelyn Hughes. Will glanced back at Andrew and Gaia and jabbed a finger toward it.

“There’ll be an assistant,” Andrew whispered. “It’s not as though we’ll be able to just walk right into his office!”

“Do what you can,” Will whispered back. “If we get caught, they’ll just think we’re nosy workshop kids. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Andrew shot Will a look that suggested he could imagine worse than a slap on the wrist. But he nodded.

Will’s gaze shot to the other end of the corridor. Halfway along, he saw another door, black-tinted and frosted. Boardroom was written beside it in chrome.

“I’m going to try to listen in on the meeting. Meet me back here,” Will whispered. He hitched the backpack higher up his shoulder.

Gaia glanced at it. “You don’t have the tooth phones in there, do you?”

Will shook his head. His tooth phones—tiny receivers and radio transmitters designed to be slotted over a molar, to allow covert communication—were back at Sutton Hall, being upgraded. “I’ll see you back here in ten minutes.” Will started off.

Gaia took in Andrew’s worried expression. She could guess what he was thinking: This is foolish. But she’d expected nothing less. She knew what Will was thinking: The risk is worth it. It always was, to him.

Gaia led the way. She walked slowly, keeping her steps light. And she peered into what had to be the assistant’s office. She made out the edge of a wooden desk, apparently unoccupied. Three sets of metal filing cabinets. Two ferns in white pots. Another door, presumably into Hughes’s own office. A leather sofa, angled toward the desk. And a printer.

Gaia held a finger to her lips. Inside, someone was moving. A gray-haired woman in a black skirt and high heels. She had been hidden, behind the door. Now she strode past Gaia’s narrow field of view and went into the far office.

Gaia turned instantly to Andrew and grasped his arm. She whispered: “Now.”

Will felt exposed. Which he was, here in the corridor. He had to work fast.

Quickly, he pulled Vanya’s box from his backpack. He tore off the packet taped to the bottom and ripped it open. Inside he found a clear case, containing a slender swizzle stick and the wireless earpiece. On the side of the earpiece was a numbered dial. First he had to choose a roach, and check its number. Then he had to turn the dial to match.

Will forced himself to look. Behind their plastic seals, the insects were climbing all over one another. Their shiny brown wing cases and the probing antennae were repulsive. Will started to feel itchy. They’re just tools, he told himself.

Why couldn’t Vanya have picked something attractive, like a ladybug? But he knew the answer. Cockroaches hate light. Release one and it would instantly seek out the nearest, darkest hiding place—which made them perfect for covert audio surveillance.

Squinting so he didn’t have to see the insect too clearly, Will reached in and grabbed one by the wing case. It curled in his fingers, its legs waving frantically. Will saw the number seven marked on its belly and dropped it at the bottom of the boardroom door. He watched it race in.

Easier said than done when he was crouching behind a leather sofa with Gaia’s knee digging into his ribs. Barely three feet away, Hughes’s assistant was tapping at her keyboard. She’d returned just as he and Gaia had slipped down out of sight.

Behind Hughes’s assistant was the printer. Andrew had registered the model as he’d dashed past. Not all printers were hackable—but this one was. Behind it was a door to what seemed to be a mini-kitchen. Andrew had caught a glimpse of a toaster and a kettle.

Very slowly now, Andrew exhaled. His palms were sweating, his fingers slipping against the plastic casing of his smart phone. He’d used the device to give his lecture earlier that morning, and it was loaded not only with his presentation, but also the printer hacker.

She nodded reassuringly. Or as reassuringly as she could, given their present circumstances.

It’s fine, Andrew told himself. Pretend you’re at home. Take your time . . .

Beside him, Gaia watched closely. After a few moments, lines of code suddenly ran across the screen, and then she saw a logo:

Outside the boardroom, Will put a finger to his ear. His blood was rushing, making it even more difficult for him to hear the quiet voices. He had no idea how many people were inside. But at least one was angry. Another was defensive. Will caught only snatches.

Will frowned. Was the insect moving around? Or was Vanya’s hardware acting up?

That was where Abigail Pope said her uncle had been killed—at least, she’d said near Interlaken.

