Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows

Chapter 3: Getting Hooked!

The entrance to the building site was crowded with construction workers preparing to go home. Matt was reminded of Readington an hour earlier. Nothing really changed when you got older-except that maybe you weren't given homework. The men and women drifting out of the site were tired, in a hurry to be away. That was probably why none of them tried to stop Matt as he slipped in among them, walking purposefully as if he knew where he was going, as if he had every right to be there. But the shift wasn't completely finished yet. Other workers were still carrying tools, stowing away machinery, packing up for the night. They all wore protective headgear, and seeing a pile of plastic helmets, Matt snatched one up and put it on. The great sweep of the block of apartments that was being built loomed up ahead of him. To pass through it, he was forced into a narrow corridor between two scaffolding towers. Suddenly a heavy-set man in white overalls stepped in front of him, blocking his way.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"My dad . . ." Matt gestured vaguely in the direction of another worker and kept walking. The trick worked. The man didn't challenge him again. He headed toward the crane. It stood in the open, the high priest of construction. Matt hadn't realized how very tall it was until he had reached it. The supporting tower was bolted into a massive block of concrete. It was very narrow once he squeezed through the iron girders, he could reach out and touch all four sides. A ladder ran straight up the centre. Without stopping to think, Matt began to climb. It's only a ladder, he told himself. You've climbed ladders before. You've got nothing to worry about.

But this was a ladder with three hundred rungs. If Matt let go or slipped, there would be nothing to stop him from falling to his death. There were rest platforms at intervals, but Matt didn't dare stop to catch his breath. Somebody might look up and see him. And there was always a chance that the barge, loose from its moorings, might begin to drift. Matt knew he had to hurry. After two hundred and fifty rungs, the tower narrowed. Matt could see the crane's control cabin directly above him. He looked back down. The men on the building site were suddenly very small and far away. He climbed the last ladder. There was a trapdoor over his head, leading into the cabin. But the trapdoor was locked. Fortunately, Matt was ready for this. When JIN 7 had sent him on his first mission, they had given him a number of gadgets-he couldn't exactly call them weapons-to help him out of a tight spot. One of these was a tube marked OXYCLEAN, FOR HEALTHIER SKIN. But the cream inside the tube did much more than clean up pimples. Although Matt had used most of it, he had managed to hold on to the last remnants and often carried the tube with him as a sort of souvenir. He had it in his pocket now. Holding on to the ladder with one hand he took the tube out with the other. There was very little of the cream left, but Matt knew that a little was all he needed. He opened the tube, squeezed some of the cream onto the lock, and waited. There was a moment's pause, then a hiss and a wisp of smoke. The cream was eating into the metal. The lock sprang open. As matt watched the metal bolt snap in two he was thanking Samantha Taylor for giving matt this cream. Matt pushed back the trapdoor and climbed the last few rungs. He was in. He had to close the trapdoor again to create enough floor space to stand on. He found himself in a square, metal box, about the same size as a sit-in arcade game. There was a pilot's chair with two joysticks-one on each arm-and instead of a screen, a floor -to -ceiling window with a spectacular view of the building site, the river, and the whole of West Tomoeda. A small computer monitor had been built into one corner, and at knee level, there was a radio transmitter. The joysticks beside the arms were surprisingly uncomplicated. Each had just six buttons-two green, two black, and two red. There were even helpful diagrams to show what they did. The right hand lifted the hook up and down. The left hand moved it along the jib, closer or farther from the cabin. The left hand also controlled the whole top of the crane, rotating it three hundred and sixty degrees. It couldn't have been much simpler. Even the START button was clearly labelled. A big switch for a big toy. He turned the switch and felt power surge into the control cabin. The computer lit up with a graphic of a barking dog as the warm-up program spun into life. Matt eased himself into the operator's chair.

There were still twenty or thirty men on the site. Looking down between his knees, he saw them moving silently far below. Nobody had noticed that anything was wrong. But still he knew he had to move fast. He pressed the green button on the right-hand control green for go-then touched his fingers against the joystick and pushed. Nothing happened! Matt frowned. Maybe it was going to be more complicated than he'd thought. What had he missed? He rested his hands on the joysticks, looking left and right for another control. His right hand moved slightly and suddenly the hook soared up from the ground. It was working!

