Prediction

by Tony Batton

  "You clearly have ears in many places."

  "You always claimed to be the guy who knows everything. It’s a strategy I’ve tried to emulate."

  "I've claimed a lot of things in my time. Some of them were even true. Now what the hell is this all about?"

  "I need to give you a little context, so you appreciate what I am saying." Rose put her glass down on the low coffee table between them. "A week ago I received an approach from a new client, who was referred to me by a reliable contact. The client had an unusual request: a hi-tech weapon system not officially on the market and manufactured by a UK company –

  ZAT. The client wanted me to use my connections to Jenson to broker a deal for the weapon – a new type of drone. I said that Jenson probably wouldn’t even speak to me, let alone sell. Then the client told me how much they would pay. Suffice it to say that changed my mind."

  "Money can do that."

  Rose nodded. "I managed to persuade Jenson to meet and explained my situation. I said I was prepared to pay virtually any price. But he rejected me outright: told me the technology in question didn’t even work. I was pretty sure that last part was a lie, but now I am certain. While investigating the kidnapping, I received leaked reports that show the men died from incendiary wounds that the police could not explain. Jenson used the drones to save his daughter."

  "Then approach him again. Tell him what you know."

  Rose’s eyebrows flared. "Coming immediately after my last meeting with him, he believes I was behind the kidnapping. He won’t deal with me now."

  "But who was responsible? And to what end?"

  "I don’t know. From my sources, the British police are at a loss. Which is why you are here, Max. I want you to act as an intermediary. Explain to Jenson that I would never have done that to his daughter. Then broker the deal."

  "You think I can change his mind?"

  "Max, that’s what you do. And I need you to do your very best work for me now. I simply won’t take no for an answer." She gave a meaningful look at the guards, waiting on either side of the door. "Look, I want what I’ve always wanted: to make an indecent amount of money. Right now, I really need a pay day. Am I making myself clear?"

  "I want to help you, but this is an impossible situation. It sounds like Jenson would happily fire half of his product inventory at you. You’re not going to get him to come to the table unless you can prove you weren’t involved."

  "Do whatever you have to. Make him see sense."

  "I’m sorry. I don’t have the leverage." Errington raised a hand. "But before you resort to threats we’ll both regret, I might know someone who does. There’s a consultancy I’ve used in the past. They’re very resourceful in getting hold of information that nobody else can find."

  "Who are these miracle workers?"

  Errington lowered his voice. "They’re called Kinek. If there’s an angle you can follow, if Jenson has a weakness that can be exploited, then they’ll find it."

  "I've never heard of them."

  "I hope that the same is true for your enemies. You do not want them in the opposing camp." Errington pulled his wallet from his pocket and removed a battered business card.

  Rose took it from him. It bore a UK landline number and nothing else. "This had better not be a joke."

  "I promise you, this is a phone call that will change everything."

  Forty-One

  Michael arrived late for dinner with Eve, and quickly realised he would regret it. Mosconi, one street back from the Strand, was an Italian bistro with a queue way out onto the pavement. The aromas and atmosphere justified it. When Michael forced his way past the line and gave his name, the owner sighed and frowned heavily, tapping his watch. After leaving Michael standing there for several long moments, he finally whistled for a waiter, who led Michael to a table in the middle of the main floor. Eve, who was already there, stood to greet him. She wore a low-backed, emerald green dress, and a dark frown.

  "Nice that you could make it," she said. "They were about to turn me out onto the street."

  "I’m so sorry. I got caught up on a client call." He kissed her on the cheek. "You could have ordered."

  They sat, looking at the menus as an impatient waiter literally coerced their orders. He returned almost immediately with a bottle of Australian Shiraz, then vanished into the smoothly rotating crowd of restaurant staff.

  "They're officially booked out for weeks," Michael said. "I had my PA call some secret number that Max has access to."

  "So it’s ‘Max’ now, is it?"

  "Maybe not to his face. Still he was very friendly after the mugging. Seemed quite concerned to make sure I wasn’t going to lose focus." Michael held up his wine. "Here’s to the finer things."

  Eve raised her own glass and clinked his with some hesitancy. "You look so tired. I mean you’ve always worked hard, but it’s like you’ve been a man possessed since you started this new role."

  "I have to create the right first impression. It’s not like you don’t work stupid hours too."

  "Yeah, well that’s just how junior doctors train. At least what I do is in a good cause."

  "So what I do is evil?"

  She shrugged.

  "It’s no worse than any other law firm in London. Perhaps less than some."

  "I was talking to one of my friends. He said that Infinity has a terrible reputation."

  "Sour grapes, maybe. Infinity doesn't lose often."

  "Can you honestly say that nothing you’ve seen since joining them has made you question your decision? Maybe it’s not too late to go back to CPW."

  "C-W-P," Michael replied. "And there’s no question of me going back there."

  "Oh?" Eve leant forward. "Why not?"

  "Bridges can’t be unburnt." Michael swallowed, and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Look, to be honest I’m fortunate to have any job. I didn’t want to say before but—"

  "Michael!" said a voice from over his shoulder. "What are the chances?"

