‘Everything’s fine.’ His Tennessee drawl is thick as molasses.
‘Then why do you look so annoyed?’
‘I’m not — I just need a word.’
‘Go on.’
‘Privately.’
Bunsen studies him for a moment then turns to Enrico. ‘Give me a sec.’ Enrico keeps working as Bunsen points Kilroy towards the open garage, which faces the heliport. Once they’re inside Bunsen raises his eyebrows, his cue for Kilroy to speak.
‘I think you need to release the video before we begin Phase Two. People need to know.’
Bunsen studies the old man with the long grey ponytail and sun-wrecked skin, a man he has known since he was four years old and loves more than the father who hired him. Kilroy’s the man who made sure Bunsen was fed and rested and clothed and on time for school, taught him baseball and football, played catch with him when he couldn’t sleep and talked to him about anything and everything for hours on end. ‘You know why that can’t happen.’
Kilroy exhales, frustrated. ‘It’s our city.’
‘This isn’t about one city. This is about — everything.’
Kilroy looks down, studies the ground.
‘And you know this because you were the one who taught it to me. About what’s right. For the future. Not our future, mankind’s future.’
‘I understand that, but — people will die.’
‘We all die in the end.’
‘Don’t be glib.’
‘It’s true, and I prefer that to the alternative. Don’t you?’
‘But you could warn them. Release the video. Let them leave.’
‘There needs to be collateral damage. You have to get your head around that. People must understand the threat is real. It’s the point of the exercise.’
Kilroy stares at him for a long moment, then nods reluctantly. ‘But afterwards, then you’ll release it and let them know?’
‘I promise. And if I forget I’m sure you’ll remind me.’ Bunsen smiles and wants Kilroy to as well. When he doesn’t, Bunsen puts a hand on the old man’s shoulder. ‘Let me remind you of a few things you taught me over the years. I think they’re important to remember, today of all days.’
Kilroy nods for him to go on. Bunsen can see he wants to be convinced.
‘Over a quarter of yearly greenhouse gases are directly related to the acquisition, processing, distribution and burning of fossil fuel for transportation.’
Kilroy nods, more to himself than Bunsen.
‘And the burning of coal for base-load power accounts for over twenty per cent of yearly greenhouse gas, a number that is constantly rising as China brings two power stations on line every week.’
Again Kilroy nods.
‘And finally, the kicker — the one nobody seems to take notice of — the sunlight that strikes this planet in one hour contains more power than the world uses in one year.’
Kilroy nods once more.
Silence between them.
Bunsen breaks it. ‘You know I can’t do this without you, right?’
Kilroy nods.
‘I need to know you’re with me one hundred per cent, that you’ve got my back.’
‘I do, of course.’
‘Okay then.’ Bunsen smiles, glances at his Patek. ‘Are you ready to begin?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then do it.’
Kilroy turns and moves across the helipad to the right. ‘I’ll let you know when it’s done.’ Bunsen nods and watches him leave through the helipad’s only access point, a large metal door.
8
‘How’s it going?’
Alvy looks up from his microscope as Kilroy enters the laboratory. Alvy’s surprised Bunsen isn’t personally checking how production of the Swarm is progressing, but keeps it to himself. He gestures to the line of black plastic Rhino drums on the far side of the lab. ‘We’ve made thirty batches of one hundred litres each and are testing each individually. The first twenty are good.’ Alvy turns to Jacob. ‘You have slides for the last ten?’
‘Indeed I do.’ Jacob brings them over on a metal tray and places them beside Alvy. Each slide sits in a sealed petri dish. Jacob jabs a thumb towards the door. ‘Gonna hit the John.’
‘I’ll alert the media.’
Jacob shoots Alvy a wry grin then makes an exit. As the heavy metal door hisses closed behind him, Alvy raises his head to remind him to lock it. Too late, he’s already gone. For nearly three years Jacob has forgotten to lock the door behind him. It’s the only thing Alvy finds annoying about his assistant.
The scientist turns back to his microscope, inspects the remaining slides, then looks up at Kilroy with a smile. ‘They’re all good. We’re ready to roll.’
Kilroy nods. ‘And the counteragent?’
‘All done.’ Alvy points at three canisters, each the size of a large thermos, milled from solid aluminium, which sit on a table to the right.
‘Excellent.’ Kilroy might be saying something positive but it’s not registering on his face. Alvy had taken to calling him Killjoy when he wasn’t around.
‘It is. It really is.’ Alvy believes the Department of Defense will be so impressed by the Swarm’s raw potential when they see it in action that it will fundamentally alter their approach to warfare and, as a happy bi-product, save countless lives. It is, far and away, the most important thing Alvy’s ever worked on, a game-changer that will, he believes, make the world a safer place. ‘So what time is the test scheduled for?’
Kilroy’s expression remains neutral. ‘There isn’t going to be a test.’
‘It’s been cancelled?’ Alvy’s clearly disappointed.
‘It was never going to happen.’
‘It — what? What are you talking about?’
‘The Swarm wasn’t created for military use.’
Alvy’s just confused. ‘I don’t — what does that mean?’
‘Exactly what I said.’
‘Then what’s it for?’
‘Urban deployment.’
Alvy thinks it’s a joke, a bad one but a joke nonetheless. He grins — then takes in Kilroy’s blank expression and realises it isn’t. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘I’m dead serious.’
Alvy stands instinctively, his face grim. ‘No, no, no!’ His voice rises an octave as he says it. ‘You can never do that. Ever!’
‘And yet we can and we will — today, in fact, and as you’re the only person who can synthesise the counteragent you can’t be around when it happens.’
‘“Can’t be around?” What the hell are you talking about?’
Alvy understands exactly what he’s talking about as light glints off the silenced Glock 9mm pistol Kilroy draws from inside his jacket.
‘Oh, shit-’
The weapon swings towards Alvy as he drives a hand forward and bats the metal tray off the table in front of him.
Bam. The pistol fires and Alvy feels a sharp pain high on his left shoulder.
Clank. The spinning tray smashes into the bridge of Kilroy’s nose. He cries out and both hands fly to his face.
This is a positive development for Alvy as the pistol now points at the ceiling. Belying his husky appearance the scientist is surprisingly nimble and springs forward, swings a foot and connects with the side of Kilroy’s left knee.
Kilroy grunts and crumples to the ground. As he falls, Alvy grabs the Glock in his hand. The big surprise is that the pistol twists out of Kilroy’s grasp with minimal effort. Alvy was expecting some resistance but the pistol’s grip is slick with blood, courtesy of the metal tray, which has, he can now see, not only stunned Kilroy but also left a deep gash across his nose.
Alvy sprints ten metres to the lab’s door, the bullet wound on his shoulder stinging like crazy. He reaches for the doorhandle. Thank God Jacob was the last person to use the door. He always forgets to lock it. Alvy wrenches on the handle—