Finn’s head snapped back and the roof rushed by, his insides galloping hopelessly to catch up with his skeleton, as Delta turned hard to avoid hitting the far wall of the hangar. They shot back across the CFAC at roof level, then dived and … SLAM! Halfway to the ground Delta made the Bug turn 90 degrees without bothering to slow down, the nCraft morphing to deliver thrust at all the right angles at once. Finn was left gasping.
Delta then plunged towards the rows of benches crammed with computers surrounding the accelerator array. Down they went, skimming along the desks, slaloming the accelerators and monitors, whipping up paperwork, then down again to rollercoaster beneath benches and between chair legs, then up again into empty space.
Finn’s mind was spinning. They were not flying: they were motion itself. Pure euphoria battled memories of his terror-flight, trapped on the back of the Scarlatti wasp the previous spring, till – SLAM! – Delta opened up the reverse thrusters and stopped the Bug dead. Finn was thrown forward so hard he thought he was going to bring up his lungs, never mind his dinner.
In sudden stillness, he took a gulp of air and looked at the clock on the lab wall. It was midnight, his birthday: his turn. He grinned.
Finn climbed across and took the controls, and for one minute and forty-nine seconds he had the best birthday ever.
Delta ordered him not to think too much. “Just point and shoot.”
He took hold of the twin sticks, looked at the far wall of the CFAC and pushed them forward.
The Bug shot forward, so he eased back, getting a feel for the power as he coasted the entire length of the building, rising all the time. He felt a surging joy and remembered sitting on his mother’s knee steering her old Citroën 2CV around a beach car park in the rain.
He accelerated and made a turn, arcing back around, just below the roof, then more turns.
Then he began to throw the Bug around like rodeo horse. It was easy. The speed and distance you could cover was awesome and the handling was amazing – it felt as though you had thrust from a thousand places at once.
It felt alive. This was almost better than being big.
He flew up towards the Control Gallery that overlooked the CFAC, then dived and curled to fly around the circle of accelerators like Ben Hur around the circus maximus, laughing and loving it, until …
POP! POP! POP!
For the second time that night he was dazzled by sudden bright lights.
Delta leapt across and snatched the controls from him, pulling the Bug to a halt and leaving them hanging in mid-air, staring down at a group of incoming officials, hurrying across the CFAC towards the gantry steps of the Control Gallery.
“What’s happening?” asked Finn.
“Oh no …” said Stubbs. “King.”
Finn looked over. The great hanger doors of the CFAC were whirring open and Commander King was crossing the chamber, trailing aides and flanked by General Mount of the British High Command on one side and the head of British Intelligence on the other. Then, even more remarkably – VROOOOM! SCREEEEECH! – in roared a 1969 De Tomaso Mangusta, and out hopped Al.
“Good evening, Dr Allenby,” uttered King, trying to ignore the showy entrance.
“Peter. Wendy. Tink,” Al said to the trio. All three, used to his odd sense of humour, ignored it and carried on up the steps.
Finn’s heart was in his mouth, he looked at the others and they were already grinning.
“It’s the G&T. It’s meeting.”
They should have been afraid, they were absent without leave in the Bug. But suddenly the normal rules didn’t seem to apply any more.
After the months of tedium and frustration something was happening.
Nine miles away, Grandma was finding it difficult to sleep. She had been on her way to bed with her cocoa when she’d heard Al’s car pull up in front of the house, only to take off again immediately. Perhaps he’d forgotten something and gone back for it? Perhaps he’d decided to go back to his bed in London for the night? Perhaps anything, really. She’d got into bed and tried to put it out of her mind, but the moment she closed her eyes a maternal sixth sense had kicked in. What if something was wrong?
She called Al. Straight to voicemail. She called Commander King. Straight to voicemail.
She smelt a rat.
DAY ONEfn1 00:03 (GMT+1), September 30. Hook Hall, Surrey, UK.
“HEY!” Kelly called out as they descended. “WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL?”
Al’s head snapped up. Did he hear something? A high-pitched whining? A wasp? No … it was a nano-jet.
“HERE!” came the shout again and Al saw a lit-up fat bumblebee- sized Thing dropping towards him.
“Woah!” Al shouted. “We’ve got the nano-crew in the house! Nobody move!”
Everybody in the CFAC, from Commander King down, froze. This shouldn’t be happening. The nano-crew was supposed to be tracked at all times.
Al held out his hand and the Bug landed on it. Four tiny figures disembarked and were quickly surrounded by angry giants.
“I can explain …” Kelly started.
“What the hell?!” Al said. “I was about to come and wake you all. And you, young man,” he said to Finn, “aren’t supposed to know this vehicle even exists!”
“It’s his birthday present! We were just taking the kid for a ride!” said Kelly.
“I’m telling my mum!” Al said.
This sent a bolt of fear through Finn.
“That’s a top-secret, prototype nano-vehicle of incalculable value and you have just put all your lives in danger,” Commander King hissed from on high.
“Ah, nuts. He’s thirteen years old. What were you doing at thirteen?” said Delta.
“I was at Eton,” said Commander King.
“This country needs a revolution,” said Kelly.
“We don’t have the time,” said Commander King, turning smartly to lead the way up the gantry. “Come.”
They entered the Control Gallery as it was blinking to life, the place crammed with computers and control systems. Various members of the Global Non-governmental Threat Response Committee were already settling themselves around a giant horseshoe-shaped table.
As Al sat, he placed the Bug on the table in
