Connected Infection

1. Casas Ibanez - Prologue.1

Casas Ibáñez

~

Castilla-La Mancha, Spain

Thursday, May 11th 2028

17:12 (UTC+2)

Agent Damien Raven strolled past the manager of the hotel in which he had the misfortune to be staying - a man who was gesticulating wildly at the pilot of the sleek black helicopter that had landed on his well-tended lawn. Raven ignored him, along with the other gaping guests – including the leggy pro-tennis player who had stalked him since their single night of what she erroneously believed to be passion – and entered the welcoming blasts of rotor-driven air.

The cabin door rolled aside and a stocky woman with ex-military posture grinned out at him. 'I have some bad news about your holiday, Agent Raven,' she shouted.

'Please don't tell me they're extending it,' he said, clambering past into the shade of the interior.

The door slammed shut behind him, muting the rotor noise, and the floor lurched as the copter took to the air. Raven sat. 'Chase,' he nodded to the woman; 'Harris,' to her partner, a tall, bronzed man opposite. 'About time you guys finished your training.'

'Damn right,' said Harris. 'And you wouldn't believe how deep they're throwing us in.'

'Sounds good. Tell.'

Harris gestured at the cabin's last occupant, a tall woman with glossy-black hair, holding a tablet and watching Raven with dark, long-lashed eyes.

Raven looked her over, taking in her wired but confident posture, her toned figure and the symmetry of her dark features. He smiled, deciding he wouldn't mind seeing more of that olive skin.

'This is Agent Tasmin Popescu,' Chase said. 'She flew the details from London by suborbital.'

'Popescu?' Raven said, recognising the name as he extended his hand. 'You shut down that Russian lab last year. The one making remote-controlled wolves.'

'They were just dogs,' she said, with a brief handshake and an accent he couldn't place. 'Rogue Mafia developing ultrasonic neural nets to control them.'

'Enforcement?'

'Yes. Cheap canine muscle. Very cruel for the dogs.'

'So I heard. I'm Raven,' he said.

'I know who you are. Now pay attention, all of you. This had to be flown physically from London because the net and the phones are down. Nobody has seen this yet. Not even me.'

Popescu angled her tablet so they could see. The UNAXI logo flashed up and then disappeared, to be replaced by the stern visage of their Italian-Nigerian director, Antonio Obiakor, a man renowned for his humourlessness, and who looked even less amused than usual.