Frankenstein laughed.
“This is absolutely—”
“I’m not talking to you,” interrupted Larissa. “I’m talking to Jamie.”
Jamie looked at the angry grey-green face looming at them from the front seat of the car, then at Larissa’s calm expression.
“And?” he asked. “Was he telling the truth?”
Larissa nodded.
“He was. I know exactly where they are.”
Morris craned his head round from the driver’s seat.
“How can you possibly expect us to believe you?” he asked.
“I don’t expect anything,” she replied. “Take us back to base and get a satellite over Northumberland. I can show you with your own eyes.”
It took them no more than ninety seconds to cross the distance from the authorisation tunnel to the wide semi-circle of tarmac in front of the hangar, but in that time a welcoming committee had gathered to meet them.
Morris brought the SUV to a halt, and the four passengers stepped out of the car. Admiral Seward was the first to reach them, his face so red it looked as though he might burst.
“I don’t know where to start,” he said, his voice tight with fury. “In my twenty years in this Department I’ve never seen such insubordination, such flagrant recklessness, or such godforsaken outright stupidity!”
“Sir—” began Morris, but Seward shouted him down.
“Don’t say anything!” he bellowed. “Not a damn word, do you hear me? Any of you!”
He waved a hand and two Operators appeared alongside him.
“Take her back to her cell, immediately,” Seward said. “If she so much as blinks without your permission, destroy her.”
One of the Operators drew his T-Bone and pointed it at Larissa’s chest. The second hauled the detonator roughly out of Jamie’s hand, then placed his other hand on her lower back and shoved her towards the hangar.
Jamie threw a desperate look at Frankenstein, who widened his eyes in a clear warning not to say or do anything. Instead, he spoke to the Director.
“Admiral,” he said. “She says she has the location of Alexandru Rusmanov. Let her show us before she goes back to her cell.”
“Are you telling me what to do, Colonel?” asked Seward, his voice cold.
“No, sir,” replied Frankenstein. “I’m just saying that you shouldn’t let our actions allow a Priority A1 target to get away. Sir.”
Seward stepped forward and stared up into the monster’s face. “Do you have any idea how serious this is?” he asked. “I can have you court-martialled for what you have done today. I can make sure you spend the rest of your life behind bars.”
“Believe me, sir,” the monster replied. “I’m well aware of the likely consequences.”
They stared at each other, then Seward shouted for the Operators who were holding Larissa to stop.
“Five minutes,” the Director said. “Then she goes back to her cell. Whether she shows us anything or not.”
Admiral Seward stood in the middle of the Department 19 Ops Room, looking up at the huge screen that covered one wall. Frankenstein, Jamie and Morris sat silently at three of the empty desks, waiting. Larissa stood against the far wall, the two Operators training their weapons on her. She had described the location to a young Communications Officer who was now tapping at a keyboard. Seward was standing silently, his eyes trained on the silver watch on his wrist. After a few seconds, he looked down at Frankenstein, smiled, and held up four fingers in the air.
“Sir, we have a satellite in geosynchronous orbit over Faslane,” said the Communications Officer. “Do I have permission to move her?”
“Granted, Lieutenant,” replied Seward. “Proceed.”
“Ninety seconds to target, sir.”
“Very well.”
The screen bloomed into life, showing HMNB Clyde in stunning high-definition detail. The naval base, home to the UK’s Trident nuclear submarines, hugged the eastern shore of Gare Loch, twenty-five miles west of Glasgow on the Firth of Clyde. Jamie marvelled at the detail of the live pictures, beaming down from a highly classified Skynet 6 satellite six hundred kilometres above the earth’s surface.
The picture began to move, slowly at first, then with rapidly accelerating speed as the satellite’s engines fired, sending it east-southeast, over southern Scotland and into northern England. It flew over the Cheviot Hills and slowed as it approached Alnwick, settling over a grand country estate on the outskirts of the market town. The resolution intensified as the satellite’s powerful cameras zoomed in on the collection of buildings filling the screen.
A large house, built in the shape of a wide capital H, was surrounded by a number of outbuildings: stables, sheds, garages. Gravel tracks linked them together, winding through thick copses of trees and immaculately manicured lawns. A swing set was clearly visible at the rear of the house, beside a sand pit and a pair of small football goals.
Nothing moved. The image was as still as a photograph.
Seward checked his watch.
“One minute,” he said.
Jamie flashed an anxious glance at Frankenstein, then looked over at Larissa, and was surprised to see that she was not paying any attention at all to the screen. She was looking directly at him. When his eyes met hers, she made no attempt to look away, or to pretend she had been looking elsewhere. She simply returned his gaze, her eyes calm, her face pale, her skin flawless.
I could stare at her forever.
“Contact,” shouted the Communications Officer, and the spell was broken.
All eyes in the Ops Room turned to the screen. Walking slowly between the main house and one of the outbuildings was a large, hunched figure.
“That’s Anderson,” breathed Frankenstein.
“Confirm identity,” said Seward, and the Lieutenant took hold of the small joystick that emerged from the middle of his console. He guided the satellite’s camera north, in the direction the figure was heading, and tracked it on maximum zoom. The man – it was a man, the slightly balding pate now clearly visible – walked quickly, his head level, his shoulders back, as calmly as if he were taking an evening stroll along one of the long sand beaches that were little more than five miles to the east. He reached the outbuilding, took a brief look to his left and right, then glanced upwards and pushed open the door, disappearing from view.
“Freeze that image!” shouted Frankenstein.
The Communications Officer wound the satellite feed back and paused it at the millisecond when the man had tipped his head backwards, as though he was looking directly at them. The picture sharpened into focus, and a round, childish face with small features emerged into crystal clarity.
“There they are,” said Larissa. “Where Alexandru goes, Anderson goes.”
“Run it,” said Seward.
Frankenstein groaned.
“Sir, it’s obvious—”
“I said run it,” interrupted the Director. “I’ve had more than enough of people playing hunches today.”
The Lieutenant punched buttons, opening a window and entering the Department 19 mainframe.