S.T.E.A.L.T.H.: Ice Breaker E-Book

Jason Rohan

• Herausgeber: Nosy Crow
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Full of thrilling high-octane action, this is the second in an explosive new action-adventure middle grade series. Perfect for fans of Alex Rider, CHERUB and Mission: Impossible. When an armoured train with a top secret cargo is hijacked by terrorists in the Austrian Alps, and an avalanche cuts off all help, British Intelligence is forced to call on its youngest recruits to mount a dangerous rescue mission with the clock ticking down. Can Arun, Donna and Sam save the world and get back to school before anyone notices they've missed maths ... again? Arun, Donna and Sam are ordinary school kids with an extraordinary secret. They are S.T.E.A.L.T.H., a crack team of agents in charge of the most cutting-edge piece of tech the world doesn't know exists: MANDROID. Always flying under the radar, they solve crimes, prevent disasters and rescue the innocent - and they STILL have to get their homework in on time!

Leseprobe

To Dominica, for relighting the fuse

09:34

“This is unacceptable, Mr Quinn.”

Quinn sniffed. “Madam Chair, I don’t give a fig if you accept it or not. That’s my evidence.”

“You cannot simply shrug your shoulders and deny all knowledge of this matter. We are talking about a billion pounds of public money wasted and you, as a senior Secret Service officer, are still a public servant.” The Chair’s voice was growing louder as she spoke. “It must be accounted for and that is why this Parliamentary select committee is sitting.” She slid her glasses down her nose and glared at the older man. “What is more, I strongly advise you to watch your tone before this committee holds you in contempt.”

Quinn looked at his watch.

“Are we keeping you from something, Mr Quinn? Do you have somewhere else you’d rather be?” The Chair could scarcely hide her irritation.

“I do have a hot bacon roll waiting for me, since you ask,” Quinn replied. “Are we done?”

“Certainly not!”

Quinn sighed and settled back into his chair. It was going to be another long day. He was facing the open end of a long, horseshoe-shaped table behind which a dozen suits sat, staring at him. The defence select committee was meeting for a third day in the Wilson Room, on the first floor of Portcullis House, across from Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. Its purpose was to determine what had happened to Project MANDROID.

The Vice Chair cleared his throat for dramatic effect. “If I may, Madam Chair,” he drawled. “Perhaps a recap would be helpful, to allow Mr Quinn to assist in filling any gaps in my knowledge?” He noisily tapped his notepad.

Quinn slumped further into his seat and rested his chin on his hand. The last thing he needed was another windbag MP, in love with the sound of his own voice, grandstanding for an audience of one.

“You, Mr Quinn, work for British Intelligence, and your involvement here began with the disappearance of a Ministry of Defence scientist. That particular gentleman was working on a stealth weapon—”

“Transport vehicle,” Quinn interjected.

The Vice Chair glowered at Quinn. “How many ‘transport vehicles’ do you know that could destroy two RAF Typhoon fighter aircraft? I will continue. A stealth weapon, developed at considerable cost to His Majesty’s government, I might add, and kept at a classified location. In the course of your investigation, you learned that a plot was underway to steal that stealth weapon and to smuggle it out of the country, for sale to a hostile government.”

“At least you were paying attention,” Quinn said.

“The lead scientist, it turns out, had been captured by an unknown enemy force. You went to negotiate a ransom payment and allowed yourself to be taken, too, so you could gain inside knowledge of the gang.”

“Yep. Regular hero, that’s me.”

“But the enemy was able to storm the secret base, obtain the weapon, load it on to an aeroplane and was in the process of flying it out of the country.”

“And that’s when your MOD geniuses decided to send two Typhoons to blast it out of the sky,” Quinn said. “While I was on board.”

“And in the ensuing firefight, both RAF jets and the Hercules transport were destroyed.”

The Chair leaned forward. “Which leads us back to the original question of, what happened to this MANDROID weapon?” she snapped.

“And I told you,” Quinn said, “it was destroyed when the transport plane crashed into the English Channel. It’s gone. Drowned. Washed away. Under the sea. In Davy Jones’s locker. Feeding the fishes. Finding Nemo.”

