Doctor Who_ Trading Futures - Lance Parkin [2]
The soldier, King, was alert, the pilot was busy managing her navigation software. Neither spoke, or had brought anything to read. Cosgrove found himself growing steadily more bored. The briefcase was heavy on his lap. There was little engine noise, barely a hum.
Cosgrove took two painkillers. There had been a time when he’d had nothing to do with them. They dull the senses, as well as the pain. They blunt a man’s edge. But the nagging headache, the one that hadn’t gone away for weeks, the dizziness, the ache in his shoulder that was there all the time, now… the edge was already a little blunt. He remembered the words of Churchill’s doctor – he’d inherited good health, but by now much of that was spent.
They all heard something drop on to the deck, then footsteps above them.
King looked up, puzzled.
‘What is it?’
‘A wave?’
‘The sea’s flat.’
‘Go and check,’ Cosgrove ordered King.
‘It’s nothing.’
‘Go and check.’
* * *
There was a man standing on the deck. He watched King clamber out through the hatch with nothing more than mild curiosity.
King raised his gun, aimed a shot at him, but the pistol’s software overrode him. The man was unarmed, and tagged as a civilian. You couldn’t shoot civilians without special orders.
‘Could you help me with this?’ the man asked. He was holding a great bundle of white material – a parachute, King realised.
‘Wait, I…’
‘Here,’ the man said, pushing the parachute into his arms.
‘You can’t…’
The man yanked the material up, until it was a hood over the soldier’s head.
The heads‐up display in King’s helmet was flashing a number of warnings now. One advised that the civilian had been reclassified as a threat. The second warned him not to take another step back. The last told him of an imminent physical contact. It came moments before he was gently tipped over the rail that ran along the side of the boat.
His life jacket automatically inflated on contact with the water, restricting his arms and legs, swathing him in bullet‐proof fabric. His pistol was floating just out of reach.
By the time King had pulled himself free of the parachute, and he’d splashed around to face the boat, it was several hundred yards away. There was no sign of the civilian, and the hatch had been shut.
* * *
Cosgrove had put his helmet on, and it had already told him about the intruder.
The briefcase remained cuffed to his wrist. It was an obvious encumbrance, so Cosgrove opted for the element of surprise. He took his position behind the hatch, lodged in place, waiting until the intruder was on board. The intruder took his time. Cosgrove got a good look at him. He was a Caucasian male, about forty, not moving like he was combat trained. Not moving with any urgency at all.
He had something in his hand. A grenade? No, a rubber ball.
The pilot turned in her chair, covered the intruder with her pistol.
‘Hello there,’ the intruder said.
‘Drop that,’ the pilot ordered.
The ball slipped from his hand, bounced and hit the control panel.
The roof blew off, and the pilot’s ejector seat fired. The idiot squealed as she flew off, up and over the boat. The boat was already powering down.
‘As a security precaution, the auto destruct sequence has been engaged. Sixty seconds.’ The voice was synthesised, disjointed. Cosgrove could override it, but he’d need to get to the controls.
It didn’t trouble the intruder, who retrieved the rubber ball, before stopping at the water cooler that sat opposite the hatch and pouring himself a drink of water. His hair flapped in the breeze.
There was plenty of time for Cosgrove to target him – the crosshairs