BURROUGHING DEEP

SOMERSET, ENGLAND
SEPTEMBER, 2007

“THIS IS CRAZY.”

Standing just within the cover of a thicket of woodland, Jax peered across the open field that was swathed dark grey in the starlight. Two days had passed since their encounter with the teeleoth, and in that time Monarch had listened to Eastwood’s proposal with interest. Which was why they had come to find themselves in this southwestern county in rural England.

Zooming in with the visor that peeked out from beneath her cowling, she could see the grass was kept closely cropped to avoid anyone sneaking across the field, as they planned to do. Adjusting the lens to penetrate the surface, she saw a lattice of pressure sensitive plates extending the full breadth and width of the grassland. The long two-storey bunker complex on the far side of the field prized security above all else.

This far away from metropolitan London, and on the outskirts of a backwater village, visitors stood out a mile. Even in the middle of the day, the steady stream of vehicles that came and went had one way in and one way out, past several manned checkpoints on the long, private driveway that was the only break in an otherwise perfect mile-wide span of emerald green that ringed the complex.

Now, past midnight, the small crew of Longcoats had watched the last of the late night workers shuttle home and a few cleaning crews arrive. Otherwise the only movement was from the rotating stalks of security cameras and the red flicker of ground level high-intensity lasers that served the dual purpose of grass trimming and intruder detection.

Standing next to Jax, Lion tapped buttons on his forearm display while Castle stood further back, watering a small tree as he nonchalantly chewed gum. Eastwood was staring intently at the buildings.

He knew this place. He knew what lay inside and where to find the materials that would help the Longcoats in their work. What he did not know was how he knew these things. How had he known to find a place in a town he never heard of, at a site that proved to be fuzzed out on satellite maps when they had checked? How had he known that this particular two-meter patch of ground in this specific copse of trees was the only camera blind spot in the whole five-kilometer perimeter of the complex?

Of course if he was wrong, they would all find themselves in jail before morning. If Lion allowed that to happen, which Eastwood doubted. Lion struck him as someone who would fight to stay off the grid. He would not, could not, allow their anonymity to be compromised.

Nor if detained could they expect any subsequent help from the Foundation or other Longcoats. They were ciphers. The Longcoats were expendable, which meant that he was expendable.

He would have to ensure that they emerged unscathed from what they were about to attempt. Not because he had suddenly developed deep feelings for his new companions but because there was something vital he had to do beyond this new affiliation. Like so many other memories this too remained tantalizingly out of mental reach. He knew by now that constantly straining to remember would only stress him; the result would be a headache and not revelation. Much better to concentrate on the task at hand.

As he pointed he shared the thoughts that tumbled free from the unknown vault in his mind:

“The main gate brings people in and out. You can see it from here. But there’s a service road that runs around back. Single-lane. Unlike the main entrance where there’s always someone on duty, back road security is entirely automated.”

Studying the industrial complex, Lion was less than enthused. Was he risking too much on the word of a newcomer?

Yet this was a newcomer who had defeated not one but two lethal Inter-D intruders. While there remained much about him they didn’t know, he had already saved lives. If there was one thing Lion had learned from the Foundation that had anointed him one of only a dozen cell leaders in London, it was to go with his mind instead of his gut. Responding to emotions got you in trouble. Sober detachment and careful analysis was what solved problems.

Right now the Longcoats had such a problem: confronting dangerous intruders without adequate tools. Eastwood insisted he could help. In fact, if Eastwood knew as much about this place as he did about the secrets only a Longcoat should know, much good might come of it. In which case the Foundation that sponsored them would be pleased.

A dubious Jax contemplated the dark-windowed industrial complex. “Assuming we can get inside, what then?”

Raising an arm, she used an opposing finger to flick through onscreen folders that revealed the inventory of her coat’s Q-Pocs. It showed she held a veritable Aladdin’s Cave of replacement parts, batteries, ladders, ropes, pressure shears, prybars, and other assortments waiting to be called upon as needed. Her favorites were the stunergy pistols which were easy to use, light to carry, and allowed opponents to walk away unharmed after suffering a sufficiently disabling dose of unconsciousness.

