“At least if he was online we could just ask him nicely what’s going on,” Shelby said, “instead of trying to pretend that I know what I’m doing with one of these things. Who knows what kinds of alarms I’m going to trigger if I keep messing around like this. I should have guessed it wouldn’t be easy. I just figured that if we had Pike’s login we’d be able to get access, but there are so many extra levels of security. I know that it pays to be careful, but Nero has the network locked down tight. I’ve no doubt that Snow White or Laura could waltz past it all, but I never really got the hang of this whole hacking thing. Just don’t have the nerd gene, I guess.”
“You can’t blame Nero for being cautious. After the attack on the Hunt he has good reason to be slightly paranoid. I think it’s time we found an alternate means of acquiring the information,” Wing said.
“I’m open to suggestions at this point,” Shelby said with a sigh. “Because I am officially out of ideas.”
“I am having one idea,” Franz said, “but it is being the long shoot.”
“Okay, I’d be willing to try just about anything at this point,” Shelby said.
“We will be harnessing the power of mesmerism,” Franz said conspiratorially. “If Doctor Nero will not be giving us this information willingly then we will using the power of the mind to compel him to be telling us.”
“Erm, Franz,” Shelby said, “are you suggesting that we hypnotize Nero?”
“Ja,” Franz replied, “once he is being in a hypnotic trance he will be telling us everything we want to know. I have been doing some research and I believe I could induce such a trance.”
Shelby, for once, looked like she was lost for words, simply staring back at Franz with a look of utter disbelief on her face.
“Franz, correct me if I am wrong,” Wing said, “but even if you do believe in the power of hypnotic compulsion, isn’t it only supposed to work on the weak-willed?”
“Yes, that is being correct.” Franz nodded.
“And so you would classify Doctor Nero, a man who single-handedly controls the massed ranks of global villainy, runs the most secret school on the planet, and faces constant and serious threats to his life from all directions, in fact, altogether one of the most powerful and cunning men on the planet as weak-willed?”
“Not to mention the fact that we would presumably also have to persuade him to sit down while the Great Franz, Hypnotist Extraordinaire, dangles a pocket watch in front of his face,” Shelby said.
“I am admitting that there may be some small kinks to be ironed out in the plan,” Franz said, looking slightly uncomfortable.
“Franz,” Shelby said, standing up and grabbing him by both shoulders, “that is perhaps . . . no wait . . . that is quite definitely the worst plan that I have heard since some idiot suggested that we try to escape from H.I.V.E. through the laundry system. Well done.”
“There is no need to be being rude about it,” Franz said with an indignant sniff. “I am just trying to be helping.”
“I need to go for a walk,” Shelby said, shaking her head. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” She strode past Wing and onto the walkway balcony that ran around the outside of the enormous cavern that housed accommodation block seven, their home since their arrival at H.I.V.E.
“Actually,” Wing said quietly to Franz, as they walked along a few yards behind Shelby, “I thought it was quite a good plan, it just requires quite a lot of . . . refinement. Perhaps, for now, we just need something a bit more conventional.”
“Thank you, Wing,” Franz said. “I was knowing that you were being a person of vision, but maybe you are being right. I will be stopping thinking outside the bag.”
The three of them headed down the stairs at the end of the walkway and out into the cavern’s central atrium. They took no notice of the students who fell silent as they walked past or who eyed them with suspicion from across the room. They were halfway across the huge room when they spotted Professor Pike walking into the accommodation block with a frown on his face. He looked around for a moment and then spotted Shelby, Wing, and Franz and headed toward them.
“Uh-oh,” Shelby said quietly. “What does he want?”
“I can make an educated guess,” Wing said as the white-haired old man approached.
“Ahhh, Miss Trinity, Mr. Fanchu, Mr. Argentblum,” he said, nodding to each of them in turn, “just the people I was looking for. I was wondering if you could help me with something?”
