Prediction

by Tony Batton

  "Morton should enjoy his freedom. It will be short-lived."

  "We’ll see. I suggest you look in your safe. The one in the wall behind your desk."

  "How do you…" Saxton growled and stood up from his chair, turning to face a watercolour on the wall. Smoothly he lifted the painting out of the way, revealing a dull grey steel door, embedded in the plaster surface. He shook his head and tapped in the combination. The lock hissed and released, the heavy door swinging open. Inside were clear folders containing currency, a number of passports in a tied bundle, and an agency-issue automatic pistol - all as Saxton expected.

  There was also something else. A thick grey card folder.

  "What is that?" he asked. "How on earth did you get something inside my safe?" Saxton reached a shaking hand forwards and took the folder. He set it on the desk and opened it. Two items slid out.

  The first was a newspaper. He looked puzzled as he stared at the cover. It was today’s newspaper. "You were in here today? With all my security watching?"

  "Just proving a point. Have you seen the other item?"

  Saxton picked up a cotton-bound, card-covered booklet. It bore his name and date of birth on the cover.

  "Read it," Marcia said. "You should find it familiar."

  Saxton shook his head and began leafing through the pages, his expression becoming increasingly concerned. It was him. Everything about his life. Things that even he had forgotten. "Where did you get this?"

  "We know a lot about you, Mr Saxton. Possibly more than you do. Turn to the last few pages."

  Saxton did so, and let out a gasp. "Those records were sealed ten years ago."

  "Sealed and then illegally disposed of. Why would you take such a risk over a neighbour’s son?"

  "He was a good kid, caught up with the wrong crowd. He deserved a second chance."

  "I see. Still, not really your call at the time. Or even now. I imagine you wouldn’t like Charlotte Rostrum to see this. Disruptive for your former neighbour. And likely career-ending for you."

  Saxton dropped the booklet back on the desk.

  "You need to decide," she said. "Will you cancel Parallel?"

  "How will I explain this to the Home Secretary?"

  "That’s not our problem."

  Saxton placed his head in his hands. "I’ll go to see her tomorrow."

  "We’ll be watching."

  Saxton switched the phone off and unplugged it, then walked over to the window. They had invaded his life, his business, his home; he didn’t know who he could trust. If he cancelled Parallel, Rostrum might well fire him. But worse than that, the government would no longer be building the intelligence system that they needed ever more desperately.

  He turned away from the window and walked back to his desk. On the bookshelf behind it, his eye caught a familiar book: Big Data, Big Danger by Amelia Wright.

  He couldn’t put this off any longer. He needed her help. Whatever had happened in the past, it was time to track her down. He picked up his phone and dialed a number from memory. The call was answered immediately.

  "Cassie speaking, what do you need?"

  Saxton smiled. "Another search: one that should prove a little more straightforward. I need to locate an old friend."

  Thirty-Two

  Morton walked out of the unmarked office building where he had been detained, and took a slow breath of fresh air, glancing at his phone before remembering it had been remotely wiped as a security measure. It meant he was disconnected from the system: it was not a sensation he enjoyed.

  It had taken longer than expected to secure his release, and he had not been held in the most comfortable of conditions. Yet there was never any doubt that his people had been monitoring him, and that he would be taken care of. That was how Kinek worked. Warwick Saxton had no concept of who he was dealing with.

  A grey Mercedes van rounded the corner and pulled up in front of the office building. Its driver climbed out, a slender woman wearing a dark blue suit and metal-rimmed glasses. She nodded curtly. "Mr Morton."

  He glanced behind him, noting that nobody appeared to be watching, but he was absolutely certain that they were. "Where is my regular contact?"

  "Unavailable."

  He frowned. "I don’t recognise you. Are you based at the London office?"

  "I work for Marcia. She asked me to attend you personally." She reached into an inside pocket and produced a phone handset. "Your replacement company device."