Then one voice rang clear. “I will check the latest. I seem to have left my BlackBerry in my office. I’ll be right back.”

Will darted. Dashing across the corridor, he slammed his shoulder hard against the fire door. He slipped through, into the stairwell, then pushed it shut. Just in time. Through a tiny gap, he could see the shadow of someone striding past.

. . . to clarify, health and safety requires all staff to be instructed in one topic each week on a rotational basis, each topic to be repeated every six months.

Suggestions for new emergency access explanations follow guidelines established . . .

Andrew sighed noiselessly. So far, the hack had revealed directives on lifting heavy objects in the workplace, on stretching exercises and body posture, on the legality of hiring and firing temporary assistants, on recycling office waste—and absolutely nothing of any interest.

Two more minutes, he thought. Then somehow they’d sneak out of the office, meet up with Will and do this properly—that is, they would try to gain access to the InVesta network from the safety of home.

From: Black Sphere
Subject: URGENT: Project FIREball, reference Interlaken
Sent: 07/15 14:02 PM

Gerard Bailey—deceased.
Marcel Gide—deceased.
Johannes Pike—deceased.
Edmund Pope—deceased.
Azra Khan—deceased.
David Wickett—under pursuit.
Wickett’s last known address: Blaustrasse 14, Kleinkirchen.
Confirmed?

Andrew’s blue eyes stared urgently at Gaia. Edmund Pope. Deceased. This had to be the team of scientists. Was this the project they’d been working on? Project FIREball? Could Abigail Pope really be right—InVesta was involved? And this man, David Wickett, he’d escaped? He was still alive?

Andrew’s head jerked. The door to the assistant’s office had been pushed open. Around the edge of the sofa, he could see a pair of legs in blue pinstriped trousers.

“I’m looking for my BlackBerry,” a male voice said. “And we could do with some coffee.

“Your BlackBerry’s here, Sir Evelyn,” the assistant said. “And I’ll bring the coffee right through.”

Andrew squinted around the sofa as Evelyn Hughes left, BlackBerry presumably in hand. His assistant got up. She passed the printer and went into the kitchen.

From his crouch, Andrew could easily see the kettle, the toaster, and the fridge. More importantly, he could see the woman’s face. Which meant that if she looked around, she could see him.

Gaia squeezed his arm hard. Twice. Andrew understood. Hughes’s assistant opened a cupboard and peered up, probably looking for coffee, and Andrew slipped out around the sofa.

They were in luck—the corridor was clear. Andrew led the way back along it. He slammed open the door to the stairs—and slammed right into Will, who had been standing behind it. Will waited for Gaia to dash through, then he shoved it back, hard.

“Listen,” Gaia said. “We found something from the printer—a document. Edmund Pope’s name was on it.”

Will nodded, rubbing a bashed shoulder. “They were talking about Interlaken,” he said in a low voice. His bug was still in the boardroom, he realized. But he wasn’t about to rush in with his pheromone stick. He still had eleven roaches. One insect wasn’t a huge loss. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “We’ll talk about this somewhere safer.”

Will took the concrete steps as fast as he dared, using the metal rail to help him swing around the corners. At the ground floor, he hesitated before opening the door. He could hear Gaia and Andrew, puffing slightly behind him.

Will glimpsed something moving. He glanced up—right into the lens of a security camera. He swore under his breath. “I think we’ve just been spotted,” he said, jerking his head toward the camera. “We have to hurry. But don’t run.”

Will pushed the door open a crack. He could just make out the receptionist. She was on the telephone. Her gaze was fixed down.

Will slipped quickly out of the stairwell, followed by Gaia, then Andrew.

Casually now, they started to cross the lobby. As they passed the marble desk, the receptionist put down the phone and glanced up. She looked surprised. “Have you broken for refreshments already?”

Will nodded, still walking quickly. “Yeah. And unfortunately we have to leave early. But it was great.” He added meaningfully: “We learned a lot.”

A shout from behind. Will’s head shot around. A security guard in a baseball cap and blue uniform emerged from one of the elevators. He was holding a walkie-talkie.

