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  But Hugo Hyde was still alive … at least for now.

  Chapter 4

  Sparkle

  Friday, 11:15am CET (13:15pm local time)

  Diana got back on her feet first. She surveyed the scene for survivours. When none revealed themselves, she grabbed the strap gear dangling from the helicopter that hovered above them like an iron hornet.

  She slipped the contraption over Hugo’s head and fastened the straps around his waist. There was no time to put on her dress. Their naked bodies were pulled up as she was still adjusting her own gear. One gust of wind, and the sharp edges of the sail-shaped edifice would impale her.

  Gunfire from the roof overpowered the noise of the rotor blades.

  Diana realised they had been hit when the aircraft swerved like an injured bird, exerting a vigorous pull on the straps around her waist.

  Her breasts were pressed tightly against Hugo’s chest. Despite his firm pectorals, she could only think about how to break free from the man who seemed to suck every woman he encountered into a black hole.

  “Why?” Hugo screamed over the sputtering of the helicopter’s engine. “Why did you come for me?” He seemed to think he deserved an answer before the shallow waters became their grave.

  Diana looked at him, bereft of emotion. Her face, limbs and torso felt as if they had turned to stone as she accelerated toward the turquoise surface.

  So, this is it then, she thought while staring into Hugo’s black eyes. The reflection off the waves sparkled in his irises, setting them alight with a fervour that she hadn’t noticed in a man before.

  “Why?” he cried, grabbing Diana’s shoulders and shaking her violently.

  Their eyes locked in an eternal moment that seemed to encompass their lives. Spending their final moments in a tight embrace glued them together. She looked into his soul and glimpsed the contours of the girl from his hologram.

  It was the first time that Diana truly understood a man. And what she saw perturbed her even more. Something inside Hugo wished for them to be smashed to death on the glittering surface, only to sink to the bottom of the sea.

  Chapter 5

  Tip Of The Curve

  Friday, 11:30am CET (13:30pm local time)

  Hugo felt Diana’s stare searing into him as the helicopter stabilised a few yards above sea level.

  “I don’t give a fuck!” she shouted as the chopper pulled up. “I’ve been told to bring you in. And that’s what I’m doing.” She tossed her Venetian mask into the sea, but she turned her face away from him before he had a chance to re-establish eye contact.

  Again, he felt oddly touched by the familiarity of her face. Diana’s nose had a classical straightness enhanced by slender cheekbones, which reminded him of an Eastern European mannequin he had bedded five years earlier.

  “Oh!” He could have slapped himself when he realised his mistake. “You’re Cynthia Holborn’s missing sister.”

  Diana groaned. “You better not mention her again.”

  “Ah!” Hugo couldn’t suppress a smile. “I guess it’s hard to keep up with all the attention your sis is getting. Is that why you’ve declared yourself missing?”

  She squinted at him with as much scorn as if she was about to bite his head off, and Hugo knew his curse had struck again. He had a knack for touching other people’s sore spots, no matter if he wanted to or not.

  As the helicopter gained altitude, Diana’s associates resumed reeling them in. Hugo’s back was strained to the breaking point. The emerald waves that had almost touched his feet receded from view. For a moment, he had been convinced he would see his lost love again upon crashing into the sea. He would have paid his debt at last, having cut her life short even before her twentieth birthday.

  Moments later he saw the sail-shaped hotel that had harboured him for more than six months. Only a tiny hole near its curved tip revealed the air assault. Police sirens blared on the ground as uniformed men swarmed the damaged building.

  If Hugo hadn’t heard gunfire coming from the rooftop, he would have thought their sudden descent had been staged to elicit a feeling of gratitude for his rescue. Feigned executions were a popular approach to break prisoners’ resilience. There was no reason why Diana and her squadron would shrink from such methods just because they were British.

  Hugo closed his eyes as he found the helicopter’s rails within touching distance. Two operatives grabbed his arms and lifted him into the cabin. They put him in the back row, dumping brown military overalls on his lap. The rough fabric was itchy, but it was preferable to sitting around naked.

