Sure Fire. Justin Richards
he could think of and reached into the open canister. “I think you should hurry.”
The sirens started – a sudden, high-pitched wail of sound. Dex gave John a thumbs-up and they ran for the door.
“That camera must be linked direct to the control room,” Dex said. “So the jammer didn’t work on it.”
They could hear the footsteps and shouts of guards behind them.
Dex was limping badly now and John had to help him along. “Leave me,” Dex said. “I’m only slowing you down.”
“I didn’t leave you in Afghanistan and I’m not leaving you now. I’ll throw you over the perimeter fence if I have to.”
Searchlights snapped on.
“They can’t shoot,” Dex gasped. “Not with all that fuel about.”
Before John could answer, there was a loud crack from behind them, and a bullet ricocheted off the concrete pavement close to their feet.
“Maybe someone should tell them that,” John said. “Come on!”
The security centre was in chaos. Uniformed guards shouted into phones and radios. People hurried from monitor to monitor, working the cameras. Then the door swung open and a man entered. The room went quiet.
“Tell those idiots to stop shooting,” the man said. He spoke with the trace of an Irish accent.
He did not speak loudly, but his words were clearly audible across the whole room. He was a short man, very thin, dressed in a simple dark sweater and jeans. His features were narrow and angular, and his hair was a grey crew-cut. There was a distinctive round scar under his left eye, faint white lines splaying out from it so the scar looked like a pale spider on the man’s face.
“I want those intruders caught,” the man ordered. “I want to know what they were doing and who sent them. I want to talk to them before they die.”
No one in the room doubted that the intruders would die – once the man got hold of them. His name was Ryan Stabb, but everyone called him Stabb. The name was short and brutal, like its owner.
“Why isn’t that camera working?” Stabb demanded, pointing at a screen of static. As he spoke, the screen cleared.
“Don’t know, sir,” the guard at the main console said. “They keep cutting out, just for a few seconds. It always happens when there’s a storm.”
“There isn’t a storm,” Stabb pointed out. “But there will be if you don’t get them. They must have a jammer. That’s why the screens cut out.” He leaned over the guard and jabbed a finger at one of the many monitors as it crackled to static. “That’s where they are. You can trace them by the cameras that are affected. Work out where they’re heading. And stop them.”
* * *
The intruders heard the barking before they saw the dark shape of the dog emerge from the gloom. It was bounding towards them, teeth glinting in the searchlights as it snapped its jaws in anticipation.
Dex swore, but John faced the dog and raised his arms. He gave a strange, high-pitched whistle. As he lowered his arms, the dog slowed. It stopped in front of John, panting heavily but no longer snapping. John stooped down beside the dog, reaching for its leather collar.
“Good boy!” John said. “I picked that up from an old Irishman who used to go to the same pub.”
“Hurry up,” Dex urged.
“All done,” John assured him. “Aren’t we, boy? Off you go.” He ruffled the dog’s fur and gestured for it to be on its way. The dog bounded off into the darkness.
“Right then, back this way, I think.” John headed back down the alley between several oil storage tanks.
“You’re almost there,” the guard said into the microphone. “Camera 11B just went. Looks like they’re making for the south exit gate. That or the kennels.” He turned to smile at Stabb. Stabb did not smile back. “They’re going at quite a lick. Must be sprinting along,” the guard said, turning back to the monitors.
“But they must know the main gates will be guarded,” Stabb said. “What are they playing at?” He frowned at the control console as another monitor snowed across. “What were they doing in the lab? Has it been searched?”
“They got out of there straight away, sir,” another guard said. “No point searching for them there.”
“Not for them,” Stabb said. “I want to know what they were doing.”
“Sabotage?” the guard asked.
“Search it,” Stabb told him. “That’s the only treated sample we have.” He considered a moment before deciding: “Pump it out. Get it to another storage tank outside the lab. Just in case.”
“Which tank, sir?”
“I don’t care,” Stabb said.
“Number three is empty and sterile,” the guard said. “I can work out which valves need opening.”
“Just do it,” Stabb told him. “Do it now.”
Further down the room, the guard at the main monitors said with satisfaction into the microphone: “That’s it. You’ve got them now. They’re coming right to you!”
The security guards had their weapons levelled. They could hear something moving, coming towards them out of the glare of searchlights. Moving fast.
“Ready, lads?” the leader asked.
“Ready for anything,” the man next to him said.
Then they both stared in astonishment as a shape appeared out of the glare and came towards them.
Following Stabb’s orders, a valve inside the laboratory was opened remotely from the security control room. Pale, viscous fluid slowly started to flow from one of the canisters, along the pipe and towards the junction where the black box was attached.
A cold fluorescent light flickered on inside the room as the guards entered.
“What the hell’s this?” a guard asked, bending to examine the black box.
“Don’t touch,” another warned.
“It’s all right. Doesn’t look like it’s been primed.”
“Anything could set it off. Remote trigger, change of temperature… Just be careful.”
The guard leaned forward to remove the black box from the pipe.
“A dog?”
Stabb stared at the image on the monitor. A security guard was holding a large Alsatian dog by its collar. In his other hand, the man was holding what looked like a wrist watch.
“This was strapped to its paw. I’ve turned it off now.”
Stabb said nothing. He was thinking. If the intruders were that clever, then they would have predicted every detail of how the guards would react. “Stop the flow,” he shouted. “Close the valves on the sample canisters – now!”
The pale fluid in the laboratory reached the open valve that led into the main pipeline.
As it flowed through, a tiny circuit in the black box attached to the outside of the same pipe registered the distinctive vibration in the metal of the pipe – a vibration that could only be caused by the movement of fluid under pressure. The circuit sent a signal to another component in the box.
The guard leaped back as the readout blinked into life. It showed a number: 10.
“What the…” The guard’s voice dried in his throat as 10 became 9.
Then he was running – grabbing his colleague by the arm and dragging him along towards the door.
8.