  He looked up to see Kara in a short expensive black dress and matching high heels. He blinked, momentarily lost for words.

  "And this must be your lovely girlfriend. Ava, is it?" Kara extended an expensively-manicured hand.

  "Eve," she said, returning the handshake with an over-tuned smile. "Just Michael’s housemate. And you must be… Karen."

  Kara smiled. "Close enough, Dear."

  Eve flickered her eyes towards Michael. "Sorry to hear about you getting mugged. Was the bag very expensive?"

  "Oh don’t worry about me. I was just leading your boyfriend into dangerous places. I thought he might step up and defend me, but I guess he wasn’t in the mood. Then again not taking on armed assailants on an empty stomach is my first rule too." A waiter appeared at her shoulder and whispered in her ear. She turned to Michael. "My table is ready. I’ll leave you to enjoy your evening."

  "A pleasure meeting you," Eve said, unconvincingly.

  "I’ve no doubt. Oh and Michael," Kara said, as she glided away, "make sure you’re in early tomorrow. We have a new client looking to negotiate a big deal. A very big deal."

  Michael watched her disappear, then turned back to find Eve glaring at him. "What’s the matter?"

  "That’s who you work for? The one who picked you up in a bar that night?"

  "I thought you’d seen her photo?" Michael frowned at her tone. "You don’t like her."

  "What gave it away?"

  "Look, I didn’t come here to talk about work. Can we try and enjoy our evening?" As if on cue, their starters arrived.

  Eve leaned forward and drew in a breath. "If this tastes as good as it smells, we might just manage that."

  Forty-Two

  The small Oxford bookshop was not one of the modern trendy ones with free internet access, a coffee shop and a substantial amount of stationery and greetings cards. It didn’t foist the latest airport paperbacks on time-poor clientele. Instead it was heavily traditional, selling academic textbooks and serious biographies, plus
some literary fiction. Along with the new books there was a substantial ‘pre-loved’ section, otherwise known as second-hand. They were vetted heavily, and anything too popular was moved discretely to the nearest charity store, who were usually more than grateful for the donation. The establishment did not generate significant profits, but it made the owner, Bryn, a living even in a fast-changing market. Bryn openly laughed at the idea of eBooks. It was like blasphemy and profanity rolled into one. Computerisation was bad news for business.

  Which was why Cory Ashcroft liked working there. In a former life he had immersed himself in technology, but he’d made a decision to move on from that. Now he preferred to deal with tangible things that preferably didn’t change or get superseded every twelve months. Unfortunately it was an approach to life that was proving increasingly difficult to sustain.

  Bryn had finally succumbed to the forces of technology (via a particular persuasive saleswoman) and had bought a computer system, though he had yet to get it working. A great many empty cardboard boxes were stacked in the small office at the back of the shop, but so far nothing was even plugged in.

  "How many computers have I bought here?" Bryn asked, looking around dejectedly.

  Cory flicked an eye over each box. "Just the one, but with lots of components." He picked up an itemised list and squinted at it. "You really didn’t need one with all these features."

  "The lady said I did."

  "Did you tell her you were modelling weather patterns or doing advanced 3D design work?"

  Bryn raised a weary eyebrow.

  "Then we can probably assume she said whatever she thought you needed to hear to buy the most expensive model."

  "I thought you hated computers."

  "I do. Doesn’t mean buying and using them is rocket science."

  "So can you put it together for me?"

  Cory ran a hand through his grey-peppered hair. "Why not get the work experience kid to do it?"

  "He’s fourteen."

  "Which probably means he’ll be better than either of us. Seriously, give him a try."

  "Fine. Then can you shelf up that box on the special promotional stand."

  Cory frowned. "I thought you didn’t do promotions?"

  Bryn looked at his fingernails. "The publisher’s keen to push this one. Leant on me pretty firmly. And when I say ‘leant’, I mean they offered a sizeable financial incentive. Given that I’d just paid out for the computer I was momentarily loose with my principles."

  "What’s the book?"

  "Business biography by that technology entrepreneur, Gregory Jenson."

  Cory swallowed. "You mean the arms manufacturer?"

  "From your tone I gather you don’t want to stack the books either. If you delegate any more, I’m going to start to wonder whether I need you at all."

  "I just don’t know why anyone would pay good money for these self-promoting works of fiction. They’re full of obvious nonsense written by somebody who just happened to get lucky, then acts as if it was all his plan from the start."

  The shop front door opened and the postman walked in. He gruffly handed several envelopes to Bryn, then was gone.

  "Bills, more bills, and…" Bryn paused. "A letter for you." He held it out but did not let go. "You never get post."

  "Now, I do."

  Bryn looked like he was waiting for further explanation, but Cory offered none. "Well, read it on your own time. Now unbox those books."

  Cory nodded, tucking the envelope into his pocket. Though it was completely unexpected, he knew who it was from. More importantly, he knew what it meant: after all this time, his private investigator had found something.

  Forty-Three

  Michael stepped out of the taxi and found his gaze drawn upwards to the gleaming glass and steel of ZAT’s HQ. It loomed over the street, reeking of design and money. Kara jabbed him in the shoulder with a purposeful finger.

  "Quit gawping and get inside. We’ve got a client to meet."

