by Tony Batton
So why not now? Jenson had always been a risk. The brilliance of his company’s work came with a trade-off. Should he just walk back in and tell her the truth: that he was being coerced? That was certainly what the rule book said he should do. But his instincts told him things were more complicated. And if he did that, he would be out of the game. He wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.
His system was compromised. His organisation was compromised. Could it be that even the Home Secretary was compromised? He needed to think differently, using help from outside the institutions he was a part of. He checked his phone and smiled.
The results of Cassie’s search had come back. It was a full report, including a home address. As soon as he’d met with Jenson he would follow it up.
Thirty-Five
At ZAT headquarters, Research Area Eight was considerably busier than usual. Astrid Kelly stood in the open airlock door, nodding as she checked Lee Chow’s handpicked team off a list. As ZAT’s CEO strode inside, Kelly sealed the doors behind him, while Jenson clapped his hands together and took his place at the end of a hastily-erected conference table.
"Thanks for joining me so late."
"I was here anyway," Chow replied, running a hand over his bald head. "Could we keep this brief?"
Jenson’s eyes narrowed. "I promise to take up no more of your time than is necessary. How soon can the system be operational? You said six months to get a working prototype?"
"We’ve been reviewing the data and six months is optimistic. It’s more likely a year away – and that’s ignoring the currently ‘insoluble’ problem of overheating and throttling."
"I need you to do better. A lot better."
"You said our overriding imperative was to do this right. ‘You can’t rush a miracle’ were your exact words."
"The situation has changed."
"Why?" Chow replied. "I’m all for doing things faster, but we’ll need more resource. We’ll have to pull staff off other projects, take over other labs to run work streams—"
"Consider whatever you need approved," Jenson said. "Astrid will make it happen."
"OK," said Chow, "but the principal problem is that the system probably won’t work. We’re getting the same glitch as we did last time: the connections won’t form because the processor overheats – at which point the quantum-state parallel processing just cross-interferes."
Jenson’s eyes narrowed. "Find a solution."
"Is the government pressuring us? Or is this anything to do with your daughter? You’re not thinking of using the system yourself? Nobody would blame you."
"Focus on building the system. Let others worry about how it will be used." Jenson folded his arms. "Unless you’re telling me you no longer wish to work on this project."
"I’m not saying that, but a lot of people are worried: the system could easily be mis-used for personal gain. Your current situation would be a good example."
Jenson’s expression darkened. "Protecting my daughter would not be ‘mis-use’. Besides, if it doesn’t work, there’s no issue."
Chow patted Jenson on the arm. "I just don’t want our CEO to end up in jail because he wasn’t properly advised. To date, we’ve managed to keep you on the straight and narrow."
"And I appreciate it. But right now you need to hear me when I tell you not to hold back. I’ve worked with some incredible scientists and engineers over the years, but I need you to be better than any of them. I need you to create the future. Let me worry about my legacy." He nodded to Kelly. "And let Astrid worry about anything else you may require: resources, funding, pizza…" Jenson smiled at Chow. "I’m counting on you."
Thirty-Six
Several hours later, Jenson sat in his office on the thirty-second level, reading the latest status report on Parallel on a pair of hi-resolution displays. Chow had already increased the size of the project team by over thirty per cent, and had begun an accelerated program of testing, with shifts organised to work day and night. The budget was quickly getting out of control, but he’d let someone from finance worry about that later. He was distracted by a knock at the door. Kelly walked in, holding a computer tablet.
"I have something of interest for you that isn’t in those reports." She closed the door, placed a finger to her lips, then walked over and positioned a black box on Jenson’s desk, pressing a button. Red lights lit up. "Broad frequency jammer," Kelly said. "Acquired it from one of my intelligence contacts."
"A contact you trust?"
"To an extent. I fully reconfigured the device before bringing it here, just in case."
"Sometimes," Jenson said, "I worry you’d rather you were still in government service."
"The toys were good, but everything else was lousy."
"Getting rid of you was a big mistake on their part. They didn’t know what they had. Speaking of toys, is our own security really not good enough?"
Kelly glanced around. "We have to assume we’ve been compromised, even here. With the right technology, anywhere is vulnerable." She held out the tablet.
Jenson took the device from her and unlocked the screen with his fingerprint and quickly flicked through the pages. "A consignment of drones was misreported?"
"Someone altered the figures. I had to delve into the backups and meta-data to spot it. We've now checked the batches. One hundred and twenty drones are missing."
"How is that possible?" Jenson leaned back in his chair.
"I’m trying to find out. As for the drone I found in the barn, it was one of ours. Not just our design, but manufactured by us – it’s from the batch that was taken."
"Who knows about this?"
"You, me and the site director in Reading where they were manufactured. He offered to resign. I said if he did we’d send drones after him."
Jenson rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It has to be one of our own people."
"It’s hard to believe anyone else would have had the necessary access."
"But who are they working for? And why take the drone from me, but then use them to help me? Someone with a beef against Rose?"
"Perhaps. Or perhaps this isn't about Rose at all. Maybe it's just meant to incriminate you."