“Then why have we found no wreckage? The Typhoons, the Hercules; parts of all three aircraft have washed up on the shore and the remaining airframes recovered, but for this device, nothing.”

Quinn was losing the little patience he had. “The experts have already told you, nothing could have survived that crash.”

“You did.”

Quinn paused, his eyes narrow. “That’s different. I jumped.”

“But you take my point. If you somehow escaped intact…”

“You’re forgetting a very important detail,” Quinn said.

“Oh?”

“The nuclear bomb. It was in the hold of the MANDROID vehicle, right? The Hercules crashed, broke apart, everything went down. The rescue sub recovered the bomb.”

“Yes, it was on the sea bed.”

“After being in the plane.”

“Is there a point to this?” The Chair set her pen down and directed a hard stare at Quinn.

“That stealth device was the most advanced craft of its kind in the world. I’m clearly no technical expert and can’t tell you half of what went into it, or what it could do, but I know there was a lot of nanotechnology in there, which is what made it change its shape into different kinds of vehicle, from tractor to hovercraft.”

“We’ve all seen the presentation,” droned the Vice Chair.

“Then you’ll also know that tiny particles held together have a tendency to fall apart when they’re no longer actively controlled. Surely it’s obvious that when the thing crashed, it crumbled to dust and what didn’t end up as silt got washed away on the currents. That’s why there’s no wreckage. You shouldn’t need me to spell that out for you.”

A wave of consternation rippled around the table. Foreheads touched amid the purr of low voices as the suits conferred.

Quinn closed his eyes and waited.

A decision reached, the Chair motioned for silence. “We’ll need some time to consider this development,” she announced. “The hearing is adjourned for today.”

“Over here, sir!”

Quinn strode over to the black Range Rover waiting opposite on the Victoria Embankment and eased into the passenger side, taking care to scoop up the foil-wrapped package on the seat before he sat down.

In the driver’s seat was Simon Burgess, former Royal Marine, survivor of the assault on MANDROID base, and now the first recruit to Quinn’s new team.

“Think they fell for it?” Burgess asked, easing the car into traffic.

“Let’s hope so,” Quinn said. “It’s a lot easier to believe than the truth.” He unwrapped the package and sank his teeth into the now-cold bacon roll.

09:45

Eight miles to the west, at The Most Sacred Heart High School in Richmond, the bell rang to announce change of lessons.

Chairs scraped noisily, accompanied by the buzz of chatter, as Class 8F packed up to move from English to science.

Sam Evans shouldered his Iron Man backpack and fell in line beside Arun Lal, his best friend, as they made for the door.

“I was thinking, yeah, that the basic plot of Civil War and Black Widow is the same,” Sam said.

“Really?” Arun said, shuffling forward. “In what way?”

“Well, in both films, the main threat is a bunch of specially trained agents who can take down whole countries and the heroes have to go to Russia to stop them.”

“I suppose,” Arun agreed, heading into the corridor. “Of course, there’s a lot—”

“And with Black Widow and Winter Soldier, both films have a cyborg assassin as the bad guy, and have a big aerial battle at the end. Uh-oh.” Sam stopped as an older boy cut across to block his path.

The stream of pupils walking past pressed itself closer to the opposite wall, as if repelled by a force field.

The older boy pointed at Sam’s head. “Whoa, check that dead trim! What did they use to cut your hair? A lawnmower? Your hairline looks like the McDonald’s logo.” He laughed at his own wit.

Sam froze.

“Leave it, Kyle,” Arun said, without looking up. “We’re not worth it.”

“Who’s talking to you?” said a voice from behind him. It belonged to Josh, another older boy who hung out with Kyle.

Josh landed a firm grip on Sam’s backpack and yanked it off his shoulders. He held it up and pointed at the picture of Iron Man printed on the fabric.

“What’s this? Are you three years old or something? Wanna play fetch?”

He lobbed the backpack over his shoulder.

“Oops. I hope there was nothing breakable in there.”

“I know something that’s gonna break in a minute.” It was a girl’s voice, from behind Josh.

He whirled around to see a 12-year-old girl holding up the backpack.

“Who threw this?” Donna Critchlow demanded.

“Uh, it was him,” Josh said, taking a step back and pointing at Kyle.