“Of course, Professor,” Wing replied calmly. “What can we do for you?”
“I seem to have misplaced a rather important piece of paper,” the Professor said with the vaguest hint of a smile. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen it lying around anywhere, have you? I could have sworn I left it in my safe in my office, but I’m getting very absentminded in my old age and if someone did happen upon it I would hate for them to try and use it incorrectly.”
“We’ll . . . erm . . . keep an eye out for it,” Shelby replied.
“Good, please do,” the Professor said, “because if someone did, for example, make two failed attempts to access the master server and then subsequently make a third attempt that failed, it would cause all sorts of flags to pop up at the central security command station. Which would be most uncomfortable for all concerned. If, however, they were to use it in combination with an access key like this,” the Professor reached into the pocket of his lab coat and produced a tiny thumb drive, “they would probably be able to read all kinds of interesting information. The sort of information that some people don’t think it would hurt for them to have access to perhaps. The real beauty of it would be that nobody would ever know. Mr. Fanchu, would you mind holding this while I find my glasses?” He gave the access key to Wing and began patting his pockets. “Oh blast, where are they?”
“Professor,” Shelby said, pointing at the glasses perched on top of his head.
“Aaaah, of course,” the Professor said, pulling the glasses down onto his face. “Thank you, Miss Trinity, like I said, I’m becoming so very absentminded. I’m always forgetting where things are or that I’ve given them to people. Anyway, must dash, toodle-pip!”
With that he turned back toward the entrance to the accommodation block. He walked a few yards and then stopped.
“By the way, Miss Trinity,” he said, “I’ve scheduled in a few extra cyber-security seminars for you. Something tells me you need them. Not all locks can be picked physically, you know.”
Shelby, Wing, and Franz watched as he walked away and then all three of them looked down at the access key still sitting in Wing’s hand.
“Well, that was embarrassing,” Shelby said. “He actually looked slightly disappointed.”
Otto and Raven walked along the darkened pier. The night air was cold and a thick bank of fog was rolling in off the ocean. There were a handful of lights visible from isolated houses on the hills that surrounded them, but otherwise they were completely alone, the only sound coming from the waves crashing against the shore.
“They’re late,” Otto said, glancing at his watch.
“They’ll be here,” Raven said, looking out to sea. Barely a minute later they both heard the high-pitched whine of turbines and a sleek black powerboat raced toward them out of the fog, bouncing across the tops of the waves. It slowed to a stop as it approached the pier and a familiar figure got up out of the seat next to the helmsman.
“Natalya, Otto, it’s good to see you both again,” Diabolus Darkdoom said, giving them a broad smile. “I hear you’ve been getting involved in politics. I never really fancied it much myself, such a dirty business.”
“Hello, Diabolus,” Raven said, taking his offered hand and stepping down into the boat’s passenger compartment. “It’s good of you to give us a lift. Is the meeting set up?”
“I’ll brief you when we’re safely onboard the Megalodon,” Darkdoom said as Otto hopped down into the boat. The three of them took their seats and the helmsman steered them away from the pier.
Moments later they were heading back out to sea, the boat’s engines whining as it bounced along the surface at phenomenal speed. The ocean ahead of them was lit up by the boat’s FLIR sensors, highlighting any nearby vessels or obstacles on the HUD that was projected onto the black glass in front of the helmsman.
“Manta One to Megalodon,” the helmsman said after a couple of minutes, “we’re thirty seconds out. Surface for docking.”
Ahead of them the ocean seemed to bulge for a moment and then separate in a shower of spray as the massive conning tower of Darkdoom’s stealth submarine, the Megalodon, broke the surface. A large hatch in the rear of the tower opened and the helmsman expertly piloted the boat into the brightly lit docking area. Docking clamps thudded into place on the boat’s hull as the hatch sealed shut behind them and the Megalodon disappeared once more below the waves. The boat’s passengers climbed out one by one onto the narrow gangway that led up to the dock.
