Prediction

by Tony Batton

  Eighteen

  Jenson sat in the back of his Mercedes, watching the outskirts of London slide past.

  "I still don’t like this," Kelly said from the driver’s seat. "We shouldn’t be going to a location she controls that I haven’t inspected."

  "She’s an old friend."

  Kelly’s hands gripped the wheel. "Maybe, but she’s also an arms dealer who wants something."

  Jenson stared back out of the window. "Regina just needs to be managed. I don’t need another enemy."

  "And what if she asks you for something you can’t give her?"

  He gave a snort. "Just shut up and drive."

  Fifteen minutes later the Mercedes turned into an abandoned industrial estate: a sad wasteland of rust, fading signs and peeling paint. They drew to a halt in front of the corroded roller-door of a disused warehouse.

  Jenson peered out at the building.

  Kelly tapped a display on the dashboard. "These are the coordinates we were given."

  "I guess Regina will have her reasons."

  Shrieking in protest, the roller-door slid up and a hand beckoned. Kelly glanced at Jenson then eased the car slowly inside. The door lowered behind them, rattling and juddering. Darkness enveloped them for just a moment, then spotlights blazed and four large men stepped forward, each carrying a shoulder-slung automatic rifle as Jenson climbed out of the Mercedes. One of the men quickly patted him down, taking his keys and mobile phone and placing them in a clear plastic bag. They repeated the process with Kelly, then ran a security scanner over the interior of the car.

  Jenson glanced towards a mezzanine office. "Is this all necessary?"

  A short, be-suited figure with tightly cropped platinum blonde hair appeared at the top of a metal stairway. "It’s mostly for appearances."

  "So the weapons aren’t loaded, Regina?"

  "I said mostly." Rose walked smoothly down the stairs and shook Jenson’s hand. "You’ve gotten fat, Greg."

  "And you need another facelift. Such is life."

  "At least we’re both still alive." She indicated two sofas that had been placed in one corner of the warehouse. "Whisky? Cognac?"

  "I’ll pass. Nice place you have here," he said, with only the slightest wrinkle of his nose.

  "Stealth and luxury don’t always go hand in hand. My presence in the UK is something I like to keep from the authorities these days." They eased down into the sofas, the four armed men retreating into the shadows. "Thankfully there are still gaps in their intelligence networks."

  "So, how’s business?" Jenson asked.

  "There’s always a war going on somewhere. Still, I need to operate with ever more ingenuity and caution."

  Jenson leaned forward. "You think hacking my phone demonstrates the latter?"

  "It demonstrates my resolution. Obviously I have upset you."

  "It’s not the first time. Look, ZAT is a top-tier supplier to the UK Government, working on classified projects. That means we can only sell ZAT products to those on an approved list – a list which you are not on. I’ve been ignoring your calls because I can’t be seen to do business with you right now, for either of our sakes."

  Rose shrugged. "Nobody is watching you here."

  "I certainly hope not. But meeting up with an old friend is different from actually supplying goods."

  "My business helped build ZAT." She stared at him, unblinking. "Without me you would be nothing."

  "That was a long time ago, and you made even more from those deals than I did. Nobody owes anybody anything. Besides, I’m hardly the only supplier in town."

  Rose directed a finger towards Jenson's chest. "I require something that only you can supply. Your micro-drones."

  Jenson rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Those aren’t public knowledge. How—"

  "It’s my business to know things."

  "And also supply them to whichever dictator or terrorist steps forward with the cash."

  Rose shrugged. "If they don’t buy from me, they’ll just use someone else. On the whole, my customers are responsible individuals."

  "Like the ones who murdered Samantha?"

  "Greg, the death of your wife was… I won’t insult you by suggesting anything can make it right." She let out a sigh. "But at some point you have to move on—"

  "She died at the hands of someone using weapons I supplied. I will never move on. Or repeat those mistakes." Jenson cracked his knuckles. "And that is quite apart from the problem that if it got out that we are working together I would be shut down. And it would get out." He stood up. "There’s a more fundamental problem, however."

  "And that is?"

  "The drones don’t work. We had design issues that meant the project was non-viable." Jenson shook his head. "I’m sorry, Regina." He took a step towards his car.

  Rose gave a nod and the four men with rifles moved as one, blocking Jenson’s way. Three raised their weapons at him. The fourth aimed at Kelly in the back seat of the car. Rose adjusted a strand of loose hair. "This is what they did to me, the men who want your tech." Rose waved at her team who lowered their rifles. "Those men came to me with guns and threats. They knew I had a history with you. Now they want me to broker a deal."

  "But the drones don’t work. I’m not lying to you, Regina."

  "I’m not inclined to believe you." Rose removed a sheet of paper from her pocket and placed it on the table. It showed the schematics and specifications of the drones.

  Jenson narrowed his eyes. "Where did they get this?"

  "There seem to be few secrets any more. Not if you look hard enough, with enough resource."

  "Just who is this buyer?"

  "Your only concern should be that we do this deal. Name your price."

  "The drones are not for sale."

  One of Rose’s men raised his rifle again.

