Читать книгу The Sons of Scarlatti - John McNally - Страница 20
ОглавлениеDAY TWO 05:32 (BST). Hook Hall, Surrey
It was nearing dawn as King watched the fully armed Apache helicopter being lowered by crane into the centre of the accelerator.
In the time lapse of his memory, the chaos had peaked at around 4am and was ebbing fast. The lifting gear and forklifts had cleared, and the new Large Accelerator looked as if it had always been there.
The original pieces of Al’s Fat Doughnut had been repositioned and adapted to form four equidistant parts of a much bigger ring of particle accelerators. The nano-dimensional field – or ‘hot area’ – at the centre would be about the size of a classroom and demand so much power it would draw on the national grids of both the UK and France.
Allenby would be controlling it all from a specially constructed command pod – his cockpit – on the floor of the CFAC.
A formidable range of military hardware was lined up on a conveyor system that ran the length of the CFAC, with more supplies in the loading bay waiting to go on – all of which would have to be fed into the hot area in three minutes flat.
Speed was of the essence. As soon as reduction was complete, the nano-dimensional crew and their nano-equipment would be transported, along with the Beta Scarlatti (the new American Scarlatti being named this to distinguish it from the original Alpha Scarlatti), to the release site thirty-six miles north in a full-scale Merlin transport helicopter – which currently waited on the tarmac outside the CFAC.
Given that a minimum of twenty-four hours would be needed to evacuate the population at large should the mission fail, the team would have a mission window of less than twelve hours before the authorities had to go public and declare a state of emergency. As no one could say for certain if the Large Accelerator would be ready to rescale the crew immediately the mission was complete, a refrigerated container with a two-week supply of food and water also waited in the loading bay to be reduced as a precaution.1
Worryingly little progress had been made in the search for Dr Cooper-Hastings. Every contact had been questioned and every possible lead followed up; every international security organisation was on alert. But they’d turned up nothing. Dr Cooper-Hastings was an unremarkable scientist who lived alone. The assumption had to be that he had gone quietly bananas and released the Scarlatti during some kind of breakdown. For King this was too simple. As zero hour approached, he had doubled the security presence onsite as well as tripled all electronic surveillance.
King looked down from the gantry and saw young Finn hurry to and fro, busy and integral, now joining the entomologists making their way to the reanimation suite.
It had become his opinion over the course of the night that Finn was the most important person on the project, not just as kin and comfort for Allenby, but as sounding board, test bed and “asker of bloody awkward questions” throughout – his tireless good humour and sense of adventure a tonic to all.
His plea to join the entomology team had been something of a classic. When Professor Lomax had pointed out his lack of correct qualifications, Finn had said, “Yeah, but there’s this friend of mine at school, Hudson, who can’t go on school trips over, say, twelve hours because he can’t go for a poo on any toilet but his own – he doesn’t say so, but there’s a note from his mum in the register – so he’s always left behind, and yet he’s the only kid really interested in glacial geology or the Horrible Histories show or stuff like that. Instead everyone else goes and all they do is mess about.”
Professor Lomax’s face had been a picture of confusion and distaste.
Young Dr Spiro had touched knuckles with Finn in a gesture that King believed was meant to denote ‘respect’.
The only glitch had been Finn’s scheduled 9pm ‘call to Grandma’ (her monitoring regime was admirably simple: she expected reports morning, noon and night) during which she had asked to say goodnight to the dog. Finn had claimed the animal was “out chasing bats” which was far from acceptable. A team had to be scrambled and despatched to the vicarage in Langmere where the dog was briefly kidnapped and secret recordings made of its barks, snuffles and other noises for the requested call back. The vicar, a Christabel Coles, remained glued to Celebrity Come Dine With Me throughout.
Upstairs in the control gallery, dignitaries and politicians were arriving from across the globe, in person or onscreen.
Downstairs the excitement was about to begin.
Shortly King would have to go up and make polite conversation, answer pointed questions.
He almost wished he was twelve years old.
DAY TWO 05:46 (BST). Hook Hall, Surrey
A dry, translucent husk. A sudden movement within. The husk cracks to reveal a wet, thousand-celled eye.
The fight for life had begun.
Through heavily gloved hands and behind the thick glass of an isolation tank, Dr Spiro worked on the nascent Beta Scarlatti, with Finn in support holding a heat lamp, and Al right on the shoulders of both. Using tweezers and other instruments, Spiro picked away the husk that had been the Scarlatti’s final skin at the nymph stage. Tiny 400mA electric shocks sent through instruments were bringing the Scarlatti back to life after thirty years in cold storage.
Professor Lomax glowered at them over his glasses from the sterile transfer trolley. The trolley was essentially a life-support system for the Scarlatti, one that would keep it isolated as well as subdued, allowing Lomax to glue the nano-scale tracking device on to exactly the right thorax plate following miniaturisation.
Beyond, other scientists and technicians fanned out. Those gathered in the control gallery watched onscreen.
