The drone waggled its fans and veered off, repositioning itself. Danny breathed a sigh of relief. “You have control?”
“No, but I managed to change its attack parameters.” Olly shifted his display, looking through the drone’s sensors. It was moving away from the building, looking for targets that didn’t exist. It didn’t solve the problem, but it had bought them some time. “And I locked our pal Coyle out. At least for the moment.”
Danny nodded. “Coyle?” he called out.
“Where is my drone going?” Coyle replied.
“Away,” Danny said. “That means the odds are tipping.”
“Not in your favour, Danny,” Faulkner interjected. “Unless you’ve forgotten how to count. Five of us, one of you.”
“Three, fuckstick,” Ro called out, from somewhere across the room.
“Four, technically,” Coyle added. “I have no interest in your kind offer, Faulkner. I only want to get out of here. London has lost its lustre for me.”
“Sounds like the odds are about even, Sarge,” Danny said. He gestured and Olly nodded, and began to crawl towards the next set of partitions. He wished he had a weapon, even a stun gun – something. He was the only unarmed person in the room.
Except he wasn’t unarmed. He slid into a cubicle and lifted his Optik. Though the sniper-drone was proving obstinate, there were other, easier targets to be had. If he could nab one or two of them, it might make the difference. Through his display he could see the Albion goons shifting position, spreading out. Faulkner was remaining where he was, still talking. They were all trying to buy time. But what was he waiting for – ah.
Olly picked up a piece of paper, crumpled it, and tossed it at Danny. Danny looked at him. Olly pointed to the partition between them and the lifts, and mimed knocking it over. Danny frowned, but nodded. He scooted behind another and gave it a kick.
The partitions toppled like dominos. The way was clear moments later, and Olly took aim. The lifts gave a squealing chime as Olly locked down the panels. Danny cleared his throat. “No one is coming up the lifts, Sarge. And I’m covering the stairs.”
“It seems we’re at an impasse,” Faulkner said. “We’ll get reinforcements up here eventually. One way or another. How many spare magazines you got, lad? One maybe two? Three at most, I expect.”
“Got my rifle, Sarge.”
“So do we, Danny. No matter how you slice it, lad, you’re outgunned. All we have to do is keep you penned up and wait.” Faulkner raised his voice. “That goes for you too, Coyle. There’s no way out. Be sensible.”
“Tell me, Faulkner – did you murder Holden?” Coyle called.
Faulkner didn’t reply. Coyle laughed. “I thought so. Must have come as quite a shock, him selling Project LIBRA out from under you. No wonder you’re here, looking to add my head to the pile. Cass won’t be satisfied with anything less, from what I remember of him.”
Danny looked at Olly and mouthed a question. Olly shrugged. It didn’t surprise him that Coyle and Faulkner knew each other in some way. Coyle had to have had some familiarity with Albion to know about the drone in the first place – he might even be working for them. That would explain why Faulkner was here – to make sure Coyle didn’t talk.
Olly cycled through the camera feeds, watching the Albion operatives spread and draw closer. One was creeping towards Ro. Olly leaned back. “Ro – look left!”
On his display, he saw Ro pivot, the pistol in her hand rising. He heard it bark, saw the flash on the feed. The Albion goon retreated hastily. Danny nodded to him in thanks. “I’d stop moving around, Sarge. It’s only going to get somebody killed.”
“Cost of doing business, Danny. We all know what we’re getting into when we sign the contract.” Faulkner was signalling again. Olly didn’t know what the gestures meant, but he could guess. An alert chimed on his display – he’d caught a signal. A passing riot drone. He motioned frantically to Danny as he called the drone and gave its programming a tweak.
It crashed through the window a moment later, popping smoke and blaring underground hip-hop from its loudspeakers. Danny rose and fired smoothly. Someone cried out, and Danny started advancing, loosing quick bursts as he went. Olly scrambled after him. The drone circled the floor, the air from its fans knocking over partitions and sending Faulkner’s men scuttling for cover as smoke filled the space. Danny pivoted and one fell, clutching at his leg. Olly realised Danny was shooting to wound.
Coyle, however, wasn’t. Through his display, Olly saw him rise and fire. An Albion operative spun, the bullet catching him in the neck. Coyle vanished, already moving. “Fall back, fall back,” Faulkner roared. He fired, and the riot drone bucked, bleeding sparks. Albion regrouped, and Danny was forced to duck down. Olly slid to a halt beside him. Smoke was everywhere, and Olly blinked back tears.
Someone crashed towards them – Ro. She dropped into a crouch nearby. “What now?” she shouted, trying to be heard over the loudspeakers. The music caught off with a strangled squawk as someone put a bullet into the drone’s CPU.
“Good effort, lad,” Faulkner growled, from close by. “But we’re between you and the lifts, and if you try for the doors, we’ll put you down.” A radio crackled, and Danny looked to his own. A short burst of voices. Reinforcements, Olly knew. There’d be more drones, more guns. More than they could handle. Danny shook his head.
Olly was about to speak, when Coyle beat him to it. “I’m out of patience, Faulkner. I think it’s time you left. Danny, or whatever your name is – unlock the lifts.”
“Why would we do that?” Danny called.
“See this?” Coyle looked up, towards one of