Unknown to Matt, heat sensors concealed inside the handles of the joysticks had read his body temperature and activated the crane. All modern cranes have the same security system built into them, in case the operator has a heart attack and dies. There can be no accidents. Body heat is needed to make the crane work. And luckily for him, this crane was a Liebherr 154 EC-H, one of the most modern in the world. The Liebherr is incredibly easy to use, and also remarkably accurate. Even sitting so high above the ground, the operator can pick up a tea bag and drop it into a small china pot. Now Matt pushed sideways with his left hand and gasped as the crane swung around. In front of him he could see the jib stretching out, winging high over the rooftops of Tomoeda. Matt settled himself in the chair and pulled back, wondering what would happen next.

Inside the boat, Suzuki was opening a bottle of gin. He'd had a good day, selling more than forty thousand yens' worth of merchandise to the kids at his old school. And the best thing was, they'd all be back for more. Soon, he'd sell them the stuff only if they promised to introduce it to their friends. Then the friends would become customers too. It was the easiest market in the world. He'd gotten them hooked. They were his to do with as he liked.

The greasy-haired man working with him was named Michael Hitchcock. The two had met in prison and decided to go into business together when they got out. The boat had been Hitchcock's idea. There was no real kitchen and no toilet, and it was freezing in winter . . . but it worked. It even amused them to be so close to a police station. Sometimes they enjoyed watching the police cars or boats going past. Of course, the pigs would never think of looking for criminal's right on their own doorstep. Suddenly Hitchcock swore. "What the...?"

"What is it?" Suzuki looked up.

"The cup . . ." Suzuki watched as a cup of coffee, which had been sitting on a shelf, began to move. It slid sideways, then fell off with a clatter, spilling cold coffee on the grey rag that they called a carpet. Suzuki was confused. The cup seemed to have moved on its own. Nothing had touched it. He giggled.

"How did you do that?" he asked.

"I didn't."

"Then..." The greasy-haired man was the first to realize what was happening-but even he couldn't guess the truth.

We're sinking!" he shouted. He scrambled for the door. Now Suzuki felt it for himself. The floor was tilting. Test tubes and beakers slid into each other, and then crashed to the floor, glass shattered everywhere. He swore and followed Hitchcock-uphill now. With every second that passed, the gradient grew steeper. But the strange thing was that the barge didn't t seem to be sinking at all On the contrary; the front of it seemed to be rising out of the water. "What's going on?" Suzuki yelled.

"The door's jammed!" Hitchcock had managed to open it an inch, but the wire on the other side was holding it firm. "Check the other door!" he yelled. But the second door was now high above them. More bottles rolled off the table and smashed. In the kitchen, dirty plates and mugs slid into each other, pieces flying. With something between a sob and a snarl, Suzuki tried to climb up the mountainside that the inside of the boat had become. But it was already too steep. The door was almost over his head. He lost his balance and fell backward, shouting as, one second later, the other man was thrown on top of him. The two of them rolled into the corner, tangled up in each other. Plates, cups, knives, forks, and dozens of pieces of scientific equipment crashed into them. The walls of the barge were grinding with the pressure. A window shattered. A table turned itself into a battering ram and buried itself at them. Suzuki felt a bone snap in his arm and screamed out loud. The barge was completely vertical, standing in the water at ninety degrees. For a moment it rested where it was. Then it began to rise...

Matt stared at the barge in amazement. The crane was lifting it at half speed-some sort of override had come into action, slowing the operation down-but it wasn't even straining. Matt could feel the power under his palms. Sitting in the cabin with both hands on the joysticks, his feet apart and the jib of the crane jutting out ahead of him, he felt as if he and the crane had become one. He had only to move an inch and the five-ton boat would be brought to him. He could see it, dangling on the hook, spinning slowly. Water was streaming off the bow. It was already clear of the water, rising up about five yards per second. He wondered what it must be like inside. And then the radio beside his knee hissed into life.