“No, it wasn’t, you liar,” Kyle protested.

Donna set the backpack down, pushed out her lower jaw and narrowed her eyes. “Which do you think is going to be the bigger embarrassment for you: getting stomped by a Year Eight, or getting stomped by a Year Eight girl?” she said.

“I’m late for class,” Josh said. He scurried away, grabbing Kyle as he went.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Donna called after the departing boys. “Walk away.”

Sam breathed a huge sigh of relief, opened his arms and moved towards Donna to give her a great big hug of gratitude. She raised her index finger, stopping him dead.

“One: respect my personal space, if you know what’s good for you. Two: I don’t know you. Three: you’re welcome. Now, take your pack and let’s go to class.”

Sam nodded, his face pink with a wash of emotions. “She’s so amazing,” he whispered to Arun.

Donna strode past, smiling to herself, and pretended not to hear.

09:58

At British Secret Intelligence Service headquarters, Quinn fished the scrunched bacon roll foil wrapper from his pocket and tossed it across the empty room. It bounced off a whiteboard, pinged against the window and dropped into a waste basket.

“Yes,” he said, giving himself a fist pump. “Still got it.”

Eight workstations were set up in the office, with laptop docking stations and flat-screen monitors, although none were in use.

Quinn sighed inwardly. Not long ago, this room was a hive of activity where his crack team of operatives tracked threats to national security and hunted terror cells. That was before they had all been exposed as traitors, lured into betraying their country with the promise of easy money. And now Quinn had to start again and recruit a new team, only this time he would be less trusting.

“Sir?” Burgess came in with a laptop bag, set it down and unzipped it. “Is there anywhere in particular you want me to sit?”

“You’re good where you are,” Quinn said. “Those two desks, next to you, they’re reserved.”

Burgess brightened. “They are? You mean, you’ve got two more team members? When do I meet them?”

Quinn’s mouth twisted in a sour expression. “We’ll get to that. They’re a little on the … raw side.”

“Where are they now? In the building?”

“No, I’ve sent them far away, where they can’t be questioned by the select committee.”

Burgess tilted his head. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“You’re not in the Marines any more, son. Spit it out.”

“It’s just … you don’t sound very confident about the quality of these new recruits.”

Quinn paused. “Let’s say it was a limited pool and they were the best I could get. Don’t ask how bad the rest must have been.”

“Can you stop fidgeting?” Sunny Patel hissed. “You’re making us look bad.”

“I can’t help it,” replied Andrew Moss, sitting opposite Sunny. He wriggled again. “This vest’s too tight. It’s cutting into my armpit. And it’s pinching my nipple.”

Sunny reached over and loosened a strap on the body armour. “Is that better?”

“Somewhat.”

“I told you, it’s better to put it on first and then tighten it up, not the other way round. See? Mine fits perfectly.”

A tall, lean soldier, in full combat gear, knelt in the aisle of the train carriage next to them. “Is all in order?” he asked. “I can help if you are not used to wearing this.” He smiled with a flash of white teeth and held out his hand.

“I can manage just fine,” Moss said, squirming away. “It’s been a while since I last wore one of these. I’m out of practice, is all.”

“Naturally,” the soldier said. He looked at Sunny. “And, Ms Patel, would you like me to help you with anything? Anything at all?”

Sunny felt her cheeks grow warm and lowered her head to hide it. “No, thank you, Dietmar. But I’ll be sure to let you know if that changes.”

“Please, call me Didi.” The tall Austrian straightened up and headed down the carriage.

Moss pulled a face. “Ugh. Since when did you know his name was Dietmar? I thought he was just Corporal Mertens.”

“I asked him, back in Zurich. He’s nice.”

Moss scowled. “I don’t trust him. I see him making goo-goo eyes at you, turning on the charm.”

Sunny laughed. “What? No, he’s not. Wait, are you … jealous?”

“What, of that great German sausage? That’ll be the day.”

“He’s Austrian.” Sunny decided to change the subject. “You know, when Mr Quinn offered us a romantic train journey across the Alps as a first assignment, this wasn’t what I had in mind, riding shotgun in an armoured train full of Austrian Special Forces.”

