Prediction

by Tony Batton

  "I presume not to thank you for your latest bill?" Michael gave a smile as if he thought this was all some joke. As if they were about to all laugh, shake hands and carry on. "I know InTech. I’ve worked on two major acquisitions for them. What did they want?"

  "They say you’ve been passing proprietary information to one of their competitors."

  "What?" Michael blinked rapidly, his eyes darting between the three others. "I don’t understand."

  "I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the sanctity with which CWP, as a law firm, regards the confidential information of its clients. Quite apart from the possible crimes you may have committed."

  "You’re not suggesting you believe them?"

  Stotter started to say something, but Freeman raised a hand. "You have an impeccable record with this firm, which is why we’re extending you the courtesy of this meeting. But the fact that you’ve proven so capable only makes the situation all the more disappointing. Naturally, these actions trigger an instant right of termination under your employment contract—"

  "Hang on!" Michael drew his breath in sharply. "You’re taking this seriously?"

  "We’re a City law firm – we always take what our clients say seriously." Freeman set his palms on the table. "We could work through this in detail and you could make your stock denials, but quite frankly nobody is going to look good. Least of all you." He paused. "So we have a proposal." He nodded to the HR representative, who slid a sheet of paper across the table.

  Michael spread his fingers across the crisp white sheet, his eyes intent. "You have to be kidding."

  "It’s a generous settlement," Freeman said. "In the circumstances, more than generous."

  "Three months’ salary and a reference? When I’ve done nothing wrong?" Michael folded his arms. "I’ve given my all to this firm. I’ve worked nights, weekends. I’ve done everything I’ve ever been asked. And you want me just to sign it all away?"

  "InTech says it has irrefutable evidence."

  "How can they, given that I didn’t…" Michael paused, frowning. "Wait. You haven’t seen the evidence?"

  The HR representative shifted in her seat and began to say something but Freeman held up a hand. "We’re not in a courtroom here, Michael." He pointed to the sheet of paper. "Consider things carefully. If you want the most from your career, you’re going to need to achieve it somewhere else."

  Michael shook his head. "There has to be a better way. That win-win the firm keeps telling us to look for."

  Freeman leant forward and tapped the sheet of paper. "Believe me, this is the closest to a ‘win’ that you’re going to get."

  "I’d like to think about it."

  "You have until you walk out that door. After that the offer will be withdrawn. Permanently."

  Michael gripped the table. "Is someone making you do this?"

  Freeman turned to the other two. "I’d like a few moments with Michael. Alone."

  The HR representative’s eyebrows twitched. "I don’t think that would be wise—"

  "I don’t give a crap what you think. Now give us the room."

  The woman sniffed, Stotter gave a faint smirk and they both departed. Freeman closed the door firmly and turned back to Michael. "Take the deal."

  "Why?"

  Freeman put his hands in his pockets and walked over to the window.

  Michael thumped his fist on the table. "I have not done what they are claiming. The evidence cannot exist."

  "You’re being offered a chance to walk away, no blemish on your record."

  "I’ve built my whole career at this firm."

  "We billed InTech in excess of fifty million in fees last year. It’ll probably be more this year. We cannot afford to annoy them."

  "But—"

  Freeman put his hand on Michael’s shoulder. "Let’s assume for a moment that you didn’t do this. Why are InTech saying you did?"

  "How should I know?"

  "They obviously want you out of this firm. It’s an initiative they appear prepared to put resources and money behind, and they have plenty of both. They’re not going to stop until it happens."

  Michael shook his head. "And this is the type of client you want?"

  Freeman raised his hands. "They’re a FTSE100 company. Of course they’re the type of client we want. As for you, if you want a career, then you only have one option."

  Freeman watched Michael Adams walk out of the room. Moments later his two colleagues marched in.

  "Well?" Stotter asked.

  "He signed," Freeman said with a sigh. "He’s gone to pack his things. I’m sure the banking team will be just delighted."