“Sure, nobody will be able to see us, and the inside cameras will only record what looks like ripples if anyone’s watching closely enough,” she said, “But that won’t help us get past these external security barriers.”

Eastwood simply shrugged. “I don’t know. I just have this feeling that once we’re in, everything will work out.”

Lion frowned. “Gosh, golly gee,” he mocked. “That’s real reassuring, Eastwood.”

The younger boy looked up at him. “No? Neither is the existence of Longcoats, something called the Cassandra Foundation, predators from other dimensions, and you telling me that the world is coming to an end in 2012. But you guys believe in all that and are dealing with it. I figure you can believe in me for a moment.”

The group leader and his companions exchanged glances. Jax nodded, then Tucker. Castle half patted, half wiped his hand down Eastwood’s shoulder as he rejoined the group from the shrubs. “I’m in,” he grinned.

Lion looked back at their young ward. “You worry me, Eastwood. I have enough worries. But Monarch says the Foundation tells us to not look a gift horse in the mouth and to use any tools that come our way.”

Eastwood listened quietly, not in the least offended by being referred to as a tool.

“So we’re going to take this as far as we can.” He nodded at the building across the road. “You say you can get us inside. You say that once inside you know about devices that might be of use to us, though you have no idea what or where they are. Okay, I hope this factory makes more than cream biscuits, because we couldn’t find this place mentioned anywhere. That’s probably reason enough to go in.” He paused a moment. “You really better know what you’re doing.”

Lion’s eyes never left Eastwood’s as he toggled a stud on his cuff and instructed the team to turn on their shoulder microcams to record the mission. In an instant a flexible metallic cowl snapped up from his collar to enshroud his head. From under his sleeves, row upon row of the same material knitted downwards to cover his hands like a glove. He vanished from sight as the pin cameras on the far side of his outfit projected what they saw to pixels on the near side.

The other Longcoats activated their own invisoflage, then all triggered the rings around their ankles. As Mercury Boots lifted them all a foot into the air, they angled their ankles forward and moved silently across the grassy expanse, never coming close to tripping the pressure plates or the shin-level laser beams. Although their visors revealed each other as blue shades, to the dozens of camera sentries they were completely invisible.

Past the grass they arrived at a double line of three-meter high chain-link fences topped with spiraling spikes. Through the channel ran a single cord that on contact would send an alarm to the complex’s central security node. The fences were too high for their Mercury Boots to hop. Connecting the two fences was a chain-link passage with an automated access gate at each end that led to a forecourt beyond. The electronics could not be bribed: no prison boasted greater security.

Alighting on a concrete drainage tube that bordered the field, the team hung back as Eastwood approached the first gate. When he pressed the request panel the central gate immediately lit up like noonday under a dozen halogen suns. Even though they were invisible, his companions flinched at the sudden eruption of light. In contrast the younger boy waited patiently as his hand was scanned and the first gate slid aside.

“Hurry!” he told them as he raced through.

Before they caught up he slapped his open palm against the next gate’s sensor panel. There was a brief pause. Then the interior gate opened as the one they had come through slid shut behind them. Appearing as an amorphous blob of distorted air, the five Longcoats charged into the inner parking area. For fear of registering on any hidden sound detectors they resisted the urge to ask how Eastwood’s handprint had become an access key.

DEEP WITHIN THE COMPLEX one of two guards on duty at the central security node frowned as he stared at one of the numerous monitors that surrounded him and his partner.

“Hey, did you see that?”

His partner looked up from the eReader he had been perusing. “See what?”

The guard who had spoken indicated the monitor screen. “Exterior, Service Lot Twelve. Supply gates just opened.”

His associate frowned, quickly and efficiently checked a series of readouts. “Doesn’t show anyone or anything coming in.” He automatically backed up the recording. “View is blank. Glitch six of the evening. It’s nothing.”

Indeed, the gates under discussion had already closed. A rapid check of the parking area revealed nothing untoward. Puzzled but reassured, the first guard relaxed.