Moss smiled and leaned closer. “I don’t know. We got some skiing in … and a hot tub … plus some fondue. Now it’s the work bit, watching and learning how the pros do things.”

Sunny reached across to slide open a peephole on the metal-clad outer wall. A sliver of purest blue sky sitting atop a frosted crag of mountain glided past. “And we still get the view.”

“Uh-uh. Please, that must stay closed.” A female soldier with a short blonde bob stood in the gangway, wagging her finger.

“Maybe not,” Sunny muttered to herself, and closed the slit.

“Hey, Petra,” Moss said to the stern-looking figure. “This is a lot of security we have here. Can I ask why? What cargo are we carrying?”

The soldier’s glare melted into a smile. “They didn’t tell you, before sending you all this way?”

“No.” Moss shook his head.

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” She spun on her heel and marched away.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Sunny rounded on Moss. “How did you know her name was Petra?” she demanded. “I thought she was just Corporal Friedrich.”

“I asked her. Same as you and Dodo.”

“It’s Didi.” Sunny crossed her arms and glared at the wall. It was going to be a long ride to Vienna.

10:08

“So, we’ve been talking about genes and inheritance of traits from parents,” the science teacher said, looking at the rows of faces from Class 8F. “Who can give me an example of inherited characteristics?”

A half-dozen hands went up.

“Yes?” the teacher said, and pointed.

“Curly hair,” said a girl at the front.

“Yes, very good. The curliness of hair depends on how flat the individual strands are. Ribbon-like ones curl up while round ones do not.” She pointed again.

“Red hair, miss,” offered a boy at the back.

“Correct. A lot of colouration is genetically controlled, like hair colour, eye colour, skin colour, even how much you can tan.”

“Goofy teeth,” blurted out the class clown to a chorus of giggles.

“We don’t call it that, but yes, dental overcrowding is also genetic.” The teacher’s eyes scanned the room for anyone who might not be paying attention and landed on Donna, who was staring out of the window.

“Donna!” the teacher called.

“Hm?” Donna blinked and looked up, startled.

“Can you please give the class an example of genetic inheritance and why it might be useful to know?”

Sam and Arun, sitting behind Donna, exchanged looks of concern.

Donna straightened up. “All right, miss. My cousin, Lateesha – she’s sixteen, right? – got pregnant by this boy Marlon and, when she said to him, it’s your kid so you gotta pay for it, he was like, ‘No way, I see you hangin’ with this other guy, Jerome, so how do I know he’s not the daddy? Make him pay.’ You with me?”

The teacher stared, open-mouthed, and nodded.

Donna resumed. “Now, Lateesha’s real smart, so she punches Marlon in the mouth, busts his lip and makes him bleed. She then did the same thing to the other guy, Jerome, only she popped his nose. And when they both wiped up their blood, she kept the tissues. Nine months later, when the baby was born, she did a check on all the blood types and the baby was Type B. Lateesha is Type O and so is Jerome, but Marlon is Type AB, so he had to be the father. They’re married now, so it’s good.”

The teacher opened and closed her mouth, gaping like a fish, before she was able to say, “That’s … excellent. Yes, blood types are genetic. I would have thought knowing it for transfusions was a simpler example, but yes, very good.”

Donna turned round in her chair to face Arun and Sam and whispered, “Did you see her face? I totally just made that up.”

High in the Austrian Alps, to the east of Innsbruck, the nine-car armoured train snaked its way along the track cut into the majestic mountains. Sheer cliffs pressed in on all sides with steep, towering faces.

Lying flat on his front and scanning the snowy vista through a pair of high-powered binoculars, Dusan swept his view westwards, past the throngs of skiers below, beyond the bustling ski lodges and chalet hotels of the nearby resort, and came to rest on the rolling gunmetal-grey train carriages, heading east. The lookout reached for his walkie-talkie.

“Alpha team? Status report,” Dusan said.

“Alpha team leader here. All armed and ready,” came the reply.

“The package is on its way. I repeat, the package is on its way. As soon as the train reaches the tunnel, I’ll give you the signal. You know what to do.”

On board the train, Moss was perched on his seat, peering into the aisle, looking up and down the train.