  He had made a fresh start in Dubai to leave his past behind. This time he had worked alone, ensuring no one could betray him. And yet his past had caught up with him, and he was going to pay for what he had done.

  Diana took the seat to his right. With the elegance of an athlete, she slipped into her uniform. The Union Jack on her chest and four aquamarine lines on her shoulder braids identified her as a group captain of the Royal Air Force—a remarkable achievement considering her youth. It also explained her astonishing strength.

  She received a brand-new phone from one of the soldiers, which she configured within seconds by touching its surface with her thumb.

  Hugo peeked over her shoulder, only to witness a coded message arrive on the display. Diana squinted at the text and reread it several times. When no further instructions came in, she tapped the grizzled captain’s shoulder and showed him the text. He cocked his head as if he doubted its legitimacy, but Diana gave him a nod.

  The helicopter turned around, facing the Burj Al-Arab again.

  “What are you doing?” Hugo asked, dread pumping in his stomach.

  Diana bound her shoulder-length hair into a ponytail. “Whoever came for us, we can’t allow them to take possession of … of whatever you built there.”

  There was a rumble as two missiles detached from the chopper.

  “No!” Horrified, Hugo watched them penetrate the broken windows. Simultaneous explosions obliterated what remained of his penthouse, flattening the tip of the curved building.

  The elimination of Hugo’s construction was so crucial to the British Government that they had risked an armed conflict with the United Arab Emirates.

  Showers of desperation washed over him as the finality of the airstrike sank in. His life had been in vain. And now his legacy was gone for good.

  Chapter 6

  South Bank

  Friday, 11:45am CET (10:45am UK time)

  Sarah’s mouth was still wide open. Hugo’s return dredged up feelings she had considered buried for good. She had learned a lot from him, but it had been torture. Every snide remark, every insult and every humiliation replayed in her head. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the positive. Despite the pain, her time at Sibylon had made her stronger. Unintentionally, Hugo had opened up a new life for her.

  Sarah’s first instinct was to publish the video. It would dominate the news cycle, turning her from just another tech blogger on geek-o-matixx into a cutting-edge investigative journalist in her own right.

  And yet something told her to consult with Albert first. She had agreed to work for him, because she could do so whenever and wherever she wanted—such as from the five-bedroom apartment on the twentieth floor of a newly built South Bank skyscraper that Jamie had bought with the previous year’s bonus.

  Never would Sarah have expected to meet someone of such strength while exposing her own vulnerability. Her counsellor had recommended group sessions as part of the recovery process. The fact that people like Jamie were exposed to similar issues at the workplace had shocked Sarah, but it also comforted her.

  For a while, she had attempted to become an entirely new person. She had even thrown away her purple-blond hair dye, returning to her natural copper colour. The prospect of a career in journalism boosted her confidence after months of frustration.

  In contrast to her work at Sibylon, the best part of Sarah’s geek-o-matixx job was that her boss
was a thousand miles away. Perhaps the video of Hugo’s return would make up for the fact that she hadn’t done any work on his boring research project. For some reason Albert seemed to care about crop prices and their recent volatility.

  Poor choice of feature topics was one of the reasons for the decline of geek-o-matixx. The platform that specialised in leaking scandalous news had lost much of its viewership since the Sibyl crisis. Sarah saw herself scrubbing the deck of a doomed ship. The iceberg had yet to hit, but it already loomed in the waters ahead.

  In a tragic twist of fate, it was Hugo’s technology that had set geek-o-matixx’s demise in motion. The previous year’s disaster had opened the eyes of companies, governments and even NGOs on how easily their IT infrastructure could be attacked. Now almost all of them had installed a new generation of computers that no one could possibly hack. Quantum encryption made their networks nearly impenetrable, limiting the value of Sarah’s special skills. Never had they relied more on inside informants. Acquiring them wasn’t easy for an introvert like Sarah.