“I guess you’re right. Just a short. Backup resolved the problem.”

Nodding, the other man resumed his reading. “Don’t bother me unless you actually see something, okay?”

“Yeah, right.” The first guard went silent. The brief incident had unsettled him. But not sufficiently to raise an alert.

HIS SHIELDING COAT secure around him, Eastwood led the way to a back dock. This was where supplies for the complex arrived and finished goods departed. How he knew this he did not know, just as he didn’t know how he had successfully bypassed the automated security system at the gate. Later, he would have time to ponder why.

Another handprint panel was set alongside the heavy metal door. Above was another camera that ignored them as he pressed his open palm against the softly glowing panel and activated the door.

They were in.

“What now?” Though he could not see details of the blue shape that had whispered, Eastwood recognized Jax’s curt voice. He also knew her smell, a realization that unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

Wait! Were there any odor scanners in this sector of the building? What about air density sensors? His store of knowledge about the complex seemed endless even if its source continued to elude him. He felt certain they could proceed without concern.

“This way.” He stared down the corridor off to his left.

Protected from notice by their unique attire they raced with impunity past camera after camera until Eastwood finally found the stairwell he had seen in his mind.

“The lab we’re after is three floors down,” he informed his companions. Jax made a face.

“Wait. Three floors down?”

Eastwood nodded. “This place is like an iceberg. Most of it lies below eye level. There are actually four underground layers; three for labs and staging, and the lowest for heating, air scrubbers, off-grid power and engineering.”

“And you know this,” Jax prompted him, “how? Oh, of course.” She keened her head to one side with a mocking smile, visible to his eyes as blue light. “You don’t know.”

Lion was searching their immediate vicinity. “Where’s the lift?”

“On the far wall,” Eastwood pointed his chin, “but if we activate an unauthorized elevator it’ll trigger a dioxide mist that will knock us out until guards arrive. We’ll take the stairs instead.”

Gesturing at a metal door set in the nearby wall, he turned to Castle and said, “Cough up.”

Chewing since their arrival, Castle pulled a gum wrapper from his pocket. Quickly folding the paper into a thin silver tube, he bent it into a U-shape then gingerly slid one long end into the top slit between door and frame, until he felt it catch. He then pulled the plug of white gum from his mouth and pressed it over the short end of the silver strip, fixing it to the doorframe. Carefully he tugged the metal door open with one hand, and as it cleared the silver paper, he stuck that foil directly onto the hidden voltage plate with a second and third glob, then pulled the door open wide.

With continuity of current preserved by the foil wrapper, the alarms didn’t sound when the door broke its connection.

“Just like you said.” Castle giggled at Eastwood as he swung through the doorway. The others followed.

Like everywhere else, security cameras in the stairwell failed to see the youths vaulting down half flights of stairs at breakneck speed; failed to note their feet never quite touching the corrugated steps, or that their descent was in near silence save the rustle of leather and the whoosh of compressed air.

On the landing between the second and third sublevels, Eastwood paused and backed up. There was no door here between floors, just a blank wall set with a white rectangle like so many other emergency lighting strips they had passed in the stairwell. But this was no ordinary light box; composed of filamentatious quartz, it was stronger than the brick that surrounded it.

Stepping forward and rising on tiptoe Eastwood opened both eyes wide and peered into it.

The translucent panel noted his proximity and became a clear window, now suffused by green light. Lasting only a second or two, it was followed by a click. Settling back onto his feet Eastwood raised his hands to the blank wall and pushed. A door-sized panel opened inward. His companions gaped at him.

It was Castle who broke the silence: “That’s a retinal scan. And this is a top-secret installation. Just who are you, kid?”

Eastwood sighed. “Look, I’ve told you: I don’t know how any of this is working.”

“I’ll settle for the fact it is working.” Tucker spoke through gritted teeth as she pushed past the others to examine their new surroundings.

The long, windowless room suspended between two official levels of the building was obviously a secret laboratory within the laboratory. As recessed lighting came up, they could see it was unoccupied and arranged like a production line.