"Crane operator! This is base. What the hell do you think you're doing? Over!" A pause, a burst of static. Then the metallic voice was back. "Who is in the crane? Who's up there? Will you identify yourself . . ." There was a microphone snaking toward Matt's chin and he was tempted to say something. But he decided against it. Hearing a teenager's voice would only panic them more. He looked down between his knees. About a dozen construction workers were closing in on the base of the crane. Others were pointing at the boat, jabbering amongst themselves. No sounds reached the cabin. It was as if Matt were cut off from the real world. He felt very secure. He had no doubt that more workers had already started climbing the ladder and that it would all be over soon, but for the moment he was untouchable. He concentrated on what he was doing. Getting the barge out of the water had been only half his plan. He still had to finish it. "Crane operator! Lower the hook! We believe there are people inside the boat and you are endangering their lives. Repeat. Lower the hook!"

The barge was almost two hundred feet above the water, swinging on the end of the hook. Matt moved his left hand, turning the crane around so that the boat was dragged in an arc along the river and then over dry land. There was a sudden buzz. The jib came to a halt. Matt pushed the joystick. Nothing happened. He glanced at the computer. The screen had gone blank. Someone at ground level had come to his senses and done the only sensible thing. He had switched off the power. The crane was dead. Matt sat where he was, watching the barge swaying in the breeze. He hadn't quite succeeded in what he had set out to do. He had planned to lower the boat-along with its contents-safely into the parking lot by the police station. It would have made a nice surprise for the authorities, he had thought. Instead the boat was now hanging over the conference centre that he had seen from Kanoria Bridge.

But at the end of the day, he supposed it didn't make much difference. The result would be the same. He stretched his arms and relaxed, waiting for the trapdoor to burst open. This wasn't going to be easy to explain. And then he heard the tearing sound. The metal stanchion that protruded from the end of the deck had never been designed to carry the entire weight of the barge. It was a miracle that it had lasted as long as it had. As Matt watched, open mouthed, the stanchion tore itself free. For a few seconds it clung by one edge to the deck. Then the last metal rivet came loose.

The five-ton barge had been sixty yards above the ground.

Now it began to fall.

In the Kanoria Riverside Conference Centre, the chief of the Tomoeda Metropolitan Police was addressing a large crowd of journalists, TV cameramen, civil servants, and government officials. He was a tall, thin man who took himself very seriously. His dark blue uniform was immaculate, with every piece of silver from the studs on his epaulets to his five medals-polished until it gleamed. This was his big day. He was sharing the platform with no less a personage than the home secretary himself. The assistant chief of police was there as well as seven lower-ranking officers. A slogan was being projected onto the wall behind him.

WINNING THE WAR AGAINST THE DRUG DEALERS

Silver letters on a blue background. The chief of police had chosen the colours himself, knowing that they matched his uniform. He liked the slogan. He knew it would be in all the major newspapers the next day-along with, just as important, a photograph of himself.

"We have overlooked nothing!" he was saying, his voice echoing around the modern room. He could see the journalists scribbling down his every word. The television cameras were all focused on him. "Thanks to my personal involvement and efforts, we have never been more successful." He smiled at the home secretary, who smiled toothily back. "But we are not resting on our laurels. Oh, no! Any day now we hope to announce another breakthrough." and at that moment the chief of the Tomoeda Metropolitan Police was about to understand the meaning of 'be careful what you wish for'. For that was when the barge hit the glass roof of the conference centre and crashed on through. There was an explosion. The chief of police just had time to dive for cover as fast as he can; the dripping wet object plunged down toward him. The home secretary was thrown backward, his glasses flying off his face. His security men froze, helpless. The boat crashed into the space in front of them, between the stage and the audience. The side of the cabin had been torn off, and there was the laboratory, exposed, with the two dealers sprawled together in one corner, staring dazedly at the hundreds of policemen and officials who now surrounded them. A cloud of white powder mushroomed up and then fell onto the dark blue uniform of the police chief, covering him from head to toe. The fire alarms had all gone off. The lights blew out. Then the screaming began.

Meanwhile, the first of the construction workers had made it to the crane cabin and was gazing, astonished, at the fifteen-year-old boy he had found there.

"Do you...?" he stammered. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"

Matt glanced at the empty hook and at the gaping hole in the roof of the conference centre, at the rising smoke and dust. He shrugged apologetically.

"I was just working on the crime figures," he said. "And I think there's been a drop, the police seem to be doing a smashing job."