The heat roared over him and Darien clamped his arms over his head. The unmistakable clamour of shattering glass ripped into his ears as the incendiary blast from Brock's bomb passed them and smashed into the walls of the room, crashing through every single window slit.

Luckily the heavy conveyor was a well-constructed piece of machinery and it bore the brunt of the impact. As quickly as it had come the explosion dissipated, leaving him with ringing ears and a scorched jacket, but otherwise unharmed. He rolled over, coughing at the acrid fumes left behind. Beside him Niamh was already scrambling back to her feet, unleashing a foul-mouthed tirade as she did so.

Hauling himself upright, Darien shook his head to clear the fuzz of the detonation aftermath and tried to focus, levelling his carbine at the centre of the room. His eyes flickered around the perimeter, instantly looking for the other operatives, hoping and praying all of them had reacted as swiftly as he had.

Their saving grace lay in the fact that the abandoned factory was littered with heavy machinery – plenty of things to serve as sturdy bulwarks. He saw heads pop back up and the shine of lance-carbines through the haze of smoke, one after another as they appeared from their refuges. A small shudder of relief passed through him and he shifted his gaze to where Brock had been standing.

The console the four men had been gathered around now sat as little more than a smoking pile of slag, utterly destroyed by the blast. Around it were three bodies. He could tell that two of the men were dead, but the third stirred, his agonized groan echoing out across the room. Darien's brow furrowed in confusion. Of Tannis Brock there was no sign.

Then he heard the sudden roar of gunfire. An instant later a dozen shots thudded into the body of the injured man, killing him instantly.

His eyes darted to the muzzle flash and he saw the big, dark figure leaning out from behind a six-foot long, balloon-wheeled equipment hauler. Coils of smoke wafted off the coat he wore and Darien realised that it must have been lined with some kind of fireproof material. The bomb hadn't needed to kill – only to distract.

With his companions dead, Brock took off, shoving the bulky hauler along beside him and using the long shallow cuboid as a mobile barricade as he spat bursts of fire in all directions from his gun. Twice Darien had to jerk back behind the conveyor before deciding this had gone far enough.

"Open fire!" he roared, rising up and taking aim. Brock ducked as he squeezed the trigger. Darien made a minute adjustment to his aim even as the lance kicked from its chamber, but the margins for error were tiny, and his shot ricocheted harmlessly off the lip of the hauler.

The hulking piece of machinery was picking up speed and as the other operatives started firing, Brock heaved himself up and into the protective trough, vanishing from sight. The hauler rumbled along and Darien realised with a pang of both frustration and begrudging admiration what Brock's plan was. The man had aimed the hauler at the nearest door and he was going to ride it all the way there.

"Scaffing piece of..." Niamh snarled, snapping off two ineffectual shots from her carbine. Even as she did so Darien's mind was already racing. He burst from his cover, sprinting in pursuit of the out-of-control equipment hauler as it careered towards its destination. He saw Taggs moving at a run from the opposite side of the room, jinking left and right; hurdling debris as he went. The clatter of feet began to rise in a crescendo as the other operatives followed them, realising their lances couldn't penetrate the thick hide of the hauler.

He was still a good twenty yards behind when it smashed into the doorway and overturned. He caught a glimpse of Brock's dark, smouldering silhouette before the man vanished into the hallway.

No matter the urgency, Darien still forced himself to stop at the side of the door, and he snapped out a warning hand to Taggs coming in the opposite direction. All Brock had to do was stop, turn and shoot – with a weapon that poured out as many rounds as his, he wouldn't really need to aim. Anyone walking through the door would be riddled with bullets in an instant.

The other squad leader skidded to a halt, dropping into a crouch behind the doorframe with his carbine tucked up close against his body. Taking a deep breath, Darien crouched down and peeked out. He caught a glimpse of their quarry but had to pull his head back again as more bullets gushed from Brock's weapon, biting chunks out of the doorframe. When he looked again the man was disappearing down another passage.

"Bugger," Taggs growled. "He's rabbiting!"

"Get two of yours down to the ground level to lock down the entrances," Darien ordered, frantically thinking of how they could contain the murderous individual now.

Taggs didn't hesitate, pointing out two members of Vandal Squad. "Charlie, Whikker – beat it!"