At one end, dozens of darkened computer monitors littered desks and tables like dead leaves dropped from a giant alien tree. Surrounding them were floor to ceiling glass panes on which were scribbled formulae and diagrams in red, blue and black marker pens.

Further along were neatly stacked boxes overflowing with all manner of raw technology, a mix between an electronics shop and a mechanic’s garage where half assembled experiments hung suspended on gantry hooks and conveyor belts, which all led to the far end where fully assembled machines rested in open shipping crates, swathed in plastic sheeting and bubble wrap.

“I don’t see any security cameras,” Jax reported.

Eastwood had already powered down his coat. “This section isn’t monitored. Nobody gets this far who isn’t already cleared. There are plenty of alarms that respond to emergencies though. Don’t break anything and there won’t be an emergency.”

After studying their surroundings for a moment he led the way toward the back of the lab. Meanwhile Castle slid the door panel back into place to mask their entrance should any guards make their rounds up the stairs.

“What are we looking for?” Lion asked him impatiently.

“Only some small thermonuclear weapons.” At the look that came over his companions’ faces it was Eastwood’s turn to smile. He was pleased with his joke, and the fact he could summon long words and know what they meant. “Just kidding,” he said easily, then as a light turned green: “Ah, I think this is it.”

Responding to his handprint, the doors of a steel wall cabinet snapped open. Layered on the smoothly uncoiling racks within were a number of devices, each one secured with a magnetic lock. One by one they released as he pressed his right index finger to the touchpad that was integrated into each lock. He passed them to his companions. Tucker admired the pistol-like device she had been handed.

“Looks bad. What does it do?”

As he continued to extract and hand over more of the units, Eastwood conveyed the words that spilled from his mind, hearing them for the first time along with his companions.

“The American and British military have been working with microwaves for years. The Americans even have a wave cannon mounted on a truck that makes skin feel like it’s burning, even though it’s not. They used it for crowd control in Iraq.” He held up one of the pistols. “This lab has been working on miniaturizing a similar device while greatly increasing the power.” He indicated a recessed control on the left side of the pistol he was holding.

“You can adjust the intensity here. At full power a short burst will fry anything organic or destroy any electronics that aren’t appropriately hardened.” His grin returned. “At the lowest setting it makes really good popcorn. The beauty of it is that unlike a lot of contemporary weapons its use leaves no residue of any kind and there’s little or no damage to the surrounding environment. Nothing blows up, there are no bullet holes, no craters. And it’s dead quiet.”

His tone turned suddenly modest and introspective. “Because of that I thought these might be really useful in your—in our work. If we had these against the teeleoth, we could have literally fought fire with fire.”

Tucker held her weapon up to the light. “Pretty sharp, kid. What happens when the power supply runs down?”

Holding his own pistol upside down, he flipped open the panel on the bottom of the butt to reveal adjustable pins. “You plug it into the nearest wall socket to recharge. Any plug, any current. There’s an internal transformer.” He looked suddenly uncertain. “This Cassandra Foundation you work for gives you light-bending coats and other advanced gear. How come you don’t have bigger weapons?”

She shrugged. “Our mandate is to push the strays back where they belong, and only engage if they prove a threat. Our gear reflects that. But I bet if we asked for these, they’d have found a way to get them to us.” She smiled wanly. “But who knew this type of weapon existed?”

Lion caught her gaze, their eyes both shifting in Eastwood’s direction. “Yes, who knew?” he said slowly.

Though the cabinet held a dozen of the weapons they took only eight, enough to equip their squad of seven and put a spare into their own lab for reverse engineering. Their London base had some bright kids on secondment from Longcoat detachments in India and China, individuals who had a gift for taking things apart and reproducing them in volume.

When they were finished Eastwood shut the doors, which relocked automatically, and they started back the way they had come. Glancing over a shoulder, Tucker noticed that the newcomer was hanging back.

“C’mon, Eastwood. We got what we came for.” Seeing the look on his face she added, “Didn’t we?”

“I guess we . . .” He paused. “This all looks so familiar.”

“Well, duh,” Jax jeered. “Looks like you’ve been here before, alright. Was daddy a researcher here? Or were you a hacker in your past life? I just wish you could remember how and why you know all this.”

