Doctor Who_ Cat's Cradle_ Warhead - Andrew Cartmel [102]
She held the medicated pad to the bare skin of his neck. He groped at her elbow with his good hand, trying to break her grip, but Mancuso held tight. The massive dose of tranquillizer on her wristband was being absorbed directly through his skin. She’d got him right over the carotid artery and the sedative took hold almost immediately.
He kept struggling but it was like wrestling with a child. His body loosened under her as his muscles relaxed and he settled into a profound sleep. Mancuso held on a little longer, to compensate for the stimulants that were already in his bloodstream, then let him sink to the floor.
Mancuso retrieved the seatback from the rear of the cabin and slotted it back into the pilot’s chair. She sat down at the controls and sighed. It was a G-8, the same model she’d trained on and flown in combat. She’d still be piloting a G-8 now if the police service hadn’t dumped the whole programme as part of their financial streamlining. The G-8s had been sold off at auction to help with departmental cash flow. They’d been snapped up by armed robber teams and terrorists who knew a good thing when they saw one. Ten years later the vehicles were still providing excellent service. Like this one. Mancuso began to punch buttons, checking status.
The screen reported the rear doors of the craft as open. They gave access to the cargo bay. Whoever was robbing the store would need them open for loading up their merchandise. Mancuso moved a cursor on the screen and the doors closed. Scrolling down a menu she sealed the hatch on the roof. Her gun was still out there somewhere, on the loading bay floor, but that was okay now. Mancuso looked around the cabin. The NYPD logo on the bulkhead had been painted over with hex signs and graffiti.
Some new equipment had been fitted, thick bundles of wiring secured overhead with masking tape. The man in the leather jacket was snoring peacefully under the air conditioning. Mancuso stretched her shoulders, relaxing. It was nice to be home.
She switched the screen from status check to environment simulation. The cameras on the exterior armour tracked with infrared lights, sending a description of the loading bay back to the screen. The screen simulated the image, iconizing, highlighting, filling in details in an accurate cartoon replica of the world outside. The image was monochrome and precise. She scanned the floor and saw her gun lying by the rubber skirt of the craft. She saw the motorcycle she’d walked into and three others. A Kawasaki, two BMWs and a Honda. They were on the floor of the loading bay near the steps, ready for a quick getaway. No sign of the little guy or anyone else. No movement at all.
Mancuso scanned the tunnel exit. The screen displayed a string of figures and a wireframe diagram, showing where the curve of the tunnel would lead, as if she could see through walls. Mancuso looked at the tunnel mouth and then back at the motorcycles, presented on the screen in dull precise shades of cream and grey. She punched some buttons on the keypad. What the hell. The screen instantly blossomed into brilliant, garish colours. The same images as before but now hot pink, turquoise and lime green. Mancuso suppressed the urge to giggle.
The hovercraft lifted from the concrete floor in a spray of fine grit, shuddering slightly as it gained speed. Moving through the darkness to the mouth of the tunnel.
By the time she hit the sloping ramp of the exit tunnel Mancuso had the hovercraft halfway to full speed. She banked gently, smoothly nudging the control stick