by Gabriel Kron
“So how do you plan on alleviating this potential threat?” asked Senator Reaves, his accent marked with a twang of the American south.
“Well, hopefully it is in its final stages of being cleaned up. The dossiers are in front of you, gentlemen.”
Around the table folders were opened and the contents studied. Rourke held up a picture of Daniel Bateman.
“This is Daniel Bateman, forty-two years old, living in South East London. Works as an IT developer, trained as an electronics technician with the Royal Navy, completing a five year apprenticeship before enjoying the fruits of the private sector. He has basic weapons training from the Navy and according to our records, is a fourth Dan black belt in karate.
“Bateman has been under electronic surveillance for the last two years, but wasn’t involved with anyone or anything of concern, until four weeks ago when it appears he learned the whereabouts of a Lockridge Device. Most claims like this are hoaxes, but the video and photos he posted privately on line suggested very strongly that he had found one of the remaining devices...”
General Rourke outlined the short notice phased sanctions that had taken place over the last forty-eight hours and stressed that he hoped to have full closure to this affair.
“General, this sounds all very risky,” the Senator said. “What you’ve described, in this day and age, could well blow up in our faces.”
“We’ve been very careful. The set-up was deliberately aimed at self-containment. By this, I mean the sanctions were expressly made to cover themselves,” Rourke explained.
“I’m sorry, but what do you mean, sanctions?” Smith-Taylor asked.
The Minister had only been a member of the Committee since the UK government became a coalition after the government fell in the General election. As Minister for Energy and Climate Change, he was an obvious choice for recruitment. Another voice actually in government office was useful.
“What sanctions General?” another voice asked.
General Rourke had expected some concern over his old school actions, but he knew that once the evidence was laid out they would have to concur.
“Gentlemen, in the last forty-eight hours a lot has happened. Please hold any questions until I've presented the evidence to you. I’ll answer at the end,” General Rourke said, handing out another black folder. As each member of the Committee received their folder they immediately opened them and began browsing the documents.
“This is what we know so far. A single YouTube video, posted by Daniel Bateman, clearly showed and described a device on the Watch-list, the Lockridge device. The device was already known about publicly on the internet, but existed only anecdotally and this was exclusively about a subsequent attempted replication that never worked.
“Bateman had gone to Stuttgart specifically to find this machine, which means that someone had told him about its whereabouts. We identified and sanctioned that person, and we were able to track the rental car Bateman hired through the GPS tracker installed by the garage owner, so we knew where the device was and who had it.
“I felt this needed immediate action to guarantee closure on this threat. So last night sanctions were executed on the Lockes and their shop, which was to be blamed on Bateman. The sanction on Bateman was to tie him to the first and make it look like suicide through guilt.”
On the table in front of everyone were several photographs of the Lockridge device and one each of Sophia Locke, Johann Locke and Daniel Bateman. There were other reports in the papers including the Navman GPS tracker reports, and an inventory report from Patch Barracks.
Smith-Taylor sat back in his chair with a look of amazement. “Are you telling us you’ve killed three innocent people?”
“Sanctioned. Just three at this point. We’re closing in on Bateman right now,” Rourke explained.
One of the US Senators sat forward, “Something go wrong General?”
“Bateman had a lucky escape with the aid of a friend, but we are closing in on him right this second. When we do we will nearly have total closure.”
“Nearly? You said, nearly, General?” asked the Senator.
Rourke knew that it was only a matter of time, even just minutes, before total closure on this threat was secured. No-one’s going to milk my cow for free, he thought, quoting someone he couldn’t remember.
“Total, I meant to say total closure.”
Flight BAO918, Monday 9:43am Day 4
As Clive gazed out of the jet’s window, he thought about his conversation with the Department Head, Professor Simon Bannister. It was his permission he needed for this excursion to Stuttgart, even though he was prepared to fund it himself. The short notice meant he needed special dispensation, especially during term time.