“Yeah,” Tucker added, “though for now I’m pretty happy to settle for the new toys. They will be helpful, Eastwood.”

“It just seems that there’s so much more to be learned here,” he murmured.

Lion had reached the door and opened it slightly to check the stairwell beyond. Everything Eastwood claimed thus far had turned out to be true, but that did not mean he was ready to forswear the group’s normal cautionary procedures. The way was clear, the overhead lights still dimmed to save electricity. He activated his coat.

“Any reason we can’t make further sorties?” he inquired.

Eastwood brightened visibly at the notion. “No. Sure we can get in again. That’s a great idea, Lion!”

“I have them occasionally,” the group leader replied dryly. “Coming back here again might help us both. Besides, you look like this lab is your home away from home.”

“He is kind of like a robot at times.” Jax glanced over at their young guide as the four of them exited the weapons lab and sprinted upstairs to the surface. “You’re not some cyborg they made here, are you?” Reaching over, she punched him in the shoulder. He yelped most convincingly.

“Nope,” declared Tucker as they prepared to enter the corridors and go silent. “He’s just a confused little sweetheart.”

In front of her Lion flinched slightly at the use of the affectionate. As group leader he ought to be above such things. But as a young man not yet twenty who had grown used to being looked up to and admired, he was not. He said nothing, however, and once more allowed the mystifying newcomer to take the lead through the labyrinthine corridors and out past the razor wire that surrounded this unpretentious and unsignposted facility.

“WE’VE HAD another break-in?”

Alex McGregor, Burroughs Labs’ Chief of Security, stood facing the open door. Within the underground vault were kept the alpha versions of the laboratory’s especially sensitive projects. Not sensitive because they were likely to break, but sensitive because the less the public knew about them, the better.

Accompanied by lab chief Dimitri Hemmel, he entered the laboratory vault and paused before a shelf labeled ‘Detrusion Project XII’. Atop the shelf was a small case of transparent polycarbonate. The case was empty.

It contained, or had contained, two-dozen small cylinders not much bigger than a fingernail. Each tube represented thousands of hours of development. The extraordinary little batteries were being built to power military communications in the field for weeks on end without the need for troops to recharge. Substituting another, far more common element for the rarer lithium to be found in similar batteries, they were less prone to overheating and designed to last far longer. The battlefield applications were numerous, the commercial potential profound.

There wasn’t a military or industrial concern on the planet that wouldn’t have given anything to gain access to the battery’s design specifications. Likewise there was no limit to what outsiders would pay for an actual sample.

So who had paid for the theft of all twelve prototypes? That was a question for the industrial forensics specialists, McGregor knew. As Security Chief, he was far more interested in how the vault had been entered again. Not to mention the matter of the lock on the polycarbonate box itself, to which only three company scientists supposedly had access.

All three, including Hemmel, had been subjected to rigorous questioning. Despite the exhaustive interrogation none of the three had protested at their treatment. A bad sign, he knew. It meant that all three were likely innocent. It meant that he had no leads.

Coupled with last month’s disappearance of the microwave pistols from the same complex, it also meant that his job was in jeopardy.

He had not risen to his present position by being a careless man. If anything, his reputation for being overly cautious, plotting every conceivable way to beat his own security measures and then plugging those gaps, had earned him the industry’s accolades. Since the theft of the pistols he had personally reviewed every security protocol, every personnel dossier, every unexpected means of entry. He had even assigned the task to several think-tank teams in different countries, concerned that as designer of the security systems he might be too close to the problem to see something obvious.

The results were discouraging. No omission could be found. No method of illegal entry presented itself.

How did one go about rectifying an oversight that could not be identified?

“When was the last time you yourself saw or worked with the batteries?”

Hemmel had a bad habit of cracking his knuckles when he was nervous. In the confines of the vault the sound was doubly irritating.

“Two days ago.” He pointed at the case. “They were all in there two days ago. Every one of them. I know; I counted.”

“So you were the last one to see and work with them, then?”

