by Tony Batton
"The new firm is called Infinity Law. Based in Knightsbridge."
Nina blinked. "Sounds impressive. I’m sure your father would have approved. He was such a dreamer. I hope you’re not doing the same – off to the next thing on a whim. You could be throwing away everything you've worked for."
"The point is that, unlike him, I am going to make something of myself. If opportunity comes knocking, you have to take it. You know they flew me to Fiji for an interview?"
She gave a snort. "In an attempt to brainwash you?"
"Just a sign of how much they wanted me to join them."
Nina adjusted her oversized glasses. "I guess they offered you a lot of money. Pay someone enough and they’ll do anything."
"Mum, is something wrong?"
She tipped her head. "You forgot, didn’t you?"
"Forgot what?"
"What we were supposed to be doing over the weekend?"
Michael sat back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, then it struck him. "We were going to go through Dad's stuff. I am so sorry—"
"Of course you are. It doesn’t matter now. I've done it."
"You could have waited—"
"It's been fifteen years. It was time to move on." She gave a sniff. "Come see."
Michael followed his mother down into their basement: the room that used to be a kind of den for his father. There were shelves lining two of the walls. His dad had been a tinkerer – or, in his own words, an inventor. The shelves had been stacked with books: a combination of fiction and endless technical manuals. And many computer and electronics components. It was all gone.
"You got rid of everything?"
"I needed closure, Michael. After all this time I was finally ready." She walked over to a shelf and ran her finger along it. "Too many memories in this room, and most of them unpleasant."
"I always loved hanging out down here."
"I’ve always detested it."
Michael frowned. "Why?"
Nina reached up and brushed hair from his eyes. "If you don’t remember then I’m not going to dredge it up again. It doesn’t matter anymore." She looked around. "It all had to go. Even your father’s crappy old laptop. I put it on eBay: got a neighbour's daughter to help me. Sold it for fifty pounds, and it didn’t even work!"
"I was going to have a look at it. See if I could fix it."
"Yet you never did."
Michael placed a hand on her shoulder. "I’m sorry I let you down." He glanced at a clock on the wall. "And also I’m sorry because I have to be off. Got an early start tomorrow."
Nina gave a sigh. "Already they’re taking over your life. Have you really done the right thing accepting this new job?"
"It's a law firm. What's the worst that can happen?"
Twenty-Nine
Gregory Jenson’s principal residence was an overly-designed modern house high on a hill looking south towards London. The property had more glass than most cathedrals: vast, gently-curving triple-glazed panels coated to allow occupants to look out, but preventing those outside from seeing in. Only one room had no windows: the bunker, as Teresa liked to refer to it, although she was rarely allowed inside.
She was not there now either, being currently tucked up in bed with a mug of cocoa. Instead, her father and Astrid Kelly occupied the tiny room. On the desk rested the crushed remains of the micro-drone Kelly had recovered from the barn.
"Fragile-looking thing," she said.
Jenson lifted a silver flight-case onto the table, popping the catches. "This is what they look like prior to use." Inside the case, protected in padded foam, were six objects, each less than the size of a matchbox. Six small darts, flat grey in finish, with micro-wings and tiny rotors. Jenson lifted one out and held it up to the light. "A ZAT semi-autonomous, paired-link remote-controlled flight, surveillance and assault weapon. Or a micro-drone, as our marketing team insists we call them."
Kelly peered closer. "They don’t look like much."
"External aesthetics weren’t part of the brief: they’re designed never to be seen at all." Jenson placed the dart in the palm of his hand. "This model is a non-lethal variant. It carries neuro-toxin delivered by micro-flechettes to incapacitate a typical adult male in ten seconds, presuming an operational targeting matrix."
"Targeting what? And what’s a ‘paired link’?"
"Technology our engineers developed. Something to do with quantum entanglement, but it means the comms between the drone and the master unit are un-hackable. Nobody can take over our drones or even jam them. We also have a variety of concussive versions as well as the neuro-toxin one, including incendiaries and fragmentation weapons, although realistically those were never going to get approved."
"Why?"
"Because they’re too effective. If I deploy a dozen of these, I can control a situation near-invisibly: the drones can accelerate to almost Mach 1 and obliterate a selected target in seconds. The last thing the targets think is ‘Why am I hearing mosquitos?’"
Kelly stared at the tiny object. "So you can take out exactly who you want with zero collateral damage?"
Jenson shrugged. "As long as you can target correctly. That’s the part we couldn’t solve. We only reached about 60% accuracy; there are just too many unknowns on the battlefield. Which is why the client cut the funding and shut our project down."
"60% isn’t bad."
"It is when you want 99.999%. Of course Rose doesn’t care: bad specs have never stopped her selling tech before." Jenson turned back to the flight-case and pressed a sequence of buttons on a small control unit. The tip of the dart he was holding glowed red then a beam shot from it. The beam quickly separated into multiple rays, which splayed over one of the walls. "This is the targeting matrix." Jenson moved the dart so it was pointing at Kelly. The dots rippled over her, then rotated and narrowed, tightening to a single point, which pulsed. "That means it has a lock. Which means a vicious, laser-guided flying piranha of death is about to take you out."
