‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’ said Connor from the rear seat of the auto-rickshaw that they’d temporarily ‘borrowed’ from a backstreet dealer. The rickshaw was parked round the corner from the 1933 Building, far enough away not to draw attention but close enough to communicate with the transmitter once it was installed.

Zhen nodded nervously. ‘Neither of you can do this job. So I guess it’s down to me.’

She wore the familiar black-and-orange jacket of a Sherpa fast-food delivery boy. Her long hair was tucked inside the biker helmet and she carried a black thermabag containing several pots of noodles. Staying out of sight in the rickshaw’s rear cab, Connor and Amir had their baseball caps pulled down tight to the eyeline, their faces concealed behind pollution masks.

‘Test-1-2-3,’ whispered Amir into his head mic.

‘I hear you,’ said Zhen, tapping the side of the helmet on which Amir had inserted a discreet earpiece.

‘Good. I’ll guide you once you’re inside.’ Amir studied a blueprint of the Hive on his laptop’s screen, detailing the layout of the building, its network of ventilation shafts and the CO₂ fire system that protected the array of computer servers. Then he pulled up a second window, a video feed showing Connor’s masked face in close-up and real-time.

‘Whoa, look away, Zhen – his face’ll crack the screen!’ joked Amir.

Connor elbowed his friend in the ribs as Zhen bent her gaze towards Amir instead. ‘Good thing your face is covered too, Amir.’

‘Well, at least we know the contact-lens camera is operational.’ Amir tweaked the focus and colour contrast of the image. ‘How does the contact lens feel, Zhen?’

She blinked several times. ‘A little uncomfortable but OK.’

Their plan was bold and crazy. Rather than trying to sneak in, the idea was for Zhen to walk straight up to the front entrance in the guise of a delivery boy.

Connor slid the tiny transmitter into the lower seam of her jacket. ‘Good luck, Zhen. If the situation gets out of control, just run for it.’

Anxiously clasping the thermabag to her chest, Zhen responded with a hesitant smile, then turned and strode off with her food delivery. The two of them watched her progress on the laptop as she rounded the corner, crossed the street and approached the imposing concrete entrance to the Hive.

Amir put his hand over the mic. ‘This is a stupid plan,’ he hissed to Connor. ‘Zhen isn’t trained for this.’

‘But neither of us look Chinese,’ Connor reminded his friend. ‘She can infiltrate Equilibrium without raising suspicion.’

‘Would you be willing to bet your life on that?’ Amir pointed to the video feed showing two security guards intercepting Zhen by the front doors.

Connor’s heart was in his mouth as their guide was questioned. The conversation was captured by the hidden mic in the metal zipper of her jacket and translated in real-time over the laptop’s speakers.

‘What’s in the bag?’ grunted one of the guards.

‘Noodle delivery,’ replied Zhen.

The guard ordered her to open the bag. Then he searched the contents, opening each pot. ‘Smells good,’ he said. ‘Who’s the delivery for?’

‘Zhao Wu, Research and Development Department,’ replied Zhen, using the name Amir had gleaned from a cybernetics file.

The other guard now patted her down. There was a scrunch as his hand passed over the zipper mic. While the helmet concealed her earpiece, Connor was growing ever more concerned that the transmitter would be discovered. Not able to see where the guard’s hands were going, he held his breath in dread anticipation.

The first guard glared at Zhen. ‘Are you winking at me?’

The video feed flickered as Zhen blinked rapidly, the contact lens clearly causing her irritation. ‘Errm … no, just a bit of dirt in my eye.’

The other guard completed his body search and stepped away. Satisfied she was clean, he waved her through. Connor resumed breathing. Fortune had been on their side this once, the transmitter too small to be felt amid the jacket’s padding.

Zhen entered through the glass doors and approached the long sleek reception desk. The man behind it observed her with indifference.

‘Noodle delivery for Zhao Wu,’ she announced.

The man checked his computer, then narrowed his eyes at Zhen. ‘Zhao Wu isn’t working today.’

‘Then … I guess you have free noodles!’ said Zhen, plonking the pots and several pairs of chopsticks on his desk. ‘It’s already been paid for.’

The receptionist stuck out his lower lip and inspected the closest pot, giving it a sniff.

‘Chicken,’ said Zhen helpfully. As the man grabbed a pair of chopsticks and dug in, she asked, ‘Can I use your toilet?’

‘This isn’t a public convenience,’ said the man snootily, slurping up a long strand of noodle and dismissing her with a wave of his chopsticks.

‘But I gave you free noodles,’ she protested.

The receptionist ignored her and continued to wolf down his food.

Zhen hesitated, unsure what to do next.

‘You have to get into that toilet,’ Amir whispered to Zhen via the mic. ‘It’s our only access to the ground-floor server closet.’

Connor and Amir saw Zhen’s hands reach up and remove her helmet.

‘Don’t show your face!’ cried Connor. But it was too late. He could picture her long black hair falling down over her shoulders. Now her face was in full view of the CCTV cameras, Equilibrium could identify her.

But her actions had the desired effect. The receptionist’s indifferent attitude instantly changed. A cloying smile now graced his greasy lips.