The scientist nodded, sipping at coffee long cold in the cup. “My team was together, yes. The devices are fully functional already, but we think we can reduce the weight even further by shaving the casing.” He looked helpless. “Now the whole program is going to be set back by months while we develop a new set. Not to mention how this impacts my budget.” He eyed the Security Chief. “Who do you think took them, Alex?”

McGregor shook his head irritably. “We haven’t a clue. The security recordings don’t show a single unauthorized entry. Not even a mechanical mouse could escape scrutiny.”

Sometimes commercial espionage was carried out by remote-controlled ‘mice’ that scuttled on caterpillar tracks, with extendable arms and tiny cameras. They could carry off a battery or two, but not all of them.

Hemmel’s response was characteristically analytic. “No matter how strong their servos it would take several to make off with all the power cells, not to mention lifting the guns.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” With a sigh McGregor turned to leave.

The eyes of the physicists, engineers, and technicians in the outer lab followed the two men as they exited the vault, but no one said anything. All were aware of the disappearances of valuable company material. None had been able to offer any ideas as to how the thefts had been carried out.

“If we only had some idea where the stolen material was going,” Hemmel murmured as the two men headed for a lift.

“Company really wants to know that. So does the government. Me, I’m a lot more interested in the how.” McGregor looked over at the scientist. “But just to keep you in the loop, Hemmel, you should know that we’ve put out discrete inquiries. The Russians, the Chinese, even Interpol. Evasiveness would be a clue in itself. But the responses are of bafflement. Nobody knows what the hell we’re talking about. Even the usual government and private sources draw a blank. CIA, FSB, Mossad, the S.A.S—it’s a classic case of nobody knows nothing. Except in this instance it appears to be true.”

Hemmel considered as they entered the lift and started toward the surface. “A private concern, then. Another company.”

McGregor looked dubious. “To penetrate the kind of security we have here at Burroughs would require techniques of which we and every one of those other state agencies is presently unaware. Something new.” He was first out of the lift when it stopped at the surface.

“So what are you going to do now?” Hemmel asked him.

“Keep digging. Show I followed due diligence procedure looking for a breakdown in our sec-tech. Continue putting pressure on those who, however absurd it appears, might be in a position to compromise lab security. Maybe someone will crack. Oh, and one other thing.” He paused as the two men prepared to go their separate ways. “You’ll probably get a visit from GRID.”

Hemmel looked bemused. “I’m familiar with general security procedures, of course, but that’s a name I don’t recognize. Who is he?”

“Not who. What. One of Burroughs Labs most important customers, if somewhat covert. They pay a premium and pay on time. You’ve probably developed electronic or optical products for them without ever knowing it.”

“Really,” Hemmel murmured, “I’ve never heard of them. And we never deal direct with customers in this lab. Let them talk to their account manager.”

“Yes, well I doubt it will play out that way. These are heavy guys, like a global version of the CIA. They usually deal through third parties, but this is the type of gaffe that will probably draw direct contact as they try to find out why some of their special devices are now in the hands of someone else. I expect they’ll be quite thorough.” He smiled flatly. “That’s security at work.”

Hemmel nodded slowly, his mind turning. “I do trust we won’t end up in orange jumpsuits over this. You’ll be posting round-the-clock guards in the most sensitive parts of the complex, like this lab for instance?”

The Security Chief nodded. “Of course, Dimitri. If the cameras aren’t seeing anything, maybe good old fashioned human beings with a K9 detachment will be harder to fool. I know it’s a nuisance but they’ll have strict orders just to watch and not to touch anything. My people are well-trained, the dogs even more so: they’ll keep out of people’s way. And they’ll watch over you if we have any customer site visits.”

The scientist wrung his fingers until they cracked some more, nodding vigorously. “Good. That should make a difference. So what about the equipment that already disappeared? Will we get it back?”

McGregor let out a grunt. “You have any coins on you?”

Hemmel was taken aback. “Some. Why?”

“Find a wishing well. Drop them in. Make a wish.” He turned to depart. “I have a feeling that’s the only way you’re ever likely to see your missing products again.”