  The HR representative folded her arms. "Tell me you have actually seen the evidence we were all here discussing."

  "Adams took the deal. There’s nothing more to discuss."

  Her face went white. "I realise we have to protect the firm’s reputation, but we could be perpetrating fraud—"

  Freeman raised a bony finger. "You’re going to go back to your office, make whatever file note you feel is necessary, and you’re going to carry on with your day. After which we will never discuss this meeting again. Is that clear?"

  She gave a resigned scowl then strode from the room.

  Stotter’s gaze followed her as she left. "Just what did the guys at InTech say?"

  Freeman shook his head. "I can’t tell you."

  Stotter gave a low growl. "In case you’d forgotten I’m not one of the secretaries."

  "Let me rephrase that. You don’t want to know."

  "Of course, I want to… oh." He swallowed. "You didn’t speak to InTech at all, did you? You received a request."

  "It’s best if I don’t even confirm that. You never know when they’re listening."

  "No explanation?"

  Freeman scratched his nose. "Just a set of instructions."

  Stotter puffed out his cheeks. "Then, as you said, let us never discuss this meeting again."

  Three

  Warwick Saxton sat in a stiff leather armchair, ignoring the cup of tea in the bone china cup in front of him and counting the ticks of the grandfather clock to his right. At this hour he would normally have been chairing a leadership-team meeting at MI5’s central offices in Vauxhall. Instead he was sitting in a large Oxfordshire mansion.

  He waited on few men or women. But with the Home Secretary, Charlotte Rostrum, he had little choice. Politicians came and went, but, while Rostrum had only just been appointed, she was already making it clear that, under her reign, things would be ‘hands-on’. Now she had summoned him for a private meeting without any explanation. Was she just trying to assert her authority? Her predecessor had been so much more civilised.

  There was a gentle throat clearing to his left and Saxton gave a stiff smile as Rostrum’s assistant nodded that he could go through to the study. He walked in to find the Home Secretary at her oversized desk, stacks of reports arrayed in front of her. Her eyes snapped onto Saxton. "Warwick, thanks for coming at such short notice."

  "Mind telling me why I’m here and not in London?"

  She smiled back. "An attempt to keep this meeting off people’s radars." She gestured to a seat, activating a large touch-screen on one wall. A map of the Indian Ocean appeared.

  "A bit outside your jurisdiction? And mine."

  "Yesterday," she said, tapping a spot west of the Indian mainland, "a container vessel responded to a distress call while en route from Delhi to Southampton." She tapped again and the screen zoomed in to show a section of ocean, marked with shipping lanes. "The call was from a Dubai-registered fishing boat."

  "I’m not seeing the relevance to MI5 or why this meeting needs to be so hush-hush."

  "Shortly after, all contact was lost with the container vessel and its largely British crew. No location data. Nothing. And no further trace of the fishing boat either. A number of search vessels are rapidly converging on the location now."

  "What’s your particular interest?"

  "The container
vessel was loaded with a consignment of washing-machine parts." Rostrum hesitated. "And something not on the manifest: an experimental nuclear reactor destined for a testing facility in Cumbria."

  "Why were we building something like that in India?"

  "A number of reasons, but primarily cost."

  "You mentioned that it was experimental."

  Rostrum cleared her throat. "Early-stage fusion. Not yet operational, but we’re getting close."

  Saxton blinked several times. "I thought we were ten or fifteen years away from fusion power?"

  "Then our campaign of misinformation is working."

  "I’m guessing there’s no trace of either vessel on satellite?"

  "A gap in the cycle of coverage. It does happen. We hadn’t tasked it as a priority area for analysis. To do so would have drawn attention."

  "Could both vessels have sunk? Perhaps a freak wave?"

  "Unlikely. Very calm conditions that day. The first ships will be there in a couple of hours, but I’m pretty sure they’ll find only wreckage, if they find anything at all. Tracking data showed the reactor moved rapidly westwards too fast to be on a ship. We lost trace of it after that."

