“So. Henry, we’ll be taking two portals. One to depressurize the tank—that’ll buy us some time—the second to thread up ready for complete disposal. That’s going to take some serious cutting. Moshi, electron beams for all of us. Colin, we’re going to need at least two cases of shaped charges. Raina, how’s your timing? We’re going to need some serious precision on this.”

“I’m insulted you asked.” But she was smiling. Like the rest of them, she had her eyes on the big prize. This operation was going to look great on their CVs, and the bragging rights they’d have over the other crews was incalculable. There was also the prospect of a bonus, always index-linked to the scale of the hazard you averted.

They used Connexion’s internal European hub network to get them to Stockholm, then there was a private portal to the Boynak offices, which put the Gylgen facility one step away. As soon as they got there, Raina went straight for the operations control room. A technician in a hazmat suit led Callum and his crew to the disposal building.

It was a standard industrial structure of metal girders covered in composite panels. Inside was a three-dimensional lattice of pipes and loader rails interlaced with stairs and suspended walkways. At the far end was the reception bay, with cargo portals linked to various collection stations across the continent. Right at the center, suspended over a deep pit, were the five tanks.

Callum took one look at the imposing matrix of metal—a brutal edifice made worse by the red emergency lights flashing across it. The sirens had been switched off hours ago. Apollo threw up a swathe of schematics, identifying components. “Leave the bugez,” he said. “They’ll take too long to scale this. We’ll carry the cases from here.”

They didn’t say anything, just did as they were told and plucked their equipment cases from the bugez. Callum guessed they were still in shock. He’d explained about the plutonium on the way over, cutting Raina out of the comms circuit.

It was two flights of stairs up to the walkway that led to the top of the tanks. He was sweating by the time he got up there. The cases were heavy, and he had an electron cutter slung over his back.

Loader rails ran parallel to the walkway, silent and still since the pressure warning started. He glanced at the blue plastic canisters frozen in position, stretching all the way back to the loading bay. Each one had a prominent radiation warning emblem. Ordinarily that might bother him; today he just didn’t care. Like they’re going to make a difference if we screw up.

Dokal had shown him the confidential file Johnston had provided. It had estimates of the potential damage should the tank rupture. Likely quantity of plutonium particles to spew out, wind patterns, ground dispersal…Emergency evacuation procedures to enact for anyone within two hundred kilometers, contamination effects on local wildlife and vegetation. Cost of a clear-up—shocking in both financial and environmental terms.