  Jenson saw Kelly twitch. There were weapons hidden in his car that Rose’s scanners could never have found, but he wasn’t sure Kelly could get to them quickly enough. "Don’t do this, Regina."

  Rose spat, then barked an order in Spanish. The man almost dropped his rifle. "Please accept my apologies. My team know how important this is to me, but sometimes they… act without thinking." She lowered her voice. "I just need this one thing from you - a favour I promise you I will not quickly forget. I’ll contact you in forty-eight hours and ask again." She offered Jenson her hand. "I know that on reflection you’ll do the right thing."

  Jenson and Kelly remained silent as they drove away from the warehouse. Jenson kept looking over his shoulder, but saw nobody following. After several miles, both finally relaxed.

  "It was a surprise that she just let us go," Kelly said, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. "For a moment I thought things were about to get tactical."

  "She said her buyer threatened her at gun point. Do you believe her or was she telling me what she thought I needed to hear?"

  "Hard to tell. But if these drones don’t work, why does her buyer think otherwise?"

  Jenson rubbed his temples with his forefingers. "Whoever they are, whether the threats were real or not, Rose has never done anything like this before."

  Kelly nodded. "We should review your security arrangements." She paused. "And for your family."

  Jenson blinked. "Teresa? I thought her school was secure."

  Kelly gave a snort. "To someone with Rose’s resources? I’ll get one of my people to pick Teresa up this afternoon—"

  Jenson hissed. "Turn this car around. We’re going to get her. Now."

  Nineteen

  The top floor of the MI5 building always descended into a hush when Warwick Saxton walked through. He didn’t mind. In fact he preferred that his team feared him a little. Fear kept people alert, and doing their jobs properly. Especially important when the jobs in question were so vital. Which was why the building, and this floor in particular, were locked down with the kind of security that nobody could breach. At least in theory.

  Saxton had just finished his week
ly catch-up with Sir Douglas Busby, the Deputy Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, over a lunch far larger and longer than it needed to be. But Saxton had found his high-level government and law enforcement contacts were usually less inhibited over a good meal. It was an effective way to ensure a reliable flow of information. They’d discussed Project Parallel in general terms as the Deputy Commissioner was one of the few people aware of the project: he made a firm case for access rights once it was operational. ‘Get in line’ was what Saxton had wanted to retort. ‘I’ll see what I can do’ was what he’d said, with a smile.

  The conversation had brought to mind Morton and his questions. Morton should never have known about Parallel. Was it just an incidental discovery resulting from work on the Jenson report? Or had they dug deeper and more dangerously? He’d decided it was time to run some fresh background checks on Morton and Kinek Consulting as a whole, delegating the task to one of his assistants, Cassie.

  Today, he stopped on the way to his office and beckoned her to come with him. She followed him inside, closing the door.

  "How far have you got with the Morton matter?" Saxton asked, as he navigated around his oversized desk.

  Cassie smoothed her jacket in a nervous gesture. "I was just about to send my report through, but it’s pretty short."

  Saxton nodded. "Because nothing worrying appeared?"

  Cassie puffed out her cheeks. "Because nothing appeared. I can’t find a single entry on a consultancy called Kinek. Are you sure you spelt it right? Who are they exactly?"

  Saxton felt his tongue grow thick. "It’s classified above your level of clearance. Look, send the report then leave it with me."

  Cassie nodded and slid from the room, closing the door behind her.

  Saxton eased back in his chair. Kinek had been fully vetted when he’d first engaged them and they’d proved adept at what they did: always delivering on time and on point. There had been no indication that anything was amiss. So what was going on?

  His phone rang.

  "Good afternoon," said a familiar voice when he picked up.

  Saxton’s jaw fell open. "Morton? Why are you calling me on this number?" He paused. "And more to the point, how did you get this number?"

  "We’re good at finding things. You know that."

  Saxton’s eyes flickered around the room.

  "We need to speak. Or rather my boss would like to speak with you. The current situation requires that we do this face-to-face. You’ll understand when we meet."

  Saxton muttered. "Very well. When? Where?"

  "Our offices, in one hour."

  Saxton placed the handset back down. He’d been to the offices three times previously, but still the request was unusual, and Saxton had built his career on trying to understand the unusual.

  He reached for the phone again to call for his Jaguar, but then decided he would rather take a cab. He had to continue keeping his engagement with Kinek off the radar.

  Twenty

  Twenty minutes after leaving the private club, Michael was signing in at the offices of a large accounting firm. An assistant directed him through a maze of corridors to a large corner meeting room.

  Kara stepped outside before he could enter. In one hand she gripped a plain brown envelope. "You took your time."

  "I was at lunch with Mr Errington. You said the meeting was tomorrow—"

  "Timelines change. You ready?"

  "You only dumped the files on me this morning."

  "Things don’t always progress to your schedule."

  Michael shook his head. "No kidding. Who else is here from the firm?"

  "A couple of paralegals. Why?"

  "So… you’re in charge?"

  She raised an eyebrow. "I am. And now I have my right-hand man."

  "What are you expecting me to do when I haven’t had time to read up yet?"

  "I’m expecting you to be a lawyer. I’m expecting you to earn your salary." She pulled a pen from her pocket. "Best not keep them waiting."