‘Please,’ asked Zhen, her tone taking on a kittenish quality.

‘Why, of course,’ said the receptionist, only too keen to help the pretty young girl before him. ‘Take your time. It’s over there.’ He jutted his greasy chin in the direction of a white door.

The man’s eyes lingered on Zhen as she hurried over to the ladies’ washroom, entered and locked the door behind her. There were three cubicles, a basin, a hand dryer and a full-length mirror. But there didn’t appear to be any cameras in the room.

‘You’ve got maybe three or four minutes before the receptionist starts getting suspicious,’ said Amir. He studied the blueprint of the building on his laptop. ‘Can you see the ventilation grille in the top-right corner of the ceiling?’

‘Yes,’ replied Zhen, hurrying to the far cubicle and clambering on top of the toilet seat. She unclipped the shoulder strap from the thermabag and used the metal fastener to prise open the cover, the grille swinging down on its hinges.

‘Now you need to climb up and work your way two rooms across.’

‘Good thing Zhen’s doing this,’ said Connor as their guide pulled herself up and into the narrow shaft. ‘I don’t think I’d fit in there.’

They watched the screen go dark as Zhen entered the duct and began to crawl along. A rectangle of muted light appeared ahead as she wormed her way towards the first ventilation grille. In the room below they caught a glimpse of a man hunched over his computer. Zhen carried on, the screen going black again, only the sound of her breathing audible as she shuffled along the shaft.

‘One minute gone,’ said Connor.

Zhen came to the second grille and peered down. A small room could be seen with a tower of computer servers and switch panels. She forced open the ventilation panel, it swung free and she dropped to the floor.

‘Good work,’ said Amir. ‘Now take the transmitter and plug it into a free socket in the back of a patch panel.’

Through the contact-lens camera, they saw Zhen remove the transmitter from her jacket’s seam and approach the back of the server tower. A huge network of cables snaked between the multiple patch panels.

‘There aren’t any free sockets,’ whispered Zhen as her fingers sifted through the cables.

‘Then pull out a patch cable and stick the transmitter there,’ instructed Amir.

‘Which one?’

‘Any one.’

‘Two minutes,’ warned Connor, checking his watch.

Zhen yanked out a cable and replaced it with the transmitter device. Then she hurried back to the ventilation duct. ‘I can’t reach the vent!’ she muttered in panic.

‘Find something to stand on,’ suggested Amir. They could only watch as she frantically looked around. Then in one corner she spotted a large bin and positioned it upside down beneath the grille. Stepping on top, she reached up but was still only just too short. Zhen made a jump for the opening, her fingers catching hold of the lip of the shaft. With grunts and strains, she managed to pull herself up.

‘Well done,’ said Connor as they listened to her panting in the echoing darkness of the ventilation duct. ‘But you need to hurry. Three minutes are up.’

‘What about the bin?’ she asked, glancing down at the floor where it lay tipped over for anyone to see.

‘Nothing you can do about that,’ said Amir. ‘Close the grille and go.’

The video feed jerked and jolted as Zhen wriggled her way back towards the washroom. As she neared its ventilation opening, they could hear banging. The pounding grew more insistent with each passing second.

‘Hey! You still in there?’ came a shout from the other side of the washroom door.

Zhen slid out of the ventilation duct and landed on the toilet seat. ‘Yes!’ she called, pushing the grille back into place and flushing the cistern. ‘Be out in a minute.’

She dusted down her jacket, shook the dirt from her hair and rinsed her hands of grime. Then, grabbing the thermabag just as the door was remotely unlocked, she emerged from the washroom to be greeted by the scowling face of the receptionist.

‘What took you so long?’ he demanded.

‘Sorry,’ she said, clasping her stomach and grimacing. ‘Must’ve been those noodles I had last night.’

The man’s expression morphed to one of queasiness as he examined his own pot of noodles.

Zhen left in a hurry, not looking back or at the security guards as she exited the building. By the time she returned to the rickshaw, Amir had already linked up the laptop to the transmitter.

‘Great job,’ said Amir. ‘We’re in!’

Connor grinned at Zhen and patted her on the shoulder. ‘You’d make a fine spy,’ he said.

‘I think I’d rather be a bodyguard,’ she replied, trying to steady her trembling hands. ‘Less dangerous.’

‘Not in my experience,’ said Connor.

Amir tapped away at the keyboard. ‘OK, I’ve full access to Equilibrium’s databases and security systems.’

On the screen he pulled up a matrix of CCTV feeds from within the Hive. White-coated technicians and doctors could be seen scurrying around like lab rats along the warren of concrete corridors and ‘air bridges’. Rows of unidentified and identical white doors were kept under constant surveillance, checking people in and out; yet none of the rooms behind those doors appeared to have cameras, their secrets remaining secret. A view of the lobby area revealed the receptionist tucking into another pot of noodles at his desk, greed obviously having overcome his nausea. And, in another frame, a small cell-like room held a silver-haired man who lay shuddering on a cruelly narrow bench.

Connor peered closer. ‘That’s Colonel Black!’