“Can’t you just sit still?” Sunny snapped. “Read a book, if you still remember how.”

Moss ignored the jibe. “Don’t you want to know what’s on this train?”

“There might be nothing,” Sunny said. “This could just be a training exercise for us all. Our brief was to watch and learn from the professionals. That’s what Mr Quinn is measuring us on.”

Moss rolled his eyes. “Come on, Sunny. You don’t really believe that. I’ve known you too long. This is far too elaborate for a training gig. There’s definitely something important on this train.”

Sunny lowered the magazine she was reading. “All right, I admit I am curious, but Mr Quinn told us to lay low.”

“Quinn’s a spy. That’s what he’s recruiting us for. He’d want us to find out what the train is carrying. And how do you know that’s not what he really wants us to do? Maybe that’s our real mission.”

“OK, but we’ll have to be careful, in case we aren’t supposed to snoop around. That way, we can play dumb if we need to.”

“Agreed. I’m good at that. We have three teams of Austrian Jagdkommando Special Forces on board, plus a dozen police. That’s a lot of firepower. Question is, why?”

Outside, the train slowed as it rounded a wide curve and was swallowed by the shadow of surrounding peaks. It glided past a ski resort on the northern slopes and approached the mouth of a tunnel, carved deep into a mountain.

Dusan kept his binoculars fixed on the train and waited for the moment it entered the tunnel.

“Now!” he said into the radio.

KABOOM!

Five kilometres away, at the far end of the Kallstein railway tunnel, a series of explosions punched its way high across the cliff face, blasting tonnes of gneiss and slate into the sky. Thunderous echoes reverberated around the adjacent cliffs and a black cloud of debris soared aloft before raining down.

KRAKKK!

From deep within the rock face, a split widened into a lateral crack and an immense stone slab sheared off and crashed down on to the rail tracks below, sealing the eastern end of the tunnel ahead of the onrushing train.

10:17

Inside the train, Moss stood in the aisle, trying to see past the Austrian operatives and into the centrally located cargo truck.

“All you’re going to see is a locked door. That’s how it works when they don’t want you to know,” Sunny said, looking up from her magazine. “We should wait until someone goes in and maybe we can see something over their shoulder.”

“What if I see them punch a code into a keypad or something? Might be useful for— WAAAAAAAGGGHHH!”

Three things happened at once: the lights went out, plunging the carriage into complete blackness; an ear-splitting alarm sounded, drowning out all other noise; and the train’s pneumatic brakes locked hard, killing its speed.

SKREEEEEEEEEEE!

Unfortunately, the train slowed down but its passengers didn’t. Forward momentum flung Sunny out of her seat to bounce off the opposite recliner. Moss wasn’t as lucky and took off down the aisle, slamming into a dividing wall, while flight cases tumbled from overhead racks.

Corporal Mertens, reacting quickly, sprang to his feet and tapped an illuminated control pad on the wall. The alarm stopped and red emergency lighting blinked on.

Moss got to his knees and was promptly thrown over again by the sudden lurch of the train finally coming to a stop.

“Is anyone hurt?” Mertens asked.

“No, all good here,” Moss said, his fingers feeling the fresh dent in the chest of his body armour.

“What the heck happened?” Sunny said, climbing into the aisle. “This is not a scheduled stop.”

Mertens returned to the wall pad and activated the train intercom to speak to the driver. After a rapid exchange in German, he turned and said, “There’s been a rockfall ahead. The tunnel is completely blocked. We’re lucky the driver was able to stop in time.”

“A rockfall?” Moss said. “Does that happen often?”

“No, hardly ever, which makes me very suspicious.”

Mertens gave an order to his team and the commandos gathered the flight cases, opened them and began retrieving the weapons stored inside. The click and snap of loading ammunition clips filled the air.

Moss nodded to Sunny. “Do you think I should ask if we can borrow some?” he said.

“I’m sure they’ll be delighted to hand us their guns, just like that,” Sunny said.

“My dad always said, don’t ask, don’t get.” Moss shuffled over to Corporal Friedrich. “Um, Petra, I was, uh, wondering, if you have some spare sidearms, would you mind letting us—”

Friedrich smiled and leaned over, close enough to touch noses. “Yes, I do mind,” she said, “so the answer is no.”