  Saxton’s eyes widened. "Someone stole it then sank both vessels?"

  Rostrum walked back to her desk. "I’ve brought you here to consider two questions: who took it, and how did they know what and where it was?"

  Saxton shook his head. "Isn’t the bigger question what they’re going to do with it?"

  Rostrum tapped her fist on her desk. "As I said, it doesn’t work yet. Nevertheless, this has prompted a re-think of our situation. I’ve just come from a meeting with the PM. He’s keen to explore all and any avenues of information."

  "There’s been no chatter," Saxton replied. "Whoever is behind this would have had substantial resources: a government or a major crime syndicate." He paused. "Obviously this is MI6’s area of expertise—"

  Rostrum raised a hand. "I don’t want their template list of usual suspects. I want actual data-based assessment."

  "We have no system capable of delivering that. Not even at GCHQ."

  "No, we don’t. Not yet."

  Saxton let a whistle out through his teeth. "This is about Project Parallel? We cancelled it. At your predecessor’s request."

  "From my reading it was put it on hold."

  "Semantics. Nobody believed we would ever proceed. Too expensive. And too risky." He folded his arms. "Plus you’ll be aware of the complexities with the supplier."

  "Nothing that we can’t resolve, I’m sure. The climate has changed, Warwick. We need Parallel. We can’t have unknown individuals stealing our top-secret technology. Next time it could be something worse."

  "What about funding?"

  "I spoke with the PM this morning. His words were, and I quote, ‘Money is no object.’"

  "Good. But this still won’t be easy. The team was disbanded."

  "I am aware. Re-band them. And do it fast."

  Saxton stood. "I’ll make some calls." He turned to leave, then paused. "Charlotte, why do you think someone wanted to steal the reactor if it’s not working? Just because it cost a huge sum to develop, doesn’t make it valuable."

  "Perhaps they didn’t know."

  "But they did know what it was and where it was? That seems odd."

  Rostrum nodded. "These are good questions, Warwick." She steepled her fingers. "I suggest you ask Parallel, once you’ve built it."

  Four

  It was late Friday afternoon, so the bar wasn't yet crowded, the air not yet laden with conversation, alcohol and sweat. Michael Adams made his way between the polished tables and padded stools to a booth at the back, and ordered two bottled beers from a bored-looking waitress. He loosened his tie, placed his leather briefcase on the seat next to him, and cast his eye around. He saw nobody he recognised. The nearest widescreen TV was showing an update on the recovery effort around a cargo ship that had sunk in the Indian Ocean three days ago, but the sound was down so low Michael could not hear the commentary.

  The waitress re-appeared, banging two beer bottles on his table with an expression that seemed to say 'Are you going to drink both of those?'

  Michael looked towards the doorway. "My friend is joining me shortly."

  The waitress shrugged and left. Michael checked his phone, but there was no message from Eve so he took a long draught of his beer, feeling the cold fizz hit his brain.

  Sighing, he started to rehash the meeting that had just ended his career at CWP. Had he done the right thing? It was a high stakes game as even false allegations could be sticky in terms of reputation. He didn’t have his own clients - despite more years studying than he cared to remember and four years of slaving at CWP, it could all be gone in an instant. Freeman had known that and used a standard negotiation strategy: make something pretty bad look good relative to something completely awful. Michael had done the only thing he felt he could.

  But why had InTech lied to get him fired? As far as he knew, they had rated him highly. Had he irritated someone at InTech or CWP? Even if he had, why go to all this trouble? He was just a junior lawyer: a tiny cog in a legal machine.

  Michael thought about calling his mother, but quickly dismissed the idea. She’d just make things worse. Besides, he’d rather chat it through with Eve first. His phone beeped softly.

  Have to do a double shift - someone phoned in sick. Back late. Sorry won’t be able to meet up. E.

  Michael shook his head; it was just one of the realities of having a friend who was a junior doctor, but today he really could have done without it those complexities. He went to pick up his beer, but froze when a voice close to his ear asked "Mind if I sit here?"