"At least we’re managing to keep a lid on it. The last thing I need is the government sticking their oar in." Jenson’s phone buzzed. He frowned down at it. It was reception calling him direct. With a sigh, he answered.
"Mr Jenson, I’m sorry to trouble you, but I have a Mr Saxton waiting here."
Jenson blinked. "Did we schedule an appointment?"
"He says he doesn’t need one."
Jenson sighed. "Show him up to my office." He turned back to Kelly. "Great work so far. Now I need you to go deeper. Review CCTV, conduct interviews: look where others wouldn’t think to. We have to find out where the leak is. And we have to close it."
"I may need to go off comms for a few days to make sure my activities aren’t picked up and blocked."
"Whatever you need to do. Update me as soon as you are able." He hesitated and reached into his pocket, producing a small hi-tech barrel key. He threw it towards her and she caught it with a snap. "That’s the key to Equipment Cache Three. Help yourself to whatever you need."
She smiled. "I’m on it, boss."
Five minutes later, Saxton walked in, pulling the door closed behind him. He sat in the chair opposite Jenson, rubbing a hand across his forehead and looking like he didn’t want to be there. "Thanks for seeing me on short notice."
Jenson held out the palms of his hands. "No notice might be a better description. Is this another audit?"
A look of confusion crossed Saxton’s face. "I’m sorry, what?"
"Someone from your office came last week to conduct a random security inspection. I thought perhaps this was a follow up."
"This has nothing to do with any audit. I didn’t call because I didn’t want anything on the system. Yours or mine." Saxton puffed out his cheeks. "By the way, I was relieved to hear that your daughter is OK."
&nbs
p; "She was very lucky."
"It is almost improbable that she was not hurt. You saw what happened to the kidnappers."
Jenson rocked back in his seat. "They got what they deserved."
"It’s not my place to pass judgement, but it is puzzling how those six men died."
Jenson narrowed his eyes. "What do your forensic people say?"
"They're saying a lot of things, but the most frequent word is ‘inconclusive’."
"That must be frustrating."
Saxton leaned forwards, spreading the fingers of one hand on Jenson’s desk. "There are a lot of things that I find frustrating, but few that I cannot fix." He pointed at the black box on the desk. "What’s that?"
"Part of our security systems. Obviously we’re treating this project with the utmost care."
"It’s not because of the threat to your daughter?"
"We don’t believe there’s a connection." Jenson paused. "Do you?"
Saxton sighed. "You knew the conditions of working with my department. You knew you had to be squeaky clean. I warned you that anything less would provide… ammunition."
"What are you talking about?"
"I’ve been left with no choice. We’re cancelling the project."
Jenson rose to his feet. "You have to be joking. We only just restarted!"
"We know about the drones, Greg."
"You know what about what drones?"
"Are you saying it wasn't your micro-drones that killed every one of those kidnappers?"
"I had nothing to do with it." Jenson clenched his fists. "Nothing."
"Either way, like I said, I have no choice." Saxton stood up. "I’m giving you formal notice to cease work." He turned to leave. "If you don’t like that maybe you should call a lawyer. But, to be honest, however good they are it won't make a difference. After what you’ve done, my hands are tied."
Jenson watched the MI5 Director leave. He didn’t need a lawyer who was good: he needed the opposite – one who wasn’t afraid to be bad.
Thirty-Seven
Michael was working late again, this time on his floor of the Infinity Law building. He was putting the finishing touches to a termsheet for a large acquisition that Kara had passed to him only that morning – a good three days of work, perhaps more, and she’d given him just one to complete it. So here he was, at nearly midnight, not nearly ready to go home. Surprisingly the floor was otherwise empty – Kara and Sandra had both left several hours ago – although that didn’t mean other lawyers weren’t still working – they were just doing it somewhere else.
He picked up his coffee cup and with irritation noticed it was empty – he was going to need a boost if he was to get the termsheet fully polished. So he removed the computer headset and closed his laptop, then made his way across the floor to the kitchen area.
The coffee machine was the most sophisticated he had ever seen in an office. It offered fifteen different variants of coffee and hot chocolate, and seemed to have an interface intended as an aptitude test. Only if you passed would you get your hot drink of choice. Michael tapped in the multi-key combination he had memorized, and the machine whirred and gurgled into action. But before his drink could arrive he heard footsteps behind him.
"I did initially balk at the cost of getting this thing installed," Errington said, appearing at his shoulder. "But Duncan pointed out that if we keep our lawyers awake, they can bill more hours."
"His logic is compelling."
"And if we make the coffee taste fancy, the associates won’t realise they’re just hamsters on our wheel… Oh whoops, did I say that out loud?"
Michael smiled, noticing that the machine had finished. He picked up the paper cup that had been deposited. "Everyone has to do a bit of time on someone else’s wheel. Until they build their own."
"So you’re a philosopher as well as a lawyer?"
"Just a realist. The world works a certain way."
"Until someone changes it." Errington patted him on the shoulder. "Isn’t that what you youngsters all want to do?"