  He took it and held it up to his face. In an instant it had recognised him and logged him into the first level of the system. "I’d like to go back to central London," he told the driver.

  "Of course." She moved around and slid open the side door. "The compartment is secure, should you need to make any calls."

  Morton nodded and climbed in, watching as the side door closed automatically. The woman climbed into the driver’s seat, separated from him by a frosted-glass screen. As the car eased away from the office building, he settled back into his seat and reflected on the last 24 hours. The temporary detention by the government had been unexpected, but, as he had learned, rarely did he get to see the entirety of a plan. Still, the sequence of events didn’t seem particularly efficient. Did it mean a mere lack of optimization, or was it the symptom of a more serious glitch? He would raise a query later, once he had top-level access. He looked again at his encrypted phone, logging into the second level of security and checking his messages. Several were flagged Project Green; he would not be able to read them here.

  "Everything OK, sir?" the driver said through the vehicle’s intercom.

  "I believe so." He tapped the screen. "You have a name?"

  "Cortez."

  "I’d like to go straight to the facility."

  "You don’t want to go home? For a shower and a change of clothes?"

  "I have both of those in my office."

  "Of course. I was asked to remind you that, given your recent detention, there will be additional protocols to follow. There’s a handheld scanner in the seat pocket so you can check no monitoring devices were planted during your stay."

  Morton nodded, grabbing the wand, and beginning to run it over his clothes. "Get me there as fast as you can, Cortez. I have a great deal of work to catch up on." The wand beeped that he was clean, but he ran it over everything again, just to be sure.

  Thirty-Three

  Infinity’s conference room was dominated by a long, oak table, strewn with lever-arch files. Michael sat reviewing documents on his new laptop, wondering if another cup of coffee would help him concentrate any better, or if it would drive him into overload. Kara stood looking out of the window, cleaning her glasses.

  "Are you going to review any of the materials?" Michael asked as he eased back in his seat. "Or are you happy to delegate all the legal work to me?"

  She turned, raising an eyebrow. "You’ll do what I tell you, and like it."

  "I don’t see there’s any point. The other side are making a mockery of our client."

  "Oh?"

  "None of these proposals make any sense. It’s like they’re not trying, like they want to—"

  "Wear us down?" Kara asked. "I thought you were the genius lawyer who spotted the patterns and made the connections?"

  "I can only do it if there’s a pattern to spot. They’re just wasting our time."

  "Interesting. So let’s tell them. Or rather, let’s tell their lawyer."

  "That Chalmers guy from earlier?" Michael frowned.

  "What did you make of him?"

  "He says a lot, without saying anything."

  Kara nodded. "As if he likes the sound of his own voice?"

  "What are you planning to do?"

  "Something motivational."

  Cuthbert Chalmers was a large man with immaculate fashion sense. He entered the conference room, his patent leather shoes creaking, flicking an imperious eye over Michael, then smiling at Kara. "I hope you’re not going to try to appeal to my better nature?"

 
"Why?" She looked at the fingernails on one hand. "Do you have one?"

  "Getting antagonistic isn't going to help you broker a deal." He took a seat at the long table.

  "Perhaps you’re right," Kara replied. "But I have to say this isn't going how we'd planned."

  "Good to see I can still hold you up."

  "Yes, I've definitely learnt a few moves off you today. How are the kids?"

  "They're both fine. Thank you for asking."

  "And your lovely wife?"

  Chalmers shifted in his seat. "What exactly did you want to say to me?"

  Kara leant forward and whispered in his ear.

  Chalmers jerked backwards. "How could you…" He looked left and right, as if he expected somebody else to appear. "What is… I mean..."

  "Go on," she said helpfully.

  He cleared his throat. "I'm sure we can find a way to resolve things to our mutual advantage. We've spent more than enough time on it already."

  "Now that is a sensible proposal." Kara smiled broadly.

  Michael just looked on in confusion.