Clive had phoned Professor Bannister at home to discuss such an unusual request.
~~~
“...I’m sorry Clive, can you describe that again?” Bannister said when Clive had explained that he needed a couple of days leave to investigate a self-running generator found in Germany. The disbelief in his voice was clear and Clive immediately regretted his decision to be open with his boss.
“Stephan said he’d cover my lectures until Wednesday,” Clive added.
“But Clive, are you nuts? It’s obviously either a fake or the person measuring it doesn’t know what he’s doing.” Bannister was starting to sound agitated.
“That’s the point Simon. The person measuring this machine is a friend of mine. I trust him, and if he says that he has found a self-runner then I’m inclined to believe it,” Clive said. “Enough at least to want to see it myself.”
Clive described in more detail what had been found and gave Bannister the links to the photographs and video uploaded onto the College’s file server. Bannister started viewing them whilst on the phone.
“It’s a hoax,” Bannister said. “Has to be. Could be wires running to that from anywhere.”
“That’s why I need to go see it,” Clive said.
“Clive, we can’t have the faculty connected to this sort of investigation. We’d be a laughing stock and it would affect our investors. The faculty board just won’t authorise it.”
Bannister was right of course, funding for various research projects could well be withdrawn if the investors got spooked.
“Simon I know. But this is too important to miss. What if it is true, that there really is a self-runner? The implications would be huge and we, the faculty would be leading the way.”
“Clive, no, I’m sorry. It’s too risky,” Bannister said.
“Too political you mean,” Clive countered.
“Maybe, but our budgets are stretched to the limit as it is. No, we can’t be connected to fringe science, not now. It is too risky,” Bannister said.
“Simon. I’m going. You might be closed minded about this, but I’m not. As I said, Stephan’s going to cover my lectures, I’ll take unpaid leave.” Clive had never forced his will before. He and Bannister got on well usually.
There was a short silence on the phone before Bannister responded, “Okay, okay, Clive, go to Stuttgart. I’ll book you out on compassionate leave, family emergency. Do you have anyone over there by any chance?”
Professor Bannister said he would clear the leave with the faculty, but to ensure he was back by Thursday.
“This could break you Clive,” Bannister said just before hanging up.
~~~
This could break you... The Professor’s words kept playing in Clive’s mind. “It could make us though,” he had responded.
The seat-belt lights pinged on as the Airbus began its final descent into Stuttgart airport. Clive peered out the window and watched the German landscape getting closer and bigger.
He felt excited and this was good. He hadn’t felt this way about his subject for decades. The magic of electronics had dulled a little over the years and was probably why he was more open-minded than many other engineers when technologies and principles push the boundaries of age old established theo
ry.
The Den, London. Monday morning Day 4
So far the network traffic Mark was experiencing regarding the Lockridge device wasn’t anything unusual. He had seen it before, several times in fact, each time when someone declared they had discovered or invented a free energy device.
First that someone would post a video on YouTube. This would be followed by hundreds of comments either in support, arguing against, asking questions, or posting other results and research. There were plenty of what were termed “Trolls” on the net, and they did the most damage to any credible claims. Soon after public disclosure, various forums across the net would start discussions about the device being shown. Some would try and replicate the device — some accurately — but most were more of an interpretation of what was being shown.
Mark followed every lead he was given or found himself, reported it back to his contact, Colin Mundy, and waited for further instructions. Since the beginning of this contract, only ten times had there been a call for further action above level 3. For each of these occasions, Mark had created an internet legend, an identity that allowed him to join the various internet forum groups and engage in disruptive conversations, making sure that they never managed to find the real answers.
One of Mark’s more creative legends was “Henry Grout”, supposedly a retired hard core electrical engineer who claimed to have worked at various Ministry of Defence research facilities.