  Her discovery of Hugo’s survival was the only scoop she might land in a while. Albert’s response, however, felt like a punch to the stomach.

  “Do with the video whatever you want,” he had said. “So, what about the spikes in crop prices?”

  With a sigh of disappointment, Sarah resumed her work on the mind-numbing task.

  Chapter 7

  Concussion

  Friday, 12:00am CET (2:00pm local time)

  “Relax,” Diana told her vomiting captive. “Turbulence is normal when approaching a larger airplane from behind.” She pointed at the hulking metallic fortress two hundred yards ahead of them.

  “Why are we doing it then?” Hugo wiped his mouth with a kerchief and unwrapped the chewing gum she had given him. There was something spiritual about the gaze of his dark eyes, as if he lingered halfway between this world and the next.

  Diana had rescued him from an assault team, but there wasn’t a sliver of gratitude on his chiselled face. He even had the cheek to remind her of a crazy teenage episode she had almost forgotten. Hugo had diagnosed correctly that she had run away from home to get her parents’ attention. “In the meantime,” she said, “we—”

  Loud beeps made the adrenaline spike in her blood. She looked over the pilot’s shoulder. The controls showed anti-aircraft missiles would hit them in thirty seconds.

  Hugo bit his lip while holding onto his seat. “Seems like the Emiratis are taking revenge for what you did to their beloved Burj Al-Arab.”

  To Diana, it wasn’t funny at all. The beeping accelerated as the rockets closed in. At last, the flying fortress opened up ahead of them.

  “Now we’re offering them an even larger target,” Hugo said. He didn’t seem to panic despite the danger, and Diana wondered why so little about his life seemed of value to him. Maybe, their destruction of his penthouse had hit him harder than expected. She wondered what exactly he had built there.

  The helicopter swerved. Even the pilot’s frantic movements of the control column didn’t seem to have an effect.

  Diana closed her eyes, preparing for the impact. She wouldn’t be the first officer in her twenties to be buried that year. Downing Street would send a handwritten letter to her family. Maybe they would be proud of her at last.

  She had to hitchhike to her entrance exam when applying to the air force. It had been arranged by an academic advisor, who had reviewed her GSCEs and not seen any viable career beyond the military. Her parents, on the other hand, had been busy chauffeuring her younger sister to regional talent contests—and later, national ones. Even today, Diana groaned when someone asked her for tickets to one of Cynthia’s sold-out concerts. For a moment, she pictured her sister and her parents standing at her grave. Would they regret what they had done—or not done?

  Like so many others, Hugo saw her as “Cynthia Holborn’s sister.” The good thing was that the world wouldn’t be impacted by her loss.

  As the missiles closed in, Diana wondered what kind of pain she would feel during her final moments. Would she burn to death, or would the helicopter’s steel and glass cut through her organs first? They hadn’t prepared her for such things, although they had taught her the art of killing. Well, at least she had disposed of a dozen of the worst scum in her days.

  Her earphones shielded her from the noise of the explosion but not from the concussion wave.

  “Father,” she prayed silently when everything went black.

  Chapter 8

  Higher Calling

  Friday, 12:15pm CET (3:45pm Indian time)

  Alexander Popov walked two steps behind the man he was assigned to protect. Only in case of danger would he step forward and shield Yogi Kapoor with his frame, drawing his Jericho 941 if needed.

  Alexander felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, but he didn’t divert his attention from the scene. Yogi had reminded him that losing yet another job would soil Alexander’s résumé for good. Six months earlier, the Russian had been dismissed by the French secret service. Before that, Alexander had failed as security director at Hugo Hyde’s Sibylon. Keen not to go three for three, Alexander bowed his head and followed his direct superior along the corridor that was lined with the usual interactive displays.

  “Yes, sir,” Yogi said into his mobile. “I’m about to meet him. Stay on the line.” He pulled the brass handle on the leaden door and knocked it against the solid metal.

