Dan and Mitch shook their heads.
‘Last time I saw him, he was talking to a couple by that house over there.’ Dan pointed.
David glanced over. ‘His radio might have packed up. I’ll keep trying. If you see him, wave him over – we want to get back to the compound for some rest before we drop from exhaustion.’
He disappeared round the back of the vehicle, talking into his radio.
Dan turned a piece of the blue wire between his fingers as he monitored the robot’s progress on the laptop.
‘This is weird,’ said Mitch.
‘What is?’
‘It doesn’t make sense.’ Mitch held up the pieces, and pointed to a single wire protruding upwards. ‘There’s nothing attached to it. Did you cut it by mistake?’
Dan shook his head. ‘No.’
He watched as Mitch stepped away from the back of the vehicle to watch Dicko and H’s progress. Terry was waving his goodbyes to the old couple outside their house.
Mitch turned to Dan, his face pale. ‘This isn’t the one – it’s a decoy.’
Dan looked at Mitch. ‘What? What?’
Mitch had turned back to the road, running his fingers through his hair and turning his head from side to side, desperately surveying the landscape. His eyes fell on the abandoned green tricycle standing in the middle of the road. It was the real bomb.
‘This isn’t the one, Dan – we’ve fixed the wrong one!’
Then H yelled, his shout carried away by a blast before Dan could register the warning. The robot tipped sideways in the shockwave, the camera blinked once, then continued recording. A red light on the camera flashed silently and, as the dust began to settle, the screaming began.
Chapter 1
JANUARY 2012
‘Gold has long been valued in ancient cultures around the world. One must question exactly what was so special about gold that men would wage war with each other for years, far from their own lands. Maybe, just maybe, it was not so much about the gold itself, but rather the power it contained…
The power harnessed from the processing of gold in the ways I shall describe will show beyond doubt it is a cleaner, more stable alternative to nuclear fuel while surpassing the output we are told to expect from solar or wind energy. As usual, however, the polluting industries of oil and coal hold sway over governments around the world and continue to block extensive research and exploration into the mass manufacture of this potential wonder-fuel…’
Extract from lecture series by Doctor Peter Edgewater, Berlin, Germany
Oxford, England
Dan Taylor woke up in a sweat. The same nightmare punctuated his sleep, night after night – dust, sand, screaming, blood. He rubbed his eyes. He’d been crying in his sleep again. He knew the army shrinks said the memories would fade in time but he didn’t believe them. He’d spoken to enough people who had been caught up in combat before to know the dreams never left. He could almost hear the ringing in his ears from the explosion.
He tried to roll over and discovered he couldn’t. He opened his eyes, slowly. He’d passed out on the sofa. Again. He eased himself up onto his elbows and turned his head to survey the damage, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the stale odours in the room.
The remains of a Chinese takeaway littered the small coffee table next to him. He blinked in surprise. He didn’t remember eating last night. He reached down towards the floor and felt about until his fingers connected with a familiar glass surface. Clutching at it, he drew it up level until the whiskey bottle was in front of his face. He glanced at it and winced. Empty. He stood it on the coffee table.
He looked up and saw the television flickering on in the corner of the room. Some sort of daytime television talk-show rubbish. He reached between the sofa cushions underneath him. He pulled out the remote control, aimed it at the offending broadcast and hit the off switch.
He closed his eyes. He remembered thinking he’d have just one drink to help him get to sleep, to ward off the nightmares. He looked at the bottle accusingly. It had let him down. It no longer worked. He opened his eyes and blinked, trying to focus so the tears wouldn’t start.
He swung his legs off the sofa and sat with his head in his hands until he felt he could stand without falling over. Slowly, he straightened up and groaned.
Coffee.
He picked up the empty whiskey bottle and takeaway cartons and staggered towards the kitchen. He swore profusely as he stubbed his toe on one of the bags littering the hallway. A steel-capped boot fell out on to the floor and he stared at it accusingly. He’d arrived back in Oxford two days ago but couldn’t face the depressing task of unpacking. He yearned to be travelling again, even if it only meant returning to his old career of collecting more soil samples for yet another mining exploration company. It stopped him thinking too hard about the past. Or the present. Or the future.
He shook his head and shuffled into the kitchen. He opened the back door, swung the rubbish into the bins outside and blinked in the bright sunshine. He belched and watched in mild amusement as the hot emission turned to steam in the cold morning air.
He stepped back into the kitchen, left the door open to help air the house and switched the kettle on. As he turned and reached up to a cupboard over the kitchen bench for a coffee mug, he noticed his mobile phone blinking.
New voicemail message.
Dan grunted, picked up the phone and put it in the back pocket of his jeans. He got a coffee mug, organised the first caffeine shot of the morning and sloped back to the living room.
He grimaced. The room stank.