The post from Novak was unexpected, but Bowman had learned very quickly the Russian was full of surprises. That was why he’d been hired, after all.
But it could wait till after mission end. Novak had already missed the previous week’s deadline for final code leaks, and nothing he could offer now would help anyway. He probably just wanted more money. Bowman’s own deadline had been yesterday, leaving today for debugging only. Too late to incorporate any more information from Exphoria, and there didn’t seem much more to learn. His own work, combined with the leaked code he’d seen, would suffice. He did miss the Shoreditch office, and wished he could have stayed there to see out the mission, but comfort was for the weak. Only completion mattered. This place in Rotherhithe was fine, and he was glad of the foresight to take out a cash rental on it months ago, as a backup. But it was further out from the target than Shoreditch, and freezing cold.
More than anything, it was England’s cold he’d been unprepared for. Even during the summer, it was merely clement compared to the heat he was used to.
Thinking of home was a mistake. He struggled to shut down such thoughts. Memories of his parents, unbidden and unwanted, scratching at the edges of his awareness. Trying to overwhelm him. His mother, hanging in silence, her arms stiff and lifeless by her side. She opened her eyes to stare at him, asking without speaking, How could you let this happen, Daniel? He turned away, shaking. He had no answer.
All he had was now, this moment, this vengeance. Here, in London, not Hong Kong.
Get a grip, lad. His father, invisible and deafening. We didn’t raise you to be soft.
He took a deep breath, chanted a mantra, and cleared his mind. He was focused. He was in the moment. He got a grip.
The first wave, five quadcopters of varying design, rose quietly into the air at his command, fingers dancing over the keyboard of his Acer laptop, manipulating with practised ease the control program he’d spent so long perfecting. Each drone was different, but they were all fitted with identical low-slung cargo attachments. He let them hover at eye level and walked among the mismatched flock, triple-checking their cargo and flying condition. Get a grip.
The second wave consisted of four identical drones, with enclosed blades and sound bafflers that rendered them almost silent in flight. He’d removed all identifying marks from their exterior, leaving a jet-black body that would be invisible in the night sky. They sat patiently on the concrete floor, in formation and ready to rise at his command. To deliver the killing blow.
The endgame had begun, and Daniel Bowman smiled in the certain knowledge that as he spent the last weeks of his life in agony, the man from the market wouldn’t even know he was playing.