"Uther, Hekket – Blink up to the roof and cover the top access," Darien continued. "The rest of you, stick with me." Then he tapped his earpiece as the four operatives vanished, transporting to their designated locations. "Olsen, come in!"

"What the hell's going on in there operative?" the Lieutenant demanded. "We just watched the whole fourth level go up in flames!"

"Incendiary blast," Darien replied quickly. "No casualties, but Brock is on the move within the factory. Call the local security and get them to tighten that damn cordon around this building, and keep your weapons hot."

"Copy that. All entrances are tagged – nothing's coming out of that building without us getting a clean shot at it. Anything else we can do from up here?"

"Cross your fingers. Darien out." He looked to Taggs. "You ready?"

"Aye."

"Then c'mon!"

The six remaining operatives scuttled out over the carcass of the equipment hauler and into the broad corridor beyond. Moving as quickly as he dared, Darien stepped up to the corridor that Brock had taken. He again made a cautious attempt to peer around, but this time no salvo of gunfire greeted him, and he could hear the solitary thump of one heavy man's booted feet.

"There's no way we're taking this guy with the volt guns," Niamh said grimly. "You saw him back there. He killed three of his own people to give himself a chance to escape. We'll never get close enough."

"Then shoot to wound," Darien replied. "Go for his legs with your carbines. We have to try and take him alive. Now let's go."

Moving at a jog, he led the way into the gloomy interior of the factory. Being closer to the centre of the structure and with fewer windows to let the sun in, he found himself checking every shadow and alcove for their quarry. With the others spread out in a loose line to either side of him, Darien pressed on, swallowing his fear. He reminded himself that if they did manage to catch Brock they might well put an end to this whole operation in one go.

They reached another of the curving rampways leading up to the next level. Hugging the inner wall of the winding construction, they moved in a snaking black line until they reached the entrance of the next chamber. Darien checked the map of the facility.

"It's an on-site loading bay," he told the others in a low voice.

"The hell's he doing in there?" Idas grunted. "Roof access was back that way."

Darien shrugged. "Maybe he took a wrong turn. There's one other entrance on the far side of the room. We'll split up two, two and two. Niamh and I will take the centre. Taggs, you Blink inside to the right – cover the other entrance. Idas, go left and circle around. We'll box him in."

"Sounds good." Taggs nodded to the other members of his squad. "Ori, come wi' me. Isaac, you go wi' Idas." He moved aside with the girl from Vandal and a few seconds later the pair of them vanished.

Tensing, Darien glanced at the others once, and then ducked into the room. Just like the other rooms in the factory this one was littered with the thick obsidian supporting pillars and he darted behind the nearest one, just as the roar of their adversary's gun erupted through the empty space. He winced as the bullets crackled off the stonework, but even as they did so he could see the three other operatives slip into the room while Brock's attention was diverted.

Like a well-oiled machine they dispersed, with Idas taking the Vandal squad member in tow and drifting soundlessly to the left, not offering any return fire. Niamh shot forward from the entrance, finding a position behind a piece of abandoned loading apparatus, and she poked up and over with her carbine aimed.

The muzzle of her weapon flashed – the gun snarled – and instantly Brock stopped firing. Darien took the opportunity to poke his head out from behind the pillar and take stock of their situation. He spotted Brock's burly silhouette flashing from cover to cover, but the man didn't seem to be heading for either of the exits.

Darien could see the exterior loading doors of the factory, doors which in happier times would have gaped to allow the ebb and flow of industrial production. Now they were fastened shut. Even if the shuttle was hidden in this room, Brock still needed time to unlock the cumbersome structure; a whole squadron of gunships waited for him on the other side. It seemed unlikely, but as he followed Brock's trajectory through the dimly lit chamber the only thing Darien could see of any note was a big black tarpaulin hanging from the ceiling, obscuring something large.

Large enough for a shuttle at any rate.

He scampered out of his refuge, moving up to join Niamh beside the loading apparatus. As he arrived their quarry noticed the other pairs moving in from either side. Suddenly bursts of fire started zipping left and right as Brock frantically tried to shoot in all directions, realising they were trying to cut him off.

He tapped Niamh on the shoulder and together they began leapfrogging from cover, making sharp, darting runs forward. The other operatives started shooting back too, and the air became filled with the hissing glare of superheated ceramic lances.