"Not surprising that Rose’s client wants it."
"I need to speak to her."
"I don’t think that is wise," Kelly said, her arms folded. "Calling Rose will achieve nothing and risk everything, once the government finds out."
Jenson nodded at the phone. "You think my system isn’t secure? The encryption algorithms are unbreakable."
Kelly shrugged. "I’m not a mathematician. But the weakness will be human. Someone at her end recording it or someone at this end, selling you out. If Saxton discovers you’ve had contact with an arms dealer—"
"Rose tried to kidnap my daughter. Saxton would understand."
"It wouldn’t just be his call. And what do you hope to gain from calling Rose?"
"She crossed a line." Jenson ground his teeth. "I want to punish her."
"Of course you do. But those days are gone." Kelly narrowed her eyes. "Aren’t they? Besides, you might have her phone number, but you’ll never get her address. Anyway, are we really sure she was behind it?"
Jenson let out a guffaw.
"Fine. Let’s assume she was," Kelly said. "Aren’t we overlooking a bigger question? Who stopped her? And why?"
"Perhaps Rose pissed somebody else off. No reason to believe that I’m special." He shook his head. "Isn’t the enemy of my enemy, my friend?"
"It’s an elegant saying, but they might just be a different kind of enemy."
"I only care that they saved Teresa."
"But you should care who they are because they have ZAT micro-drones."
Jenson leaned forward, closing his eyes. "That is the elephant in the room." He let out a slow breath. "And it’s not even the biggest. The biggest issue is how they made them work." He opened his eyes and looked around him. "I have to know who they are, and how they got hold of our tech."
"You should set an internal investigation in motion."
"Which will immediately leak to Saxton."
"Not if I run it. I’ll track down every single piece of inventory rel
ating to the project."
"That may tell us if something is missing. But it won’t tell us who took it. Or how they made the drones work."
"Then what are we supposed to do?" Kelly asked.
Jenson snapped his fingers. "We build Project Parallel. This is the type of question it was designed to answer."
Kelly frowned. "I thought it was months away from being operational at best?"
"That was then, this is now. I will make it work, I don’t care what it takes."
"And what about Teresa?"
"Keep her here. Triple the security. Do whatever is necessary to keep her safe."
She took a step forward, resting a hand on his arm. "I’m sorry for what happened yesterday. I won’t let it happen again."
"I believe you." He took her hand and gripped it hard. "You know I’ve never said how much you…" He blinked. "Since my wife, you’ve been the only one I could really trust…"
Kelly cleared her throat. "That’s OK, sir. I’m just doing my job. Until you decide to fire me, that is."
Jenson gave a snort. "You should be so lucky. Now go do what you do."
Thirty
Conditions were rough, and the helicopter landed heavily on the landing pad at the rear of the 105-metre-long Super Yacht Evolution. The pilot glanced warily at Regina Rose, but she had other things on her mind and gave no reprimand. Instead her hands clawed open her belt restraints, then she pulled her headset off and stepped out onto the deck. It felt good to be back in her centre of operations, not to mention her venue to wine and dine. Right now she needed some home comforts.
The captain of her guards stood waiting, a hi-tech semi-automatic rifle slung across his back: ZAT’s latest model from three years ago. Rose nodded and walked past him in the direction of his quarters.
"Boss," shouted the guard captain above the wind, quickly following and holding out a tablet computer. "There’s been a development."
Rose slowed slightly to take the tablet, staring at the text on the screen. "Jenson’s daughter was kidnapped? When?"
"Immediately after you met with him."
Rose swore. "We make a demand, we make it clear that we won’t take no for answer, then this happens. He’s going to assume it was us."
"We never threatened his family—"
"It doesn’t matter. He’ll put two and two together and make seven." Rose gave the tablet back. "I have to call him."
"We have sources in the MET’s forensic team. The men the third party sent to take the girl were all killed. All died from explosive wounds. Not bullets. Some form of incendiary."
"What do you mean?"
"A hi-tech weapon was deployed, something consistent with the system you’re trying to purchase from Jenson. Given who they were protecting, it’s hardly a shock."
"He said the micro drones didn’t work, damn him." Rose’s expression shifted. "So this situation has both proven the legitimacy of the deal, and simultaneously made it harder." She reached the door of her quarters. "Much as I want to force his hand, it just isn’t going to work. I can’t prove I didn’t undertake the kidnapping. Regardless, he’ll step up his security. It’s all become a bad idea." She sighed. "I need to make a different phone call."
The guard captain nodded and left as Rose stepped into her private office, picking up the secure phone from its charging slot, then typing in a long number from memory. The call was answered almost immediately.
"Regina," echoed a woman’s voice, soft and faintly metallic. "Do you have good news?"
Rose walked over to the window and stared out at the ocean. "There were complications. The unforeseen actions of a third party mean that I’m not going to be able to broker a deal on this occasion."
The line went silent for several long moments. Rose began to wonder if the call had disconnected, but finally the voice replied. "That is disappointing. We had faith in you."
"I’m sure there are others who will be able to help."