"Of course," Michael replied. "We certainly like to think we will. Well I’d best get back—"
"I heard you concluded that joint venture yesterday. You’ve only just started and already you’re racking up the wins."
"That was mostly Kara. I was there as well."
"Don’t let her take all the credit. She does that enough without needing any help. But, for once I’m not here to discuss client work. The security cameras showed me you were still working so I popped down to discuss what happened after yesterday’s meeting."
"I’m sorry?" Michael frowned. "Oh, you mean the mugging? It was a bit unsettling, but no one was hurt."
"Life can throw the most unexpected things at us. But we have to rise above them. I was a little concerned you might lose focus, maybe get distracted. But," he looked at his Patek Philippe watch, "given you’re still working at this hour, it seems my worries were misplaced."
"I appreciate your concern. Not something I remember seeing from the partners at my last firm."
Errington smiled. "It’s probably Kara I should be worrying about. Or rather the mugger who took her bag, and what she’ll do to him if she tracks him down."
Michael coughed. "You think that’s likely?"
"Who knows? She’s hard to predict." His phone buzzed and he glanced at it, smiling.
"Good news?"
"A meeting in the morning. An important one." Errington put the phone in his pocket. "Anyway as a small thank you for your continuing hard work, mugging notwithstanding, I’d like to treat you to dinner." He held up a hand. "And don’t panic, not with me. You and a guest of your choice. I’ll get my PA to make a booking for you. Presume you like Italian?"
"That’s very kind."
He flashed polished teeth. "Of course it is. Now get back on that hamster wheel."
Thirty-Eight
Equipment Cache Three was located in a small warehouse in a quiet part of Wapping, east of Tower Bridge. Just before 2:00am, Astrid Kelly parked her battered Vauxhall Corsa a block away. At this hour the street was calm and quiet, the familiar odours of the Thames hanging in the air. She glanced around, drew the hood of her jacket low over her face, then walked quickly to the warehouse.
Through the front-office window, she spied the lone security guard, a slim woman with her dark hair drawn tightly back, engrossed in what looked like an electronic card game. That was convenient, because, while she had permission to be there, Kelly didn’t want a record of it.
She moved around the side of the warehouse and, with a short run-up, pulled herself over the ten-foot brick wall that enclosed the building’s small loading yard. Lowering herself down onto the tarmac, she kept her face away from the two CCTV cameras and stepped quietly over to a metal hatch next to the main roller-doors. Producing Jenson’s cylindrical key, she slid it in. There was a grinding of gears, and the hatch hissed open.
Crouching, she stepped through into a storage room completely separate from the main warehouse, though connected by a similar hatch. It was filled with rows of metal shelving, mostly laden with wooden crates and aluminium flight-cases. She ignored them all and walked towards a reinforced metal cabinet at the far end.
The lock looked worn. Notched even. She’d have to mention that to Jenson, but for now her mission came before mere building maintenance. She slid the key in and turned it. The mechanical components engaged and the doors slid up and apart.
Inside soft blue LED lighting illuminated a collection of ZAT’s most interesting equipment and weapons: lightweight tactical body armour, smart rifles, HUD glasses. There was passive-monitoring equipment, and a pack of twenty micro-drones. Mostly items that had proven too expensive to find a ready market. Jenson always kept a few of each conveniently stored away, just in case the government decided to move in and seize his product line. It was a habit that would alarm his board and shareholders if known, but right now Kelly found it decidedly useful.
She reached forward an
d selected one of the smart rifles, unplugging it from where it was charging. It chimed in alarm, so she quickly typed in her identification code. This was not a weapon you took without permission if you wanted to avoid incapacitation. A second softer tone sounded, indicating the code was accepted. Smiling, she picked up a clip and was about to slot it into place when a woman's voice spoke from behind her.
"Thank you. I’ve been trying to get in for hours."
Kelly slammed the clip home and spun, aiming the rifle. Feathering a button on the stock, she activated forward-facing lamps on the rifle that flooded the room with light. In front of her, smiling, was the security guard she had seen through the window. Except she clearly wasn’t a security guard. She carried herself with a confidence Kelly did not like at all. She wore tinted plastic glasses and didn’t seem to react to the glare from the rifle’s lamps. "Stay exactly where you are," Kelly hissed.
"Of course." The woman gave a mock salute. "After all, you do have that gun."
"Who are you?"
"Just someone who wanted to open that box. I did not expect a mechanical lock. How old school – very difficult to hack."
Kelly’s grip on the rifle tightened. "I asked you a question."
"Call me Cortez."
"You seem oddly confident, given I have this rifle."
"That’s because I know what’s going to happen next. It’s very empowering."
Kelly frowned. "Are you armed?"
"I don’t need a weapon," Cortez replied. "I’m going to take yours."
"And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"
"With information. I know more than you. Specifically, I know your rifle’s administrator code." She raised her voice. "Override Gamma One Zero One."
Kelly felt something in the rifle click, just as her brain registered what was going on. Eyes widening in alarm, she tried to drop the rifle, to stop it treating her as an enemy. But it was too late.