‘The how is not important now,’ said Root. ‘It’s the who I’m worried about.’

‘What can I do, sir?’ asked Holly.

Root stood and walked to a map of London on the wall plasma screen.

‘I need you to sign out a surveillance pack, go topside and wait. If we get pinged again, I want someone on site, ready to go. We can’t record this thing, but we can certainly get a visual on the signal. As soon as it shows up on the screen we’ll feed you the coordinates and you can investigate.’

Holly nodded. ‘When is the next hotshot?’

Hotshot was LEP-speak for the magma flares that Recon officers ride to the surface in titanium eggs. Pod pilots referred to this seat-of-the-pants procedure as ‘Riding the Hotshots’.

‘No such luck,’ replied Foaly. ‘Nothing in the pipes for the next two days. You’ll have to take a shuttle.’

‘What about the lockdown?’

‘I’ve restored power to Stonehenge and our satellite arrays. We’ll have to risk it; you need to get above ground and we need to stay in contact. The future of our civilization could depend on it.’

Holly felt the weight of responsibility settle on her shoulders. This future of our civilization thing was happening more and more lately.

Chapter 3: On Ice

EN FIN, KNIGHTSBRIDGE

The sonic blast from Butler’s grenade had crashed through the kitchen door, sweeping aside stainless-steel implements like stalks of grass. The aquarium had shattered, leaving the flagstones slick with water, perspex and surprised lobsters. They skittered through the debris, claws raised. The restaurant staff were on the floor, bound and saturated,

but alive. Butler did not untie them. He did not need hysteria right now.

Time enough to deal with them once all threats had been neutralized.