  Michael blinked. "Something about ZAT is ringing a bell. I just can’t place where I heard of it before now."

  She checked her briefcase, then shouldered her handbag. "They’ve been one of the MoD’s key suppliers for a decade."

  "I don’t mean from seeing them on the news or in the financial pages." He shook his head. "I probably just dreamt it."

  "Save dreaming for your own time."

  "Sure, I—" Michael hesitated, pointing at her blue leather handbag. "That’s the one the mugger took. How did you get it back? It can’t be new: you said it was vintage limited edition."

  A smile flickered across her face. "So I did. Well that’s what we do at Infinity Law: we solve problems."

  Michael frowned. "What does that mean?"

  "Look, we need to focus on what we’re doing here today."

  Michael followed her through a large revolving door and into a spacious lobby, stopping at a bank of metal detectors and scanners. Michael placed his bag on the conveyor belt, then waited in the queue to step through the metal doorway. "They take their security seriously," he said to Kara, who was in front of him in the line.

  "It’s worse when you leave," she replied. "Their biggest concern isn’t what you might bring in. It’s what you might try to take out."

  "Weapons?"

  Kara turned and raised an eyebrow. "This is an office, not a manufacturing plant. It’s the IP they’re trying to protect."

  "They might not make weapons here, but they do make them somewhere. That didn’t cause Infinity any ethical concerns?"

  "What about the tobacco, sugar or motor industries? They all kill people. Plus", she ran a hand through her hair, "if you’d done your research you’d know that ZAT makes a considerable number of high-tech, non-lethal defence and security systems."

  "So they’re the good guys?"

  "The world is rarely that black and white. At best, it’s more a matter of opinion." She moved through the doorway and it beeped sharply. A guard stepped towards her and patted her down, though the look she gave him almost seemed to make him change his mind. The guard gave her a nod and she picked up her bag from the scanner.

  Michael was waived through the doorway. It beeped even louder for him. The guard beckoned him over and began an identical pat down.

  "My belt?" he suggested.

  The man shook his head. "Anything in your pockets? You have an implant or a pacemaker?"

  Michael shrugged and patted his jacket. "Nothing."

  The guard frowned and ran a hand-held scanner over his chest. The system stuttered but didn’t beep properly. He glanced at one of the other guards and they waved Michael through. He picked up his backpack from the conveyor and rejoined Kara. "Not had that problem before," he said.

  "Maybe their scanner system doesn’t like you."

  Michael looked around. "Where’s Errington? I thought you said he’d be joining us?"

  "He’s here already. Got to use the VIP entrance."

  "And we didn’t get that same invitation?"

  "Maybe one day. Now are you ready to focus? Because Gregory Jenson suffers fools even less than I do."

  Forty-Four

  Astrid Kelly opened her eyes and found to her great surprise that she was not dead. She lay on a foam mattress, covered in a worn duvet that smelt of salt and fish. The bed was tight against one wall of a small, oddly-shaped room panelled with dark wood. Morning light was filtering in.

  A bearded man in his fifties, face and hands grimy with oil, appeared at the door. She noted he had to duck to get through, even though he stood well under six foot.

  "You’re awake," he said with a smile. "Will you be wanting a cup of tea?"

  Kelly blinked. "Where am I? Who are you?" She sat up and looked out one of the porthole windows, feeling the whole room shift.

  "My cargo vessel. I got a radio message in the early hours that someone had been seen falling into the river. Found you two minutes later. If I hadn’t been looking, I probably would have mistaken you for a piece of
driftwood."

  Kelly rubbed her fingers against her temples. As she did so, she felt a pain in her shoulder and remembered the arrow that had grazed her. There was a fresh bandage where she had been struck.

  "We cleaned and dressed it," the man said. "My daughter knows some first aid. She works the boat with me – same age as you, I’d guess. She’s got the helm at the moment. I thought perhaps we should take you to the hospital, but", he glanced around, "not everyone who falls in a river wants to be found."

  "No." Kelly flashed a smile. "I appreciate your discretion. And you saved my life. I don’t know how I can ever repay you."

  "You’re the most interesting thing we’ve ever found in the river. And we’ve found a few things, I can tell you," the man said with a laugh.

  Kelly nodded. "I bet you can." She stretched stiffly. "You know, I think I could manage that cup of tea if it’s still on offer."

  He smiled. "Coming right up."

  Kelly settled back on the mattress when the man had left. It seemed almost impossibly fortunate that she had been rescued. A few more minutes and she would have drowned. Why the toxin hadn’t killed her anyway was another question she would try to answer later. For now she had to play the hand she had been dealt, roll with the luck she had been granted.

  She had completely misread the situation. While it had been clear ZAT and Jenson were under attack, this was beyond her wildest worries. She wanted to call Jenson, but she knew that was the wrong play. There was no doubt her communication would be detected. It was better if, at least for now, she stayed dead.

  That meant contacting someone else.

  Someone who she was never supposed to contact.

  Never was evidently today.

  Forty-Five

  Michael and Kara were shown to a conference room on the fifteenth level of ZAT HQ. Errington and a tall, immaculately-suited man were already there.