STORM: The Black Sphere

Hiding in the trees beside the parking lot, Andrew tried to explain. Things had happened so fast.

“Charlie Spicer called me from Interlaken airport forty minutes ago. He’s on his way. Find somewhere secure to wait until he gets there. He’ll triangulate your position from your phone signal.”

“Are fools for going after her, but they’ll be all right,” Barrington said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“But why weren’t the police here earlier?” Andrew asked. “Why didn’t they stop Webb? Where are the MI6 field officers? They didn’t come!”

There was a short silence. “Later,” Barrington said. “We’ll talk about it all later.”

Andrew shoved his phone back inside his pocket. The sirens were loud now. He could see the flash of colored lights from the main road. Another few seconds, and the police would be streaming down to the Nest.

Through the trees, he could see a man moving from behind the rear wall of the Nest. He was staggering. Limping. He stepped into the moonlight and Andrew’s pulse rocketed. It was Pritt.

It was obvious the man was injured. He stumbled into the woods, reached into his pocket, pulled something out.

Three seconds later, Andrew saw movement in the shrubs on the other side of the parking lot. A shadow. It rose into the air. A black disc.

Running helped clear Will’s head. As his blood pumped harder, his thoughts stopped seething.

Elke had a good lead. She was almost back up at the main road. He and Gaia were racing through the fir trees lining the driveway. The ground was littered with branches. But this was no time to tread carefully. Will held the microwave weapon tightly. And he glanced up as suddenly, the Eagle swooped above their heads. It reached Elke in a second, then just . . . hovered.

Perhaps Barrington was waiting to get a clear shot, Will thought. Or perhaps he was worried that if he hit Elke with an electric bullet, he’d also fry the memory stick. But if he just hit her in the leg, at least it would bring her down.

“Not now!” Barrington said through clenched teeth. “Don’t you bloody jam up now!”

To get rid of the software gremlins, and to get the beak working, his only option was to try rebooting the system. It would take a good thirty seconds.

Barrington cursed. He had no choice. Elke Hahn was firmly in his sights. She was on the road, and she was running toward the Maserati.

Two fire engines. Three police cars. They came thundering down the driveway before screeching to a halt outside the Nest. Within seconds, a dozen police officers were staring up at the devastated Bubble. Smoke was pouring through the roof of the dining room, Andrew noticed. Obviously a fire was still burning in there somewhere.

Andrew backed farther into the woods, his eyes still fixed on Pritt. The man was sitting down, with his back against a trunk. His head was bent over what had to be the control pad for the Frisbee. What was he planning? Whatever it was, Andrew thought, it would be dangerous for Gaia and Will.

Andrew decided he had two options: Either he could try to use physical force to overcome Pritt and wrench away the control pad, or he could see whether it might be possible to intercept the wireless data stream, and hijack the Frisbee remotely.

They were at the main road. Fire engines and police cars had just raced down beside them. Ahead, they could see moonlight glinting off a wing mirror of Elke’s Maserati.

She was almost there. Soon she’d be behind the wheel. The Eagle was still just hovering. If Barrington didn’t want to shoot her, why didn’t he at least blast the tires?

He glanced up again. The Eagle was doing absolutely nothing. Then Will saw something else moving above the trees. A black disc. He stiffened. No. No. It couldn’t be.

What if he’d escaped from the kitchen the way they’d gone in? she thought. He might have run to safety. He might be controlling the Frisbee. She stared as it flipped on its side, started to spin, and headed right for Elke. “What if it hits the memory stick!” she hissed, then winced as a flash of white light whizzed through the air. White light. But the Frisbee shot red! Then she realized what was happening. The Eagle! It was firing!

Another flash. Tarmac smoked. And the Eagle swept on, toward Elke. The Frisbee hovered, then shifted. It started to spin, hot on the bird’s carbon-fiber tail.

Will and Gaia threw themselves down among the trees. Elke had seen the flash too. She was running backward now, facing them, her eyes fixed on the Eagle. She lifted her pistol.

“Now, Barrington!” Will urged quietly. “Do it now!” He squeezed his eyes shut. A red beam had just lit up the sky. The Frisbee was firing! When Will opened his eyes, he saw Elke crouching by the Maserati. She was still gripping the pistol. The Frisbee circled, and it started to arc back—not toward her, but right at the Eagle.

Another red beam flashed. A flurry of sparks exploded. The Eagle juddered, then it swept high before swerving and dropping like a stone. It fired as it fell. A hail of electric bullets filled the night air. The Frisbee fled. The Eagle raced after it.

Will could hardly believe it. Elke had her hand on the car door—she was about to get in—and the Eagle and the Frisbee were locked in combat!

The microwave weapon was fitted with sights. But in these conditions they were useless. The Frisbee was moving far too fast. It was impossible to track it, let alone hit it. If Will did fire, he’d risk catching the Eagle by mistake.

Down the road, Elke had stopped watching the robots, which were still absorbed in each other. She was yanking open the car door, about to drive away with the plans for cold fusion. Will couldn’t let her. He stepped out into the road. He was exposed, but he’d need a clear shot. He heard Gaia yell out behind him. A red laser beam flashed.

