Free Combustion by Steve Worland Page A

the Swarm to the helipad while he deals with Jacob’s body.
     
    Bunsen drags the poor bastard inside the building and deposits him in the coolroom amongst the chemicals and lab supplies. Once the mission is completed he will dispose of the body appropriately. It strikes Bunsen as he closes the door behind him that Jacob is the mission’s first collateral damage.
     
    Bunsen moves back into the lab and on the central table finds the three aluminium canisters that contain the counteragent. Each flip-lid contains a small numeric keypad with an LED screen built into it. He slides them into his backpack then heads to the helipad.
     
    He arrives as Enrico pushes a long hose from a four-horsepower electric pump into one of the drums of Swarm he brought up from the lab, then attaches another hose to the chopper’s empty water tank. He switches on the pump and it whirs to life, transferring the contents of the drum into the tank. He turns to Bunsen. ‘How much do we want on board?’
     
    ‘One thousand litres.’
     
    Enrico nods.
     
    Bunsen knows that will be more than enough for today’s mission, though it will use only a fraction of the water tank’s ten-thousand-litre capacity. It will also leave them with two thousand litres of the Swarm to use later.
     
    Bunsen moves to the front of the chopper and unscrews the Tyrannosaur’s heavy fuel tank cap. The Air-Crane is currently full to the brim with 5114 litres of av-gas in its tank. He reaches into his backpack, pulls out one of the large aluminium canisters and thumbs 612 (his birthdate) into the keypad. The flip-lid unlocks with a burst of compressed air and he pours the contents of the canister into the fuel tank. He screws the fuel cap back on and turns to Enrico. ‘How much longer?’
     
    ‘Fifteen minutes.’
     
    Bunsen nods, then draws in a deep breath. He needs to prepare himself for what comes next. He pulls earbuds from his pocket, slips them in place, hits play on his iPhone’s screen - and lets the recorded screams of those tortured plants fill his world.
     
    ~ * ~
     
     
    10
     
     
     
     
    Judd strides down the passenger bridge from the 787 and steps into the LAX terminal. He glances at his watch then scans the crowd of people nearby.
     
    ‘Sssuuup, Mandy?’
     
    Judd turns. It’s the Australian, with a crooked grin that’d make a Chimpanzee envious.
     
    ‘See what I did there? Made it sound like I’m a local.’
     
    ‘Excuse me, have you seen Corey Purchase? I believe I’m meant to meet him here.’
     
    They embrace. Somehow shaking hands just doesn’t seem like enough. They hold it for a moment, then part.
     
    ‘How are you, man?’
     
    ‘Mate, never better. How’s it hanging?’
     
    ‘Low, but with a curve to the left.’
     
    ‘That’s right, I saw the pictures on the Tweeter.’
     
    ‘Ha. And it’s “Twitter”. Where’s the puppy?’
     
    ‘In the car with Bowen. They’re circling. We should haul arse.’ Corey points the way and they move off. ‘We’ll hit CNN first and do the interview, then drop by Spago for a feed, then head over to Fox for the announcement. They want to film it then release it to the networks for the news tonight.’
     
    ‘Sounds like a plan.’ Judd studies the Australian for a moment. There’s something about him that doesn’t seem quite right. ‘So, how are you?’
     
    ‘Travelling beautifully, like I said.’
     
    Judd’s not buying. ‘So what’s going on?’
     
    ‘Actually, I’m remembering how much of a pain in the arse you can be.’ Corey tries to grin it out but Judd is undeterred.
     
    ‘Fess up, Blades.’ Blades is Corey’s nickname, after Blades of Corey, the heli-services company he ran in Central Australia. Mandy is Corey’s nickname for Judd, because he dances like Barry Manilow, who had a big hit back in the day with a ballad called, unsurprisingly, ‘Mandy’.
     
    Corey takes a breath. ‘Well, there was this girl. I liked her. Thought she liked me. I