His feet skidding on the polished marble floor, Will made straight for the emergency exit beside the revolving door and pushed it hard. As the door swung open, an alarm went off. The siren rang through his head. “Don’t turn around,” Will called. “Don’t stop!”

He ran out to the sidewalk. Ahead were three lanes of traffic. Directly opposite, a brightly colored hop-on, hop-off tour bus was preparing to pull away from the curb.

“The bus!” Will yelled. He grabbed Gaia’s arm and started to weave through the traffic.

From behind came more shouts. “Hey! Hey! Stop!” The guard. Then the sound of tires screeching on asphalt.

But they were across the street. Still gripping Gaia’s arm, Will rounded the bus and knocked hard on the doors. Andrew ran up behind. Will forced himself to smile. They had to get on.

“We’re just leaving, kids. Hurry up and take a seat. If you haven’t got a ticket you can buy one from George.” He jerked his head in the direction of a skinny teenager who was selling tickets as he made his way along the aisle.

Breathing hard, Will reached for the pole that ran up alongside the stairs to the open top deck. He raced up and peered over the edge at the street. The security guard was in the road, looking around wildly. He hadn’t seen them get on the bus!

Gaia shook her head and sat down hard. Behind her, twenty or so tourists paid them absolutely no attention.

Andrew took a seat next to Gaia. He ran a hand across his damp forehead. “That guard saw us.”

“Saw us on the stairs,” Will said as he sat down across the aisle from Andrew. “I didn’t see any other cameras.”

“If he saw us going down, he must have seen us go up,” Gaia said. She gripped the rail. The bus turned sharply around a corner, heading south, toward the Thames.

“If he was paying full attention to his monitors,” Will said. “And if he’d been paying attention, do you think he’d have left us to explore the eighth floor?”

Will shrugged. Exhilaration was pounding through his veins. “It really doesn’t matter. We got out. So tell me what you found.”

Andrew pulled out his smart phone. “I got this from the printer,” he said, resisting the temptation to sound triumphant.

As Will read the e-mail, his expression turned black. “Project FIREball,” he said, almost to himself. “That has to be it. So InVesta is involved. And this David Wickett—he’s escaped.” Will scanned the From line again. “The Black Sphere . . .” He frowned. “I heard something . . .”

The list of names was running through his brain, leaving mysteries in its tracks. Five people. All deceased. “Someone mentioned a sphere,” Will said at last. “And they were talking about Saxon Webb, InVesta’s CEO. And Interlaken. They didn’t sound happy.”

“But just because InVesta knows about the project, it doesn’t mean they actually killed the scientists,” Gaia said. “It says Wickett is under pursuit, but it doesn’t actually say by them.”

The conductor was staggering up the stairs. Andrew hardly looked at him. Just plunged his hand into his pocket and brought out a wad of cash.

When George had passed on, Andrew blinked at Will. The sun was glaring through his glasses. It was turning into a hot morning. “So what now?”

Will glanced over the side of the bus. It was slowing. Ahead was a brightly colored stop.

They had to find David Wickett, he decided. Wickett could tell them about the project, and about Edmund Pope. If no one else had gotten to him first. Which was a huge if.

The bus’s brakes screeched. “We’ll get out here,” Will said. “Meet me at my house in half an hour. Andrew, can you call Abigail? Tell her we’ll be needing that plane.”

“Will, I want to find out what’s happening here too, but five scientists have died,” Andrew said. “They were working on a secret project. I imagine Barrington would know about it. Or he’d be able to find out. Perhaps he could tell us all about this Project FIREball, and we wouldn’t actually need to go anywhere.”

Gaia headed for the stairwell. She could still feel the adrenaline coursing through her body—it was getting addictive. “We did tell Abigail we wouldn’t go to MI6 . . .”

“And at the moment we don’t have much,” Will said. “If we go to Barrington, he’ll ask a lot of questions and he doesn’t have to tell us anything. MI6 will be looking for Wickett. They’ll have to be.”

“So we’re competing with MI6 to find him, and find out the truth?” Andrew said. “Don’t you think that’s a tough ask?”

“Tough asks,” Will said as he swung himself down after Gaia. “I thought that’s what STORM was all about.”