“We’re underway, sir,” one of Darkdoom’s men reported. “We should reach our destination on schedule.”
“Very good,” Darkdoom said. “I’m heading to the bridge with our guests. Please make sure that their quarters are ready.”
“Yes, sir,” the crewman replied.
Otto and Raven followed Darkdoom as he made his way forward toward the giant submarine’s command center. They were making their way through the Megalodon’s armory when Darkdoom paused for a moment and beckoned for Otto to come and look at something.
“I think you’ll appreciate this, Otto,” Darkdoom said. “I call it the Moray.” He gestured to a rack of weapons stored within one of the Megalodon’s torpedo-loading racks. At the front of the weapon was a smooth black egg-shaped nose that was surrounded by an array of cameras and sensors. Behind that was a long, thin segmented metallic body that ended in a vicious-looking barbed tail.
“You’re probably aware of the race to develop intelligent airborne drones for the military,” Darkdoom said, gesturing toward the machine. “Well, the Moray is an equivalent device for submarine warfare. Extremely maneuverable and quick, it can be equipped for stealthy intelligence gathering or as a highly versatile assassination device, acquiring and eliminating its target completely autonomously.”
“Very cool,” Otto said, examining the Moray more closely. He closed his eyes for a moment and reached out for the Moray’s onboard systems. He could feel the hum and buzz of the Megalodon’s other systems, but the weapon in front of him was just dead space as far as his unusual senses were concerned.
“Fully electromagnetically shielded as well,” Darkdoom said with a wry smile, “immune to all known countermeasures, including young men with organic supercomputers lodged in their brains.”
“So I see,” Otto said, raising an eyebrow. “You know it’s almost like people don’t want me interfering with their highly advanced experimental weapon systems these days.”
“How very inconsiderate of them,” Raven said. “Now, if you boys have finished admiring your new toys, we do have things we need to discuss.”
“You really have no appreciation of craftsmanship, Natalya,” Darkdoom said. “I would have thought you of all people would have appreciated a new and interesting way to kill someone.”
“I prefer the personal touch,” Raven replied, putting her hand on the hilt of one of the twin katanas that were strapped across her back. “You know that.”
They continued forward to the bridge which was, as usual, filled with the quiet bustle of a well-trained crew performing its duties. Darkdoom walked quickly around the dimly lit room, checking several gauges and the readouts on key displays. He spoke briefly to his first officer and then gestured for Raven and Otto to follow him through the hatch into his office.
“Everything is in place,” Darkdoom said as he closed the door. “The Architect has agreed to a meeting. It took some persuasion, but we’ve known each other for a long time and he owed me a favor. Be warned though, he is not pleased about being dragged into this conflict, so there is no guarantee that he’ll be willing to help us.”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Otto said. “So where are we meeting him?”
“Venice,” Darkdoom replied. “Tomorrow afternoon. Piazza San Marco.”
“Isn’t that a little too public?” Raven asked.
“It was his choice,” Darkdoom said. “It was hard enough getting him to agree to the meeting in the first place, so I thought it best not to start questioning his choice of location.”
“Does he know what we need?” Otto asked.
“No,” Darkdoom replied. “I thought it would be best if we discussed the situation face-to-face. It may be the only chance we have of obtaining the information we require.”
“There are other ways of getting information out of someone you know,” Raven said. “Given time.”
“No, Nero doesn’t want him harmed,” Darkdoom said, shaking his head. “He either gives his help willingly or we find another way to track Furan down.”
“We don’t have any other leads at this point,” Otto said. “We may never get another chance.”
“I understand exactly what’s at stake here, Otto,” Darkdoom said. “At this point I don’t even know if my own son is alive or dead, but Max is calling the shots on this and I trust his judgment.”
“So he’s agreed to meet with you and Raven’s there as security,” Otto said. “So how are you going to explain who I am and why I’m there?”