"Our analysis showed you were the best-placed to influence Mr Jenson. Our analysis is rarely wrong."
"Naturally I’ll be returning your deposit—"
"No. You will honour our deal."
Rose felt her teeth start to clench. "If you mean to threaten—"
There was a soft laugh. "No, Ms Rose. In fact, we commend you on your negotiation skills."
"I’m not trying to—"
"We acknowledge the risk profile has changed. So we will pay double the purchase price."
"The problem isn’t the money. The problem is that the deal is impossible."
"In our experience, the right fee can make anything possible. Of course if you would prefer that we resort to threats…"
Rose swallowed. "I’ll see what I can do."
She switched the phone off and put it back on her desk. With the current strains on her finances, she simply couldn’t afford to walk away.
But she would need outside help.
Picking up the phone again, she dialed another long number. It was time to call in a trusted adviser, someone with a gift for changing minds.
Thirty-One
Saxton sat in his home office on the fourth floor of his Kensington Town House. There was a single, narrow window, the view through which was dimmed by bullet-proof, heavily-filtered glass, yet it was still a striking vista across the rooftops, looking east into central London.
Today, he hadn’t spared it a glance.
Saxton had had each of his offices swept three times for bugs since having Morton arrested. They had found nothing, but he would keep looking and had quietly increased physical security. There would be no repeat of his mistakes.
He had received no further contact from anyone at Kinek. Had it been an elaborate bluff? In the world of counter-intelligence, it was easy to get caught up in imagining the enemy was larger and more capable than they really were.
His forensics teams had recovered nothing conclusive from the barn, and the couple of journalists who had become aware of the story had been deflected. The dead men had been identified as mercenaries with no obvious affiliation to any group or country. Morton, detained under prevention of terrorism legislation at an off-book detention centre, was saying nothing. But Saxton had a few days grace before he had to go on record. By then he hoped to have answers.
When his desk phone rang loudly, his eyes flickered over to check the number. He swallowed involuntarily, glancing at his watch. With all the distractions, he had forgotten to join his regular call with the Home Secretary. He grabbed his headset and answered.
"Busy time, Warwick?" Rostrum asked in a flat tone.
"I was delayed getting back from an appointment."
"Your PA said you’ve been back home for more than two hours."
Saxton stifled a sigh. "My apologies for keeping you waiting. Shall we proceed?"
"I’m not your enemy, Warwick. I just need to be fully informed. Now, how goes our new computer?"
He took a deep breath. "Project Parallel is moving forwards again, but it’s early days. It’ll take ZAT two to three months to build an initial test rig. If we rush it there are risks in terms of quality control, software testing, and maintaining security."
"Is it going to work?"
"Jenson is confident."
"He would be. Which reminds me, what was that incident I read about in the hourlies? Something to do with his daughter?"
Saxton drummed his fingers on his desk. "A kidnapping attempt. Thankfully unsuccessful and, equally thankfully, out of the press at this point."
"Related to Parallel?"
"We’ve no hard intel making that connection, nor on who might have been behind it. Unfortunately we cannot interrogate the kidnap team."
"Yes, a rather messy business. I trust I’m not going to find out that you were responsible. Some black ops team you think I don’t need to know about."
"Contrary to what a legion of thriller authors might want you to believe, that’s not how we do business. If I were sending armed squads out to shoot terr
orists, I promise I would brief you."
"Perhaps. But would Jenson?"
Saxton hesitated. "I have no evidence that suggests he was involved in that manner."
"Good. Because that would be inconvenient. Now tell me about this man you’ve had arrested."
Saxton’s breath caught in his throat. "You mean Morton? How did you hear of him?"
"Really," Rostrum replied. "That’s how you respond?"
"It was a low level, operational matter. Not something that warranted your attention."
"You’re holding someone under anti-terrorism legislation and you didn’t think it worth mentioning?"
"We’re still building our case. This is quite common in such a situation."
"As far as I understand it, he’s guilty of walking a dog." Rostrum gave a sharp cough. "I’ve had a call from legal. He has some very serious, very expensive lawyers who assert we have absolutely no case. And given this conversation I’m inclined to believe they’re right. These aren’t the 1980s. We can’t just hold people because it amuses us, so you’ll understand I had no alternative but to order his release."
Saxton’s eyes flew open. "When?"
"An hour ago."
"He’s already out? You didn’t think to run this past me?"
"I wasn’t under the impression that I reported to you."
"I wouldn’t normally expect you to involve yourself with a low level operational matter."
There was a long silence. "I will involve myself where I deem it appropriate. Now I’m going to have to cut this short. If there’s anything else I need to know, then please include it in the hourlies." The call disconnected.
Saxton sat rubbing his eyes. How had Morton got word to his lawyers, let alone got himself freed already? It made no sense. Unless…
The phone rang again. Saxton frowned as he saw Rostrum’s name again. He pulled the headset back on. "What else, Charlotte?"
"Actually, it isn’t the Home Secretary," said a voice that was chillingly familiar.
"Marcia," growled Saxton. "Of course it would be you."
"I hope I haven’t started getting predictable."