The Forbidden City. John McNally
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*25769 …
Desperate to replicate.
The PRIME XE.CUTE sat at the head of suite #1. Like every other XE.CUTE in the botmass it passed on the photonic light of life as each new bot emerged. With a quantum kiss.
It was endless.
*25770 …
*25771 …
*25772 …
*25773 …
*25774 …
DAY TWO 17:43 (Local GMT+8). Shanghai, China.
The late afternoon sun threw itself off the glass cliff face of a hundred skyscrapers and a twenty-first century metropolis spread out before them like a cloth of gold.
Shanghai. The Pearl of the Orient. The largest city on earth.
Gold, King noted, because sunlight was filtering through a haze of airborne pollutants, through a haze of energy and effort. A city of a thousand cranes, of a million cars, millions more bicycles and countless busy people – yeast in the global economic dough.
The Hook Hall team were transferring from Pudong International Airport into the city aboard twin Z-15 PLA helicopters. From parks and green spaces, tethered dragons curved up towards them, extraordinary stacks of multi-coloured box kites, part of an annual festival. Looking south the team saw the Forbidden City industrial complex laid out before them, a crazy dartboard of radial roads and white-walled factories.
Bo Zhang, who had welcomed them with a faultless snap of a salute, explained that at the centre of the Forbidden City, where security was tightest, were the government and military research institutes and cutting-edge companies such as Qin Research.
“We will establish ourselves at our headquarters and then go to the city,” Bo Zhang explained, and the helicopters banked to fly into the heart of Shanghai.
“Wow …” said Al.
It was clear the Chinese were going to look after them.
The spanking new Siam Towers Hotel was a bejewelled stalagmite: ninety-nine stories of luxury (including a helipad). The top three floors of the hotel had been turned over to the G&T, including the five-star Roof of the World restaurant, which had been transformed into an operational centre that was already up and running. Feeds to world leaders connected on one screen array. On another live CCTV and intelligence feeds from across the city were at their disposal. A huge central table had been set up for the most important players.
There was more to come as they were shown their rooms.
Commander King hated hotel rooms, thought them vulgar, and relied on handmade silk pyjamas for a sense of quality and comfort whenever he was travelling, but even they seemed cheap in the suite he’d been assigned.
Al loved hotel rooms. The minibar, gadgets and gizmos, the complimentary snacks and toiletries. His suite on the ninety-eighth floor did not disappoint. It was fitted out for the super-rich, with three dazzling rooms that boasted an interconnecting tropical fish tank – who could live without one? – and a bed the size of a tax haven from which he could look down on the Shanghai Bund riverfront. The cityscape that bloomed beyond looked like something out of a comic book. It looked like the future.
He must tell Finn. He took a picture, adding:
View from the top – Shanghai. Wish you were here, kiddo.
Then he focused on a little food van parked on a street corner, below. There was a queue. What was it selling? Dim sum? Ice cream?
Whatever it was, Al thought, I’m going to get me some.
A minute later, seized by the moment, he was travelling down the rapid elevator.
DAY TWO 18:16 (Local GMT+8). Song Island, Taiwan (disputed).
Activity increased on Song Island, and not just among the birds battling for nesting space on its craggy outcrops.
“Move fast,” snapped Kaparis.
“Vipers One, Two and Three in position,” reported Li Jun from her bank of screens.
Each Tyro in the field had a direct camera and data feed relaying information back to Song Island.
“Target approaching – hot hot hot,” reported another voice.
“Viper Four, you have visual?”
“Visual,” confirmed Viper Four.
The screen array above Kaparis became a clash of city images as his team closed in.
“Vipers One, Two and Three?” asked Li Jun.
“Visual …” “Visual …” “Check – visual …” came the response.
Kaparis could see the operation coming together, could see his quarry, could see his squad drawn up and ready to strike.
His pulse rose. Microprocessors instructed his iron lung to increase respiration.
“Command?” prompted Li Jun.
“Commence Viper,” ordered Kaparis.
He watched as the Tyros moved as one.
DAY TWO 10:16 (GMT+1). London, UK.
The number 11 bus made its way down the King’s Road, Chelsea, heading towards the Bulb Expo, and up on the top deck Finn was happy, looking out of the window and remembering all the times he was brought up to London as a treat by his mum – to go to the zoo, see a show, or visit Al.
They had taken the bus on Grandma’s insistence and Finn was perched in Grandma’s nDen, an adapted brooch pinned to her coat. He would transfer to an even smaller nDen on Hudson’s baseball jacket (disguised as a button badge that read ‘Be