  One hour later, the joint venture agreement was bound and signed. The two clients had de-camped to a nearby London club to celebrate, while Chalmers had muttered something about having to get back to the office. Now Kara stood in Infinity’s reception area, typing a message on her smartphone.

  "So, what happened with the lawyer?" Michael asked.

  "I gave him a new perspective on the deal," she replied, still tapping away.

  "What did you say?"

  Kara smiled. "Should I keep my boots on?"

  "Is that legal code for something?"

  "It's a phrase he's familiar with." She looked up. "You're smart. Work it out."

  Michael frowned. "He was having an affair?"

  "Is that what you think?" Kara didn’t look up. "It’s an innocent enough phrase."

  "That’s clearly not how he took it. It was something somebody said to him. Someone other than his wife. But how would you know? How could you know?" Michael leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Did we have him followed?"

  "Why are you whispering? Do you think we're being monitored?"

  "Apparently Chalmers was."

  Kara sighed and put her smartphone away in her blue leather handbag. "We concluded the deal. Our client is happy. We're going to get paid. And you’ll get a glowing report from me."

  Michael narrowed his eyes. "What you said scared him into cooperating. I didn’t get a chance to do anything."

  She leaned forward, lowering her own voice. "Michael, this is the difference between winning and losing. We knew more than they did."

  "But it's not right."

  "It's not my fault he's a bastard. He gave us a lever, and we used it. If he'd behaved professionally to us in the first place it would never have come to this. Do you really feel sorry for him?"

  Michael looked away. "What about his wife?"

  Kara placed a hand on his arm. "He was stupid and he paid for it, even if not as much as he ought to. That is a type of justice."

  "That's a real stretch."

  She gave him a rueful smile. "Come on, let’s go get a sandwich, then I can brief you on a meeting we have tomorrow."

  Michael glanced at his watch as he followed her outside. It was nearly 8pm and the street lamps glared overhead.

  "This way," Kara called, marching ahead. She turned sharply down an alleyway, vanishing from sight.

  Michael squinted as he followed, entering the narrow fissure between buildings: a space so constricted it suggested it was there more by accident than design. Almost no light made its way into the dark, cobbled confines. He saw her ahead of him in faint silhouette, moving past several oversized rubbish bins. "Is this a good idea?" he called.

  Kara stopped and turned, adjusting her glasses. "Scared of the dark?"

  "I don’t usually go looking for trouble."

  "Then you shouldn’t have joined Infinity."

  "That doesn’t mean we have to—" Michael froze. A wiry-looking figure had emerged from behind one of the bins. He was wearing grubby jeans and a hoodie. In his hand was a knife.

  Kara stopped. "Evening, stranger."

  "Your bag, your wallet, your watches," hissed the man. "Make it quick."

  Michael’s gaze flickered around. They were in the middle of the alley, thirty metres from either end.

  "So, Michael," Kara said calmly, "how do you want to play this? I grab the knife and you knock him over? He doesn’t look that tough. Or we could try running, though I am wearing heels."

  "I think we do what he says."

  "You don’t want to try to negotiate?"

  The attacker gestured with the weapon. "Give me your stuff. I don’t have all day."

  "No," Kara replied. "You’re obviously a busy man."

  Michael reached to his back pocket, then realised it was empty. "My wallet is missing—"

  "Do you think I’m stupid—" began the man.

  "Based on your conduct so far, highly likely," Kara interrupted, unshouldering her bag and holding it out. "This is more than enough for a night’s work."

  The man took it from her, looking unconvinced.

  "It’s Hermes you idiot. Limited edition. Look, are you sure you want to do this? I think it’s only fair to give you the choice of walking away."

  The man stuffed her handbag into his backpack. "Your watches."

  Michael pulled back his sleeves. "Don’t wear one."

  Kara held up both wrists. "Me neither. What do you think this is, 1997?"

