Prediction

by Tony Batton

  "Morning," said Gregory Jenson, shaking their hands. "Max assures me you’re his brightest young things."

  "The best of the best," Errington said. "Kara is our top senior associate, and Michael is not only a lawyer but has a background in computing."

  Jenson stared at Michael. "Is that right?"

  "My father was a programmer. I picked up a few things."

  "Was he any good?"

  Michael shrugged. "He said he was."

  "Don’t they all?" Jenson cracked a smile. "At least I won’t have to explain what a Quantum computer is."

  "My father would have loved to play with one of those. If you can make it work, it will represent a revolutionary jump, like moving from an abacus to a supercomputer."

  "What do you mean ‘if’ we make it work? I don’t need doubters on my team."

  "I didn’t mean to suggest—"

  Kara cleared her throat. "The key thing, Mr Jenson, is that the situation you face is more about people than computers."

  "You may be right." He sat down at the table. "This country needs Project Parallel, but it seems someone has designs to prevent it."

  Kara removed a neatly-bound folder from her briefcase and pushed it across the table towards him. "We’ve built a ten-point plan to quantify the problem, then—"

  Jenson pushed the folder back at her. "I just need to know what I have to do." He narrowed his eyes then pointed at Michael. "I’ve heard Max’s views. Ms Simmons here has offered me a telephone directory to read. What do you think?"

  Michael glanced to Kara, whose expression had gone opaque, then turned to Errington, who nodded. Michael swallowed. "The situation is complex. Firstly, the government has broad discretion to terminate a project at—"

  "Don’t just give me a list of problems."

  Michael closed his eyes and thought hard. "Can you think of any explanation why Saxton would cancel the project, other than the one he gave you? It would have to be pretty significant to risk the consequences of… well… lying to some of the most important people in the country."

  Errington turned to Kara. "Can you check that the door is closed?

  She frowned but walked over and pulled the handle. "We’re good."

  "You want me to tell them, don’t you?" Jenson said.

  "They can’t help you if they don’t know," Errington replied.

  Jenson rubbed his eyes. "You will have seen the news reports about my daughter’s failed kidnapping?"

  Michael and Kara nodded.

  "And that the team was ‘taken out’ by special forces. What those reports don’t cover is that the kidnappers were in fact killed by an unknown third-party, using a hi-tech weapons system: micro-drones, developed by ZAT."

  Kara adjusted her glasses. "You deployed your own system—"

  "No!" Jenson shouted. "I didn't. But someone did. Someone who wanted to set me up. And Saxton has bought the whole story. He's ordered the project cancelled as a result."

  Errington folded his arms. "Because no government wants a scandal."

  Michael frowned. "ZAT is much more than a one-person company. Why so much focus on you?"

  Jenson shook his head. "I don’t think you appreciate the sensitivity or the alarmist nature of the decision-makers in government. If something starts to smell even a little bit, they bail."

  "So," Errington said, "Michael may be on to something. We just need the truth. And for that we need to get in front of Saxton and pin him to the wall until he tells us what is really going on."

  Jenson’s brow furrowed. "Throughout the tender process, he wasn’t exactly the most malleable of individuals. Why do you think anything will have changed?"

  "If we give you the right lever, you will move him."

  "Maybe we should just escalate the issue?"

  "Go above him to the Home Secretary? Then you’re into pure politics, and who knows what will happen. No, Saxton is the right target. Look, Michael’s very good at spotting patterns and making intuitive leaps. Why don’t you show him your Toys and Games Department, and he might make a few more. Besides, you know you want to."

  A flicker of a smile crossed Jenson’s face. "OK, whizz kid. Follow me."

  Forty-Six

  Michael followed Jenson to an executive lift, separate from the rest, and they descended to level seventeen. Jenson waived them through a series of security points until they reached a heavy metal door labelled Research Area Six. Inside the room was a large technical laboratory with frosted-glass windows. They walked over to a central table bathed in LED lights. Two lab technicians scowled at Michael then walked away.