Waiting for the newborn Scarlatti was a titanium harness – a sausage-shaped cage – that would muzzle the beast’s wings and stings to allow the attachment of the miniaturised tracking device to its thorax.
Once harnessed, the Beta would be transferred to the loading bay ready to receive the nano tracking device the moment it was available – all achieved via airlocks to prevent the Beta’s hypersensitive nervous system getting a hostile fix on any crew scent. They wanted it focused on the Alpha Scarlatti’s pheromones and nothing else.2
Slowly, the giant insect began to wake. Deceptively slowly.
Just below the nascent Scarlatti’s squirming head, Spiro used the tweezers to split open the rest of the husk…
SNAP!
“Ahhhh!” screamed Spiro.
The creature seemed to explode in his hand – whipping its huge tail clean through its dead outer layer. Bursting out. Vile and wet. A cluster of scales and stings – poisonous yellows and reds glistening through black. The clatter as it unstuck and buzzed its silver-black wings for the first time…
WWKWZZZWZWZWWKZWZWKZ
“Will someone please get a grip,” hissed Professor Lomax.
Dr Spiro was stunned. Finn dropped the heat lamp and grabbed the flipping, writhing Beta. He felt it struggle against his thick glove like a frenzied rat. Finn held on and waited for Spiro to jump back in. But Spiro seemed to need a moment to recover. Finn looked across at him. Up close, his eyes were strangely speckled, blinking sporadically behind his glasses. More like a computer trying to reboot than a person reacting in surprise.
Finn wondered if he should yell for Al to take over, but Spiro just as quickly snapped out of it, pinning down the Beta Scarlatti with the tweezers. Between them they manipulated the beast into the titanium harness, carefully closing the topside release mechanism so as not to nip the monster’s furious wings.
It was like a nightmare cigar – silver, live and absolutely lethal.
Spiro fed it through an airtight duct to the smaller tank on Professor Lomax’s sterile trolley. Finally, a small grey atomiser unit on the outside of the trolley was switched on to produce a mild anaesthetic steam that would keep the beast subdued until release.
When it was all over, Spiro was relieved but also angry with himself. Again Finn noticed he seemed to be blinking strangely. Maybe he was just nervous. Finn wanted to tell him it was OK, nobody would mind, but it was not the sort of thing a kid could say.
“Congratulations,” Professor Lomax said instead, with heavy sarcasm, “a triumph.”
What an odd couple, Finn thought as they walked off in opposite directions, Lomax pushing the trolley through to the loading bay.
“That’s what happens if you hang around entomologists too long,” Al warned Finn. “You develop…”
“Oversensitive antennae?” said Finn.
“No. A sting,” said Al.
The conversation was interrupted as the first countdown alarm sounded.
BEEEEEEEEEEEP. “T-MINUS TEN.”
Ten minutes to zero hour.
DAY TWO 05:50 (BST), Hook Hall, Surrey
Everyone moved at once – Al so quickly that Finn had to jog to keep up.
They made their way into the centre of the CFAC where they both climbed up to Al’s cockpit command pod. It was crammed with control computers and sat just in front of the Large Accelerator. Finn’s final job was to bring down the perspex dome of the pod and shut Al in.
“Are you going to watch from down here with the Bug Club, or up top with the Bigwigs?” Al asked.
The politicians and honoured guests would be watching the action in the control gallery with Commander King. Most of the scientists would be opposite in the laboratories along the north side of the CFAC. They were already jostling for position, noses pressed up against the glass, spectacles clashing.
“I’ll stick with the Bug Club.” There was a great view down into the Large Accelerator. “Think it’s going to work?” asked Finn.
“The chances of disaster are always between one in three and evens.”
That didn’t sound too promising, but Finn knew everyone had done all they could. All they needed now was… luck.
He touched the stone at his chest, then pulled the leather tie from round his neck.
“Take it, for luck,” said Finn, handing the lump of spharelite over to Al.
“Luck? I’m a man of reason.”
“My mother would insist,” said Finn.
Al grabbed his head and gave it an affectionate knuckling. “Oh, ye of little faith…” but took the stone all the same.
“You’re not going to sneak on the mission without me, are you?” asked Finn, the thought suddenly occurring to him.
“I’m the only one who knows how to drive this thing. And frankly, do you think me, you and your friend Hudson who can’t move his bowels would be a better choice than trained killers like Kelly and Ms Salazar?” He looked over to where Salazar and the crew were being laid out on trolleys ready to be anaesthetised.
“My name’s not Frankly,” said Finn, “and hers is not Ms Salazar, it’s Delta, and can you stop staring at her like that? It’s so embarrassing.”
“Hey!” said Al and knuckled him again a little harder. “I am not staring!”
The five-minute alarm sounded.
“Promise you’ll let me have a go at this one day?” said Finn.
“No, but I do promise we’ll get to the Pyrenees for a full week in the summer, and as guests of the President of France. Imagine the catering.”
Finn brought the lid down and secured it over Al, who grinned and gave him the thumbs up.
He was the picture of absolute happiness.
