Free Ironheart by Allan Boroughs

encrypted.’ He held the pendant close to his visor. ‘I will need some time to decipher it.’
    ‘How long?’ said Verity, checking her watch. ‘Trans-Siberian are expecting us in half an hour.’
    ‘That would be difficult even for me,’ said Calculus. ‘It is a complex cryptograph with over fourteen trillion possible combinations. Simply to count them would take a human
being four hundred and forty-two thousand years, six months, twenty-eight days and—’
    ‘All right!’ said Verity. ‘I get the point. Just get it done as quickly as possible. We’ll need it soon if I’m going to strike a bargain with Lucifer
Stone.’
    India’s heart began to beat faster as the prospect of a Siberian adventure opened up before her once more. ‘Why would Dad have gone to all this trouble to hide this
information?’ she said.
    ‘Perhaps because he knew he might not come back,’ said Verity. ‘And because he knew that what was at Ironheart was very valuable.’
    ‘Or very dangerous,’ offered Calculus. He disconnected the wires and handed the pendant back to India. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘I have recorded the data from the
microchip. Keep hold of it safely. If word gets out about this I think Sid might try to pay you another visit.’

CHAPTER 8
AN UNPLEASANT ENCOUNTER

    The sun was low in the sky by the time they left Mrs Chang’s and a bitter wind blew off the river. They marched through the streets to the eastern edge of town and the
black, granite offices of the Trans-Siberian Mining Company. At the bottom of the front steps they stopped to look up at the two gas flames billowing like orange silk on either side of the oak
doors.
    ‘Stone keeps them burning because he can afford to,’ said Verity. ‘He likes people to remember who has all the wealth and power around here.’
    India, who was used to never feeling warm in their dank London cottage, was shocked by the waste of fuel.
    Inside, the building smelled of waxed wood and polished brass. Verity marched up to a fat guard, who was seated behind an ornate desk, cleaning his ears with a pencil. ‘I need to see the
Director immediately,’ she said, flashing her business card at him and leaning across the desk menacingly. ‘I have some important information that he’s going to want to hear
straight away.’
    The guard inspected the end of the pencil and then peered suspiciously at Calculus. ‘No weapons in the building,’ he said flatly. ‘That means the gun and the robot.’
    ‘Actually,’ said Calculus, ‘I’m an android.’
    ‘It’s a very different thing altogether,’ added India helpfully.
    Verity tapped her foot impatiently. ‘When can we see Mr Stone?’
    The guard curled his lip. ‘When the Director shares his diary with me I’ll be sure to let you know. In the meantime, wait over there.’
    They sat in the lobby on hard chairs and watched the guard scraping grease from under his fingernails with a paper clip. One entire wall of the entrance hall was taken up with a map of Siberia.
It was studded with small flags bearing names that crackled with the promise of adventure: ‘The Grace Under Pressure’, ‘The Lone Wolf’, ‘The Ice Queen’. The flags
gradually thinned out towards the East until there were none left at all. India wondered where on the map Ironheart might be.
    Finally, after await that felt like hours, they left Calculus in the lobby while another guard ushered them up the stairs and along a corridor, then up a spiral staircase to a flat rooftop. As
they emerged into the icy brightness a gunshot scattered a flock of gulls into the air.
    ‘Splendid shot, Mr Director, well done, sir.’
    A group of well-dressed men and women at the far end of the roof applauded politely. They were drinking some kind of golden spirit from balloon-shaped glasses and some of them appeared to be
quite drunk. In the centre of the group stood a short but enormously broad man, holding a smoking shotgun. He wore a floor-length fur coat,