  "Something I said?" Michael asked.

  "They don’t like being interrupted, but more than that they don’t like showing off their tech in progress," Jenson replied. "They think you might steal it."

  "Do they know I’m a lawyer?"

  "No. I thought it best not to antagonise them further. Still, it gives them an opportunity to play with the voice disguiser in Research Area Five. Now try these."

  Michael looked at the black-framed glasses on the table then shrugged and replaced his own glasses, slipping on the lightweight frames. His vision went blurry. "What’s supposed to happen? Obviously they're not my prescription."

  The CEO reached forward and gently pressed the top corners. There was a soft beep. Then Michael's vision snapped into focus.

  "Whoa!"

  "Self-focussing adaptive lenses."

  "They'll put opticians out of business."

  "At ten thousand dollars a pair it’s unlikely. But there's more." Jenson pressed on the lower corners.

  Michael saw a field of small, slightly blurred, icons overlay themselves on his vision. He involuntarily flinched backwards, then blinked repeatedly. The glasses seemed to whirr slightly and their focus sharpened further. "An HUD?"

  "Kind of, but you’re somewhat out of date. This is an augmented reality system. Obviously there are others on the market already, but this is a whole new level of sophistication of interface. Try moving your hands."

  Michael waved them in the air in front of him. "What’s supposed to happen?"

  "Place them on the table then move them slowly. Like you were using a laptop trackpad."

  Michael did so. As he slid his hands across the surface, the icons rippled in sequence. He reached forward and tapped one. It bounced then opened into a stop-sign.

  Jenson nodded, looking at a screen that was replicating the display Michael could see. "Try the globe."

  Michael moved his hand across and tapped. An internet browser leapt into view, obscuring his vision. "Interesting. Although now I can’t see where I’m going."

  "You need to dial up the translucency, but we’re still working on that. Try the ‘tag’ icon."

  Michael blinked again as the display flashed green at the edges. "Now what?"

  "Pick something up."

  "Like what?"

  "That computer mouse."

  Michael shrugged and reached across. As he picked it up, the outline of the object glowed softly green and a small glowing point hovered near it. "What’s going on?"

  "Blink. In a pronounced manner."

  Michael did so. A small virtual tag unfolded and hovered above the mouse. It read ‘computer mouse’. "OK, that is quite cool. How many things can it recognise?"

  "Not much that isn’t in this lab. But it’s a start. It uses a mixture of outline sensing and colour density to guess what an item is. It’s a harder computing problem than you might think. But ultimately you just need a lot of data: ideally access to a library containing images of… everything. Our product is just an interface. Its capabilities all depend on what you hook it up to."

  "So what could you hook it up to?"

  "Take any online mapping system. It’s just a massive database. But connected to these glasses you would know exactly where you are at any time, in real time. And that’s only the start. We can deploy data harvesters to provide much more granularity. You could visualise and navigate your way
through a complex location without even visiting it."

  "I’m sure this helps with your weapons systems."

  Jenson shrugged. "Systems like this focus on targeting the right people." He hesitated. "Although that is a whole other discussion. Look, what this really means is you can see the world with additional clarity. Things aren’t always what they seem from first glance. If you have more data, and a way to interact with it, anything is possible."

  "That sounds pretty deep."

  "Perhaps. While it’s just us, I’ll mention something else I thought was profound."

  Michael removed the glasses. "Oh?"

  "I thought it was strange that Max, famed for his firm negotiation style, volunteered a ‘no win, no fee’ offer for this job. It’s pretty risky."

  "He must be certain he can help you. The Infinity model isn't to work for free."

  "Fair point. But I’m not sure if he’s right."

  "I’ve only known him a few days, but I’d definitely say it would be unwise to underestimate him."

  "Let's hope you’re right." Jenson looked at his phone. "It seems that show and tell is over - something has come up."