  Michael reached for the door, but Kara placed a hand on his chest, stopping him. "Just my little joke. You’ll soon see why I’ve got you here. And all you need do is hand this to me when I give you the signal." She passed across the brown envelope.

  Nothing was written on it.

  She raised a finger to her lips. "After you’ve handed it over, just sit there and look lawyerly. Under no circumstances show any emotion. Clear?"

  He nodded.

  They walked back into the room and sat at the table. Michael glanced around. And froze. Opposite him was Gordon Freeman, the Managing Partner of CWP. The man who, only a few days before, had effectively fired him.

  Kara smiled. "This is my colleague, Michael Adams. Oh wait – Gordon, I believe you know Michael?"

  Freeman gave a stilted smile. "A talented young lawyer we kindly trained up for you."

  "Not sure what it says about your firm that you couldn’t hold on to him. Still, let’s get back to the matter in hand. Michael, CWP have just made an insulting offer on behalf of their client."

  Freeman shifted in his seat. "The offer was a good faith effort to resolve the only outstanding commercial point."

  "By which you mean the sale price." Kara looked around the room. "I’m always suspicious when someone feels the need to claim they are acting in good faith." She turned to Michael, tapping her finger in her palm.

  He slid the brown envelope across the table. "You should see this."

  Kara pursed her lips, pulling a sheet of paper out. She opened it, then frowned. "What is this?"

  Michael coughed. "It’s the information you asked for."

  She flipped the paper around. "This is blank? Are you wasting everyone’s time?"

  "No, I mean—"

  "You’re not going to embarrass me after I’ve been rubbing Gordon’s nose in it that we’ve hired you?"

  Michael ground his teeth together. "No."

  "Good. So why don’t you explain what should have been printed on the paper. I presume that in your haste to get here you grabbed the wrong thing from the printer."

  Michael stared at the blank sheet. Then at Kara. He tried to avoid Gordon Freeman’s gloating look.

  What had been in the files he’d reviewed that morning? Stuff about the range of sites in his clients’ portfolios, lists of assets... Was there a pattern? Something that showed what they wanted, and why?

  And then he realised.

  Michael cleared his throat. "I’m sorry for the printer mix-up. What I meant to bring was a note from our client’s CEO. They’re happy to accept your offer for the business."

  "They are?" Freeman’s puzzled expression was obvious. "But we only just set out our terms. Surely Ms Simmons here didn’t have time to brief them in the minute she was outside?"

  Michael glanced at Kara. She gave no reaction. "We don’t need to know."

  Freeman laughed nervously. "That’s ridiculous."

  "No, it’s not. We can accept the terms subject to one amendment. We’d like to retain the Hadwell site. My client has had a separate offer in respect of it."

  Freeman breathed slowly. "Hadwell, you say. Any particular reason why that site?"

  Michael scratched his nose and shrugged. "Just trying to find a win-win."

  Freeman glared. "How did you know?"

  "Know what?"

  Freeman closed his eyes. "I’d like to confer with my client."

  Within an hour it was all over. The revised offer was triple the original. Infinity’s client was ecstatic.

  "How did you manage it?" they had asked.

  "It’s what we do," Kara had answered with a humble smile.

  Now Michael climbed into the back of a black cab with her. "You lied to me."

  She glanced at her phone. "Did I?"

  "You said all I had to do was hand you the envelope. And you set me up."

  "I wanted to see how good you were. And you did not disappoint. You realised there were reports missing with regard to that one site a
nd that those reports must be relevant. The price on offer when we started didn’t matter. Whatever it was, it was bound to be too low."

  Michael nodded. "So what was missing from the reports?"

  "Mineral deposits were discovered in a recent private survey of the Hadwell site. They’re worth far more than the business itself."

  "That was quite a punt to take. That I’d make the connection."

  "I could have stepped in if I had to. But, as I said, it was a chance for you to show off your talents. And of course I never pass up a chance to mess with another law firm. Poor old Freeman, he must shiver when I walk in the room. Anyway, I wanted to throw him off balance, suggest we might know other things."

  "Like what?"

  "Where there’s one secret, there’s usually more. And that, my young disciple, is why we now have an excellent settled price."

  Michael looked out of the window of the cab. It had started to rain; hissing, angry spats of water were striking the street outside.

  Kara pulled out her phone and read a message. "They need you back at the office for the full IT security briefing. And I’m told your new laptop is ready. Think of it as a reward for your work today."

  Twenty-One

  Hannah Grange Boarding School for Young Ladies had a long history of schooling girls from ages seven to eighteen. It had facilities and buildings of unparalleled quality, strong links with Oxbridge, and many of its alumni had gone on to storied careers in the fields of business, the arts and science. As a result, applications almost overwhelmed the school every year, notwithstanding its fees of over £18,000 a term. It was in the top few percent in almost every metric you could rate a school by. It also enforced some of the most rigorous security standards at any British school. There had never been a breach. Until today.

  The total failure of all mobile-phone networks was the first sign that something was wrong. This was quickly followed by the cessation of fixed wire services, resulting in all the CCTV systems shutting down. Within a minute the site was completely cut off from outside communications.