A rattle of bullets struck the heavy support crane that Darien had hidden behind. He leaned out and snapped off a shot in response, forcing Brock to duck down again. As he did, Niamh went hurtling forward in the brief window, reaching another pillar before the Ghost could change his firing trajectory. Little by little the six operatives were tightening the noose.

He heard the click of Brock's magazine emptying. A muffled curse sounded through the dim-lit space, followed by a crash as their opponent hurled his empty weapon to the floor. Darien looked out and took aim, but Brock was already moving, tearing out across the empty space like a man possessed, making a run for the huge dark tarpaulin hanging at the far end of the room.

He tracked and fired, but in the poor light and with the speed Brock was moving his first shot hissed wide. Other lances flashed through the dark, superheated shards streaking from all directions. The deep thump of Idas's jackhammer echoed loudly and a fist-sized crater appeared in the ground mere inches behind Brock. One shot caught the man in his shoulder but he barely stumbled, his momentum carrying him through the low calibre impact.

Darien's second shot struck him in the lower back and this time he did stumble, his body convulsing with pain. Still he didn't slow down, driven on by some wild well of desperate energy and before any more lances could find their mark, he disappeared behind the curtain.

"Move in!" Darien hissed, slipping out from behind his cover and edging forward. Niamh appeared alongside him, her emerald eye glinting viciously in the half-light. He could see in the corners of his vision the dark shapes of Taggs, Idas and the others as they made their way down either side of the room in a pincer movement. Locking his carbine against his shoulder, he upped his pace, and his second officer matched him step for step.

Then a low, ominous rumble reverberated through the chamber.

He stopped in his tracks and his eyes were drawn to the lurid cobalt glow that was seeping out from underneath the tarpaulin. A moment of indecision flashed in his brain and he stopped. Then a high-pitched whine cut through the air, like the scream of a boiling kettle.

"Down!" Niamh yelped. Before he could even react she grabbed him by his combat vest and hauled him to the ground. A fraction of a second later an eruption of blazing blue fire burst from behind the dark cover and lit up the whole room with a sapphire glare, cutting straight through the space Darien had been standing in. The intense light stung his eyes and he had to shield them with one hand, trying to pinpoint the source of the weapon.

The tarpaulin disintegrated under the destructive forces, catching fire and crumbling to ash in the same instant. Behind it was Tannis Brock's shuttle.

An ugly, brutish craft, it was heavily armoured with a shovel-like nose plate and two squat wings jutting out from the blocky main hull. The torrent of fire poured from an immense cannon slung beneath it, ensconced in a protective, dome-like cupola. At its rear a deeper blue glow throbbed as its engines powered up. For a moment Darien didn't understand – Brock's craft was facing away from the loading entrance that would grant him freedom. Its main gun continued pumping fire over Darien's head into the wall beyond and he didn't dare stand; if the white-hot stream so much as grazed him he would simply burst into flames.

Then he remembered the gunships – remembered their arrival when they'd confronted the assassin. Brock knew the operatives had come with air support. He knew that the obvious escape routes would be well covered.

So he was going to make a new one.

He raised his hand to his earpiece, but at that moment the shuttle's main engines fired, drowning out anything and everything. The tremendously powerful boosters sent a shockwave through the whole room as they thundered into life, firing the vehicle forward like a gigantic missile.

Reflexively he twisted to his right and gathered Niamh to him, shielding her with his body as the shuttle screamed overhead. The heat from its passage scorched his armour and he lowered his head to the ground, screwing his eyes tightly shut. After a second the oppressive heat fell away as the shuttle shot past them.

Releasing his hold on Niamh, he rolled away onto his front, blinking furiously to clear his vision of the searing glare left by the cannon fire and booster flash. He looked at his companion. She coughed through the fumes left behind, but seemed otherwise unhurt. Darien turned his attention back to the fast receding exhaust glare of Tannis Brock's ship.

He pushed himself to his knees, watching in disbelief as the shuttle's cannon chewed a deep, ragged crater in the wall of the factory. An instant later the vehicle itself slammed into the weakened section and blew straight through it. Metal and stone tumbled and crashed; the whole superstructure shuddered under the tremendous impact and light poured in through the gaping hole in the side of the building.

"Holy shit..." Niamh gasped.

"Amber," Darien yelled into the comm. "You've got incoming!"