  Back at the lifts, Kara and Max were waiting, serious expressions on their faces.

  Kara held out a slim folder. "These are the results of a penetration test we procured on your systems."

  Jenson froze. "You did what?"

  "It’s a procedure designed to evaluate your IT security systems by mimicking an attack—"

  "I know what a penetration test is," he replied, his eyes flashing. "You tried to hack ZAT. You’re supposed to be solving problems, not causing them."

  "We needed to verify how secure you are. The answer is not very."

  Jenson muttered, then began leafing through the document. "You found a vulnerability?"

  "We did", Kara paused, "and it quickly became apparent that someone else had been trying to exploit it."

  "Who?" hissed Jenson. "I want them arrested."

  "Her name is Millie Wright," Errington said, "and from the report it looks like she got nowhere. But our agency tracked her down. Despite your initial thinking, it’s usually better to be a little less heavy-handed. At least at first."

  "Who is she?"

  "A lone operator," Kara replied. "A blogger who runs a site on corporate conspiracy. No real resource behind her. She’s not in it for the money: she just wants to make a name for herself."

  "Then what are you suggesting?"

  "Warn her off," Errington said. "Use charm and persuasion. Right now you have more important things to worry about than some amateur." He gestured to Michael. "I’m sure our young friend here can take care of it."

  Jenson seemed to think. "OK. Get it done. Meanwhile the rest of us can focus on setting up a meeting with Saxton."

  "We’ll need full access to the project files. You’ve just provided overviews and corporate documents. We need the full technical specs, the software source code. Everything."

  "Why would you want that? You’re just lawyers."

  Errington smiled. "If there’s one thing I think we can all agree on, it’s that we’re a lot more than that."

  "Fine, request everything you need." He turned to leave. "Whatever it takes."

  "Now would be good. Do you have them on site?"

  "In the development lab on level 8. But access is restricted. My assistant, Astrid, normally manages that but she’s out of the office at the moment."

  "Then perhaps you could escort Kara there? This is critical."

  Jenson frowned. "Sometimes, Max, I wonder which of us is in charge."

  Errington smiled. "Whoever has the best information."

  Forty-Seven

  Night had fallen over south London. Light now glared from LED street lamps, almost too bright to stare into. They provided sufficient illumination for Cory Ashcroft to see the grubby side-street clearly from his unremarkable ten-year-old grey Ford Focus. He was parked opposite a pub named the Three Bells, although on its battered sign two had faded from view. In his hands was the plain brown envelope that had been delivered to the book shop for him.

  Late the previous night, after pouring himself a large scotch, Cory had sliced the envelope open with his Swiss army knife. Then, his hands shaking, he had read the letter inside three times.

  Now he glanced at his watch, a battered digital model, and confirmed it was time. Stepping from the car, he made his way across the street and into the Three Bells. He immediately spotted the man he was due to meet; he looked so much like a private detective that he might as well have been wearing a sign. Cory walked over, raising his voice above the din. "David Barr?"

  The man squinted through tired eyes. "That’s me, Mr Ashcroft. Have a seat."

  Cory sat opposite, noting that Barr had nearly finished his beer; from his expression, it was not his first. "I got your letter."

  "I could have just called if you’d allowed it," Barr replied. "Would have been simpler."

  "I appreciate you following my instructions." Cory half-wished he’d asked someone else to handle the task, but Barr was cheap and within his limited abilities, reliable.

  "You wanted me to report any change in the target’s circumstances. Well, he has a new job. Another law firm. A much smaller outfit, based in Knightsbridge."

  Cory blinked. "What’s the name?"

  Barr pulled a battered notebook from his pocket. "Infinity Law. I couldn’t find out a lot more about them than is on their website. And there’s not a lot on their website. Your guy left his last place in a hurry – most likely poached or fired. But I couldn’t get anyone to talk to me, on or off the record. Usually the secretaries are happy to blab once I turn on the charm, but they clammed up tight."