He didn’t respond. He had to concentrate. The moonlight was dim. But he’d shot an air rifle hundreds of times. In the garden of his old home in Dorset, he’d regularly hit a bull’s-eye just a hundredth of an inch across. All he had to do was breathe out, line up the target, and—

He staggered backward. The kick had been stronger than he’d expected. Then he dashed sideways, back to Gaia among the trees.

Will’s eyes flicked over to Elke. She seemed to be staring at the car. But had he hit it? If he had, the microwave beam would have turned the Maserati’s high-tech insides to mush. Elke wouldn’t even be able to start the engine.

Elke was getting in now. She slammed the door shut. Overhead, the Frisbee rocketed past, the Eagle right behind it. Will could only wait.

Two seconds later, Elke jumped out. She stood on the road, gun raised. She was squinting in their direction. Suddenly, she flinched as the Eagle dived from nowhere, a red beam slicing above its tail. As soon as the robots had passed, Elke turned and began to run.

Barrington’s jaws were clenched, his muscles like rocks. But he felt nothing. Heard nothing. The Music of the Western Isles was still echoing from the restaurant, but for Barrington it might as well have been playing on the moon. Every atom of his body was focused on the Eagle’s controls and on the video screen.

The Eagle’s cameras had picked up the red flash. Then the on-board impact sensors had fired. The laser had clipped the tip of the Eagle’s right wing. Enough to unsettle the bird. Barrington had to learn to compensate for the loss. It didn’t take long.

Now he caught glimpses of the countryside as the Eagle swooped and dived. He saw the Maserati, and Will and Gaia. And Elke. He had to stop that woman, but he was engaged in aerial combat. Barrington had no idea who was controlling the Frisbee, but he’d read the patent months ago. This was InVesta technology.

Suddenly he saw the Frisbee slicing back toward the Eagle. It was skimming the tops of the trees and turning fast, preparing to fire. Barrington waited until the last moment, then he sent the bird racing sideways.

Moves from World War II movies—it was all he had to go on. But when it came to agility, the old fighter planes had nothing on these robots. The Eagle could hover, stationary, upside down. She could spiral with ease. She could—yes, she could shoot electric bullets at the enemy! Barrington almost whooped as he saw the white bursts. But the Frisbee was still coming. He had missed!

Barrington sent the bird soaring. Her cameras showed stars. Then he folded her wings and brought her back. She was diving faster than a peregrine falcon, the quickest animal ever clocked in the air. Two hundred twenty miles per hour. The Eagle was a blur. She was closing in fast. She was right on target. The Frisbee was in range. FIRE! Barrington’s heart skipped.

The on-board impact sensors had registered nothing. But Barrington caught a glimpse of a branch. The Eagle was still flying! She’d entered the woods. Dead ahead was a black disc. The Frisbee. Still moving. Dammit. He tried to fix it in the Eagle’s high-tech sights.

Barrington urged the Eagle back to top speed. She was catching up. She was closing in! The Frisbee ducked east. It flipped on one side and slipped between two trunks. The Eagle followed. Barrington’s reflexes were lightning. His brain had a hotline to his hand. He fired! And he cursed. The Frisbee had unexpectedly right-angled.

It was burning up the air. Now it was cartwheeling, lasers shooting. Branches burned. A trunk was sliced in two. Barrington saw the tree start to topple. His hand jerked. He pulled the Eagle back. He flinched as another laser shot grazed the feathers on her head. Then the Frisbee vanished. It had swerved up behind a tree. Was it hiding in the branches?

This was turning into a dogfight. Though his bird was fast, she was being outmaneuvered. He had to give her a fighting chance. He had to lure that Frisbee back out of the woods.

Barrington sent the Eagle soaring high above the trees. He could see stars again. The silver moon.

He nudged the low-light camera down—and saw the Frisbee. Now Barrington cut the Eagle’s speed. She hovered. Ahead, the Frisbee started to rise from the fir trees. It was preparing to spin. It was going to take a shot. Then Barrington let her loose. She was fast as a catapult. He opened the beak. He was ready. FIRE!

Barrington’s heart pounded. What had happened? Where was the Frisbee? The faintest trace of bagpipe music entered his consciousness.

Barrington panned the Eagle’s cameras. Infrared showed nothing. Then the low-light cameras picked out a black shape. It was circular. And it was on the ground. The Frisbee. It was shuddering. It was down. “Yes!”

Gently now, Barrington pushed the controls, sending the Eagle in for a closer look. He’d do a quick fly-by, then he’d bring her right out—

Barrington’s spine seized. The cameras had just detected a red flash. The Frisbee was stirring. It was starting to rise. Had it been faking?

The Frisbee suddenly spun upward, faster than the Eagle’s cameras could track it. Barrington jerked the Eagle’s head and saw a rush of forest. Then the cameras shook violently. The impact sensors screamed. It was the strangest sensation—as though he himself were falling.