  Discreetly, Alexander remained behind Yogi when Maya Singh appeared behind the temple gates. The heiress wiped the sweat off her forehead and ran her hands through her long hair. She straightened her favourite orange sari. Her five-million-dollar earrings dangled as she moved. A flower-shaped arrangement of gemstones covered her earlobes. They were connected by a platinum string to a spiral of diamonds. They coalesced around a dark sapphire, like stars swirling around a black hole.

  Maya was the sole person in the Singh household with a Bindi—a small red dot beneath her lightly curved eyebrows. Alexander had learned that, according to Hindu belief, it was the location of the sixth chakra, the seat of concealed wisdom. In Maya’s case, the Bindi was also adorned by a diamond.

  “You must forgive me!” Yogi pleaded as he shoved his twenty-stone body through the door that protected the inner sanctum. “It’s an urgent call!” A golden Shiva statue gleamed in front of a roughly hewn wall made of anthracite-coloured granite.

  “Must I?” Maya asked. “I told you never to disturb my brother during meditation!”

  Alexander smelled the incense and listened to the sitar music coming out of nowhere. There was no sign of a threat, although one might arise any moment when three of the wealthiest people in Asia were in the same room. He remembered how close the two siblings had become since the passing of their parents. They were even meditating together while having barely spoken to each other the year before.

  “C-c-could you please take this call, Jyran?” Yogi pleaded, holding out his phone.

  Alexander wondered whether Yogi’s girlish voice irritated others as much as it did him. The man’s ego had inflated along with the stock price of Akasha Ltd, but in the presence of his chairman, he stammered like a sixth grader facing his headmaster.

  “Who is it?” Jyran Singh asked, reclining on his scarlet divan. To Alexander, the young man with the beige cloth and the horn-rimmed glassed looked like any other Mumbaian undergraduate rather than the heir of a fifty-trillion-rupiah empire.

  “The p-p-prime minister, sir.” Yogi bowed and pointed his device at the wall-mounted screens.

  “Which one?” Jyran asked, but then the scenic views of Goa beaches and Gujarat forests gave way to a wrinkled visage. It was flanked by two Ganesha statues that were meant to imbue the politician with intellect and wisdom.

  “Jyran,” Raj Rao began, looking distraught, “I’m so glad to see you!”

  Chapter 9

  MECCA

  Friday, 12:30pm CET (2:30pm local time)

  Hugo tried to catch
his breath. He gripped the seat in front of him and opened his eyes. No, he wasn’t dead … yet.

  Although he didn’t believe in God, he wondered if a higher power had kept him alive. But to do what?

  His life might regain some sort of meaning if he could be with the woman he had lost. But now that was no longer possible. Maybe he should have accepted destiny’s decision, which had ripped them apart for good. It felt harder even than the loss of his parents. The weight of guilt crushed his will to go on.

  For a moment, Hugo wondered how things would have turned out if he had stayed in Paris or returned to London. Would he have picked up on technological advances that had eluded him in Dubai? Maybe he would have met other like-minded researchers, helping him achieve a breakthrough in quantum mind processing. It was the peculiar laws of quantum physics that had made him who he was. And the chaos in his own life reminded him of the exotic realm where subatomic particles could exist in various places at once, spring into existence out of nothing and disappear again.

  “We’re in,” the pilot said, wiping his sunburnt face with an olive towel. “MECCA’s decoys made the missiles explode. Now our fighter jets are striking back.”

  Neither Hugo nor Diana had time to ask questions. A uniformed woman pulled him out of the helicopter and into the belly of the massive airplane. “Middle Eastern Command Centre/Airborne” was etched into its hull. Unlike Hugo, Diana showed no surprise at its vastness. Three soldiers guided them through the innards of the enhanced Airbus A400. They walked past weapon chambers, supply rooms, and server racks. MECCA was a flying monster, and its crew of fresh-faced servicemen and women patrolled the skies of the Arabic world.