Allowing that back story to leak out took time, but enabled Mark to use the Henry Grout legend to start an internet based forum website. Called FreeNRG.com, it offered serious discussion boards for anyone interested in alternative and free energy research. So instead of searching out users that the powers that be, or “PTB’s”, deemed enough of a threat to want to monitor more closely, they instead subscribed to FreeNRG.com.
It was whilst Mark was logged in as Henry Grout and was browsing through the comments being left on various YouTube that the first alarm sounded.
Beep bip, beep bip, beep bip...
“Shit!” Mark exclaimed as he quickly logged off the internet. Someone was trying to breach his firewall. Actually not just trying, but succeeding.
A second alarm started sounding. The Firewall had been breached and now each individual PC’s protection was being hacked.
Mark began to panic and did the only real secure shut down he knew.
He killed the power to all of his computers with a special Kill switch he had installed by the door. No power, no uninterruptible power supplies kicking in and no basement generator that would normally automatically start in the event of a power failure. The Kill switch made sure the computers stopped instantly.
The Den went eerily quiet as the hard-disks and PSU fans spun down. What just happened? Did they just breach my security? And most importantly, who just breached it?
Mark opened a cupboard to reveal a 19” rack set-up where he had his bridges, routers, analysers, data backup units and a couple of large data storage servers. He unscrewed one of the units and pulled it from the racking, inserting an identical unit in its place. It was time to find out who had just hacked his computers.
Stuttgart Airport, Monday 10:20am Day 4.
At 10:20am I left the relative safety of the coffee shop and made my way to Arrivals. Clive should have landed by now and would be making his way to baggage collection. He was expecting me to meet him, and I couldn’t wait. I needed someone to talk to, to help me understand and get me out of this dire situation.
Waiting for Clive’s flight to arrive had given me a couple of hours to try and think rationally about what had happened. I could understand why the Police would want to question me about what had happened to the Lockes. Someone would have recognised me and Sophia from the Wielandshöhe restaurant and there was possibly CCTV of me in the Locke’s shop, although I didn’t remember seeing any cameras. But I couldn’t understand what the police were trying to do to me, if indeed it had been the police. Dominik had told me it was BKA, but why would they try to kill me?
Stuttgart Airport was now a lot busier than earlier. It was easier to blend in, but I knew I would have to be careful. My picture would be on the morning news and in the papers, plus the police patrols and the CCTV. I put on the baseball cap and went in search of Clive.
Stuttgart Airport, Monday 10:25am Day 4.
“Where the fuck is he!” Mueller hissed as he looked down on the departures lounge of Terminal four. He scanned the lounge for Bateman, checking each individual, but he hadn’t seen any sign of him. Nor had the briefed teams of airport security, customs, police patrols or detectives.
The airport was getting busier now and Mueller had spent his time split between being on the floor and the CCTV room, hoping to spot Bateman at the check-in desks or departure lounge. Was he still here? He had to be, the taxi driver had confirmed he had dropped Bateman at the airport. CCTV had shown the drop off, but then Bateman disappeared, which wasn’t hard considering the number of inactive cameras.
Sebastian Wolf had followed on from the hotel and met Mueller at the airport. He helped co-ordinate the various agencies and Mueller knew he had done a thorough job. But what had they missed? Mueller smiled to himself with the knowledge that Wolf had missed big time. Mueller had his own department as well as the local and national German police forces working on finding Sophia and Johann Locke’s killer. Could any of them be clever enough to work out they were actually working with him? Mueller doubted it.
Where had Bateman gone? When was he planning on trying to leave? Nothing had appeared yet on any of the airline manifests either.
“Sir, we’ve had a break,” Wolf said as he walked up to Mueller.
“Go on.” Mueller hoped it was good.
“A shopkeeper on level three, terminal one has positively ID’d Bateman.”
“When?”
“A few hours ago—”
“Hours!” Mueller cut Wolf off. “What fucking good is that?”
“He bought a razor, hair gel, glasses and a baseball cap, a black one with the Bundesflagge,” Wolf said ignoring Mueller’s outburst.
“