  From behind them came the sound of two voices at the end of the alley. The man glanced around, then ran off in the opposite direction. In a moment he’d turned the corner and was gone.

  Michael let out his breath. "You OK?"

  Kara straightened her coat. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

  "We were just mugged. And yet you seem really calm."

  "I don’t let jerks bother me."

  "Well that jerk took your fancy designer handbag."

  She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a flat leather object, handing it to Michael. "He didn’t get this."

  He frowned. "My wallet?"

  "You dropped it in the conference room. I was waiting for the right moment to wind you up about it."

  "Well thanks, I guess. Are you going to report your stolen bag to the police?"

  "What’s the point? Not worth my time."

  "Er… OK. You know, maybe you shouldn’t walk down dark alleys at night."

  "Maybe not. I guess I don’t know everything, after all." She slapped him on the shoulder. "Now let’s go get that sandwich. And since you still have your wallet, you’re buying."

  Thirty-Four

  The building was one of many like it in Whitehall: an elegant four-storey Georgian townhouse on the outside, converted beyond recognition internally for the requirements of modern communications, comfort and security. Warwick Saxton sat outside a suite on the top floor. The door bore no special markings or name plate, but from the number of security personnel stationed close by, it was clear a senior member of government was in situ.

  Warwick Saxton yawned as he waited to be summoned, wishing he could get an actual drink. Finally Charlotte Rostrum’s assistant, a man in blue pinstripe, cleared his throat and indicated a large oak door to his right. Saxton nodded and pushed it open.

  "Warwick, good morning," said Rostrum from the other side of a very large office. Much larger than any of his.

  "Home Secretary," he said, with a forced smile.

  She pointed to a chair on the other side of her expansive desk. "I have to brief the PM in an hour, so can we get straight to your Project Parallel update?"

  Saxton sat down. "It’s not good news. We have to put the project on hold."

  "We only restarted it a few days ago."

  "The attempted kidnapping of Gregory Jenson’s daughter was thwarted in a way that potentially undermines the security of the project." Saxton paused. "With the use of unauthori
sed military technology."

  Rostrum leaned back in her chair. "By Jenson?"

  "We’re still investigating, but it was unarguably a ZAT weapon. I’m discussing this with you first before meeting with him. If Jenson’s actions are proven, I’m not sure that we have a choice but to cancel."

  Her eyes gave nothing away. "I will follow your recommendation, which I’m assuming is to terminate the project. If this is the kind of person Jenson is, we really should have discovered it earlier. But at least we did discover it."

  Saxton stared at her. "You’re taking this very calmly, considering it was at your instigation that Parallel was restarted."

  Rostrum shrugged. "We can’t change the world just because we want to. I know I said the other day that the old ways were dead. But I’m sure that’s not strictly true."

  "Parallel was our only immediate plan."

  "Intelligence isn’t my business. Politics is. If Jenson has become toxic, the intelligent move is not to work with him."

  "If he is responsible."

  "I thought you said ZAT technology was used."

  "He’s not the only one with access to it."

  "You’re suggesting there’s another player?"

  "I’m suggesting I don’t know."

  "I trust in your expertise and advice. You’ll find another way to solve our problems. And I have plenty of other issues on my plate without trying to do your job for you. Find me another solution." She frowned. "Is something wrong, Warwick? You look very grey."

  Saxton blinked. There was an odd inflection on the word ‘grey’. "What about the reactor? I presume still no news?"

  "The recovery vessels have a couple of possible locations for wreckage, but it's three miles deep and unlikely to be salvageable. As for the reactor itself, we have no leads."

  "We’ll need to find another way to locate it. Presuming we don’t progress with Parallel."

  She shrugged. "We’ll come up with something."

  He nodded then rose to his feet. "Very good. I won’t take up any more of your valuable time."

  Saxton made his way from her office, passing through security point after security point until he stepped onto the street. Something didn’t feel right. He had never known Rostrum not take an opportunity to put the boot in.