She raised her hand and signalled for her team to spread out across the carriage.

Moss slunk back to Sunny, who was choking back a laugh. “That was cold,” she said. “Nice to see you haven’t lost your famous way with women.”

Moss scowled in reply. “Maybe you should have asked Dodo.” He held up his wristwatch and tapped the face. “Do you think it’s time for this?”

Sunny’s smile vanished. “Will it even work? Radio waves don’t travel underground.”

“It depends how far into the tunnel we are. I’m guessing the end we came in from is clear.”

“Mr Quinn said emergency use only.”

Moss pointed at the six Special Forces soldiers, armed and guarding the entry points to the carriage. “Surely this counts as an emergency?” he said.

The red emergency lighting blinked out, leaving the room in total darkness, apart from the green glow of Moss’s watch.

“It does now,” Sunny said.

Corporal Mertens swore, switched on his flashlight and went for the illuminated intercom pad.

“What’s wrong?” Moss asked him.

“Emergency lights are fed by battery. There’s no way they would go out but leave the comms working, unless their circuit was cut.”

“Cut? By who?”

Mertens spoke to the driver: “Können Sie den Zug umkehren?”

“Ja, verstanden,” the driver replied. “Bereitstehen.”

“What was that about?” Moss asked.

“You’ll see,” Mertens said.

With a deafening hiss, which sounded even louder within the confines of the rail tunnel, the air brakes released and the train began to roll slowly, reversing back towards the open end of the tunnel.

Still watching, through binoculars trained on the tunnel entrance and walkie-talkie in hand, Dusan pressed the call button.

“They are coming back, as predicted,” he said. “Alpha team, you know what to do.”

Picking up speed, the reversing train clattered towards the ever-growing circle of daylight at the mouth of the tunnel.

To the north, directly above the railway tracks, another exciting day of winter sports was underway at the Kallstein resort. Holidaymakers of all ages vacated their chalets and hotels to join snowboarders and skiers on the freshly prepared slopes, while cafes and restaurants were busy serving late breakfasts. A string of cable cars ferried passengers up the slopes to the top end of the ski runs. No one had heard the previous explosions, five kilometres away with a mountain in between.

BA-DOOMMM!

The air shook again under the detonation of a second set of mining explosives, placed high above the mouth of the open train tunnel below the slopes. Skiers stopped at the unexpected roar of thunder and watched a black cloud of rock dust engulf the rocky mountainside. Surprise turned to horror as a cascade of boulders rumbled down to seal the western tunnel entrance beneath them.

10:31

Back at Secret Intelligence headquarters, Quinn marched into the busy Communications Hub and zeroed in on a technician listening intently on her headphones.

“Yes?” he said.

“GCHQ picked up a partial message,” the technician said. “It was an SOS signal, encrypted and on one of our frequencies.”

“From whom?” Quinn said.

“We’re trying to confirm the trace from the equipment ID, but it was issued to you last year. That’s why I called you.”

Quinn softened and lowered his voice. “Do you know where that signal was sent from?”

“It’s not easy to get a lock because it was quite broken up and it cut off halfway.” The technician tapped her keyboard, calling up detailed maps.

“Give me a ball park. Which continent?”

“The signal was sent from the Austrian Alps. I know that because the nearest receiving station was Innsbruck.”

Quinn swore. “Low-frequency pulse? Came through in bits?”

The technician nodded.

“Run me a scan on mobile phone traffic in the area. Anywhere that’s had a sudden spike in call volume.”

“That would be here.” She tapped the screen at a mountainous valley. “There’s a ski resort nearby. Emergency services have also gone mad.”

“Can you get me a live satellite feed? Zoom in on the railway?”

The technician took off her headphones. “I’m going to need authorisation for that. I can’t just—”

Quinn straightened up. “Who’s in charge here?” he yelled.

Other technicians shrank at their listening stations and cupped their hands over their headphones.

“Shhhhh!” hissed the duty manager, hurrying over. “We’re trying to work here.”

“And you’ll be working somewhere else if you don’t make yourself useful,” Quinn barked.