  He turned around. A slim blonde woman, dressed in an expensive grey suit regarded him with a half-smile. "Sorry," he said. "I’m meeting someone."

  She looked around the bar in an exaggerated manner. "And when are you expecting them?"

  "Soon." He looked back at his beer. "So, if you don't mind..."

  "Not at all." The woman slid onto the seat opposite. Her fragrance smelt expensive. She signaled in the direction of the bar. A moment later, the waitress placed a bottle of Rioja and two large glasses on the table, then vanished back into the crowd. The woman eased her jacket off, then poured wine into both glasses.

  "I’m… sort of busy," Michael said awkwardly.

  She held up her glass, rotating it gently, watching the red liquid coat the interior. "Too busy to share a drink with the person who’s going to change your life?"

  Michael sucked in his cheeks. "I’m sorry, but I really am meeting someone."

  "Yes. Me." She frowned. "I sent you that message?" She ran a hand through her hair. "You replied."

  He stared at her. "What message?"

  She puffed out her cheeks. "Check your phone."

  Michael shook his head and picked up his phone. "You must have me confused with…" He blinked and looked at the screen. There was message exchange he had not seen before: a request to meet in this bar, at this time, to discuss a career opportunity. He looked up at her. "Kara?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Bout of amnesia over, dear?"

  "But I never sent this. I never read your message." He held a hand to his head.

  "This is starting to wear thin." She placed a card on the table in front of him. There was no logo, just plain black lettering on crisp white card: Kara Simmons, Counsel. Infinity Law. Knightsbridge.

  Michael sucked in his breath.

  "So you’ve heard of us," she said, raising her glass. "That’s a start."

  He nodded. "Of course I have."

  "We want to tempt you to join our cause."

  He turned the card around in his fingers. "I didn’t think Infinity was recruiting. Actually I didn’t think you ever recruited."

  "We need to add to our team from time to time. We’re just very selective."

  "So you’re approaching me? Look, is this some kind of joke? Everything that’s happened t
oday has been mad and now this..."

  "I charge my time at £600 an hour, so if I’m making jokes they’d bloody well better be funny."

  "I’ve never applied to you."

  "We keep a close eye on the top firms to find out who the rising stars are."

  Michael sat back in his seat. "I have a job at a magic circle firm."

  She smiled, flashing white teeth. "Five years ago I was in your shoes." She placed her hands on the table. "I still wake up with nightmares that I might have made the other decision."

  "Infinity made you an offer you couldn’t refuse? What if I’m not motivated by money?"

  "You’re a corporate lawyer; of course you’re motivated by money." Kara shrugged. "But that’s far from the whole story. Infinity is the best of the best: a whole world of opportunity comes with that."

  He picked up the card again, running his fingers over the subtly raised lettering. "You make it sound like there's no choice to make."

  "You always have a choice. You just need to make the right one."

  "How do I even know you are who you say you are?"

  She gave a snort and closed her eyes. "Michael Evan Adams. Born third February, schooled Windsor. Somewhat erratic, unremarkable academic record until your A-Levels when you stepped things up. Read Law at Emmanuel College, Cambridge. Vice-Captain of the University Athletics team. Middle distance runner, narrowly missed out on representing Team GB because of an injury. Attended Law school in Guildford, then trained with CWP. Upon qualification three departments bid for you. Amazing academic lawyer. Excellent negotiator." She paused, opening her eyes. "How am I doing? Mother lives in Oxfordshire. Father died when you were thirteen. You share a house with a college friend, Eve. She's a junior doctor, works longer hours than you do."

  He coughed. "How could you know that?"

  "We looked on the electoral roll. Made a few educated guesses."

  Michael sat back in his seat. "What do you want from me?"

  "Attend an interview with one of our partners. This weekend. If you have plans, change them." Kara ran her finger round the rim of her glass.

  "You don’t suffer from a lack of confidence."