  "Did you see any signs that he was planning to leave before this happened?"

  Barr laughed. "You asked for the most basic, non-invasive surveillance to pick up any major changes in circumstance. If you want me to try hacking his computer or trawling through his rubbish, I’m more than happy to," Barr said, raising his glass. "No job too mucky."

  "I’ll bear that in mind." Cory removed a white envelope from his pocket and slid it across the table. "Your fee."

  Barr picked it up, peered inside, and nodded. "Who is this kid to you?"

  "It’s a long story. Not one I'm going to tell."

  "No surprise there. I looked you up, Mr Ashcroft. Do you know what I discovered? That you are exactly who you say you are. Your background is perfect: squeaky clean. And if it looks too good to be true, then ninety-nine times out of a hundred it isn’t true. Particularly with the type of person that would seek my help."

  Cory raised an eyebrow. "As a rule do you investigate your clients?"

  "Enough to satisfy myself I’m not helping out a criminal." Barr paused, then bared his teeth in an ugly grin. "Because for them my rates are higher." He laughed. "Anything else you need me to do?"

  Cory stood. "If there is, I’ll be in touch."

  Forty-Eight

  Warwick Saxton emerged from the squash court dripping with sweat. His opponent, a heavyset grey-haired man, followed close behind, closing the Perspex door with an exhausted sigh.

  "You want my help, and still you beat me soundly," said Sir Douglas Busby, Deputy Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. "I swear you have no concept of what ‘friendly match’ means."

  "Who says I want your help?" Saxton pushed open the door to the nearby changing room. The room was, as he had anticipated, completely empty. He’d called ahead and made special arrangements to make sure that he and Busby would have the opportunity to talk in private, even if the Deputy Commissioner was not expecting it. His sports club was always happy to accommodate.

  "Come now, you never call me," said Busby, lowering himself onto a bench and toweling his forehead and arms. "It’s always me that calls you. So I figure it’s more than just you wanting someone to beat on the court." He blinked. "Unless that is it. Somebody else has really pissed you off, and you have a little aggre
ssion to work out of your system?"

  "Always so suspicious. Are you sure you don’t work in intelligence?"

  "I’m happy protecting the public, in public. That hidden-world nonsense isn’t for me."

  "I’m not a fan of it either – at least not the nonsense part." Saxton hesitated. "And, yes, there’s something more going on."

  Busby clapped his hand down on the bench. "I knew it. Also I heard a rumour that Parallel had been cancelled."

  Saxton’s eyes widened. "Nothing's sacred anymore."

  "I assumed it was a joke or deliberate mis-information, but I guess I was wrong."

  "It’s a little complicated."

  "I’m sure little is an inaccurate modifier if something has forced you to cancel a top-priority project barely days after re-starting it."

  "Obviously I can neither confirm nor deny. But then, as you say, I did call you."

  "You should watch your back, my friend. I have the feeling that you are going to find yourself in very choppy waters."

  Saxton nodded, placing his racquet in its protective cover. "I believe I am there already."

  "What did you expect? Parallel will change the game. Those who play the game as it is won’t like it. So they’ll either try to stop you or to take it from you."

  "It wasn’t like this last time. But then I guess the project didn’t succeed last time."

  Busby nodded. "Did you ever stop to ask yourself why it failed?"

  "You think it was compromised?"

  "I’m just throwing around ideas."

  Saxton closed his eyes. "Sometimes it’s like someone has the system already."

  "Well if that’s true, then we are well and truly screwed. Look, if there is ever anything I can do to help, just ask. And I should remind you, my brother-in-law has just been promoted to Vice Admiral."

  "Congratulations. But if I need a boat, it will be a small one. And we have a few of our own."

  "What about a submarine? Maybe that would be more your thing. Obviously I’d strongly prefer that whatever it is won’t get me fired. Or arrested."