“By telling the truth,” Darkdoom replied matter-of-factly. “That you were one of the only survivors of Furan’s attack on the Hunt and, as such, one of the only eyewitnesses to her crimes.”
“You really think that’s going to make a difference?” Otto asked.
“It certainly can’t do any harm,” Darkdoom replied. “We have to show him that Furan needs to be stopped no matter how important his neutrality is to him. You can help prove that to him.”
“I hope you’re right,” Otto said, “because it might just be our only chance.”
Anastasia Furan walked through the airlock and into the laboratory area with two nervous-looking scientists in white lab coats trailing behind her. She surveyed the room and seemed satisfied with the level of bustling activity. Technicians hurried about, monitoring workstations and readouts; there was an atmosphere of hurried but not panicked work. At the far end of the laboratory was a sectioned-off area contained within a thick Plexiglas box. Inside the box a large robotic arm was making quick precise movements, working on something that lay hidden within a cloud of white vapor that filled the lower half of the box.
“Is the prototype ready?” Furan asked.
“Very nearly,” the older-looking of the two scientists replied. “A couple more weeks of testing and we should be ready for deployment.”
“We don’t have a couple more weeks, Dr. Klein,” Furan said, turning toward him with a slight frown on her face. “I want it ready for deployment now. My sources within G.L.O.V.E. have provided me with some very useful information and I wish to take advantage of the opportunity that it affords us. That opportunity is finite, Doctor, and I will not allow us to miss it because you wish to conduct more tests. Now, I will ask you only one more time. Is it ready?”
“Yes,” Klein replied, avoiding eye contact with Furan, “it’s ready.”
“Good,” she replied. “Prepare it to be put into the field immediately. We will need to move the moment that we have a firm target location.”
“Understood,” Klein said with a nod before walking quickly toward the technicians near the vapor-filled box and engaging them in urgent, hushed conversation.
“Now, Dr. Ross,” Furan said, turning toward the other man, “I believe you have work to do.”
“Yes, of course,” the other scientist replied. “If you’d just follow me.”
He led Furan through a nearby door and into another section of the laboratory. He walked over to a steel cabinet with a keypad on the front and punched in a series of numbers. The cabinet popp
ed open with a hiss and he reached inside, pulling out a metal case. He carried the case over to one of the metal tables in the center of the room and opened it as Furan approached. Inside was what looked like a thin skeletal hand made of gleaming steel.
“We are ready to carry out the procedure whenever you are,” Ross said, gesturing toward the box. “I should warn you though that you will need to remain fully conscious throughout the procedure so that we can be sure that the neurotech grafting has taken correctly. It will be extremely painful.”
“You need not concern yourself with that, Dr. Ross,” Furan said, carefully pulling off the black leather glove and revealing the hideously scarred claw that was all that remained of her right hand after Otto Malpense had severely injured her just a few months ago. “I know all about pain.”
Otto, Raven, and Darkdoom walked across the bustling Piazza San Marco, the heart of Venice, trying as much as possible to blend in with the crowds of tourists. Darkdoom was, as usual, wearing a perfectly tailored dark suit and shirt and looked every inch the well-dressed local. Raven had swapped her customary, rather conspicuous, tactical outfit for a pair of tight black jeans, a high-necked sweater and a long dark trench coat. She had, with great reluctance, left her swords onboard Darkdoom’s boat, which was moored nearby. They had, after all, no desire to attract the attention of the Carabinieri—tangling with the local police was an additional complication that they did not need. Darkdoom took a seat at a table in front of one of the many pavement cafés that surrounded the square and Otto and Raven followed suit.
“Now we wait,” Darkdoom said, as a waiter walked over to their table and offered him a menu, which he waved away. “Solo un caffè per me per favore. Do either of you want anything?”
“Just water,” Raven said, her eyes flicking from person to person in the crowds that milled around the square, constantly watching for any sign of a hidden threat.
“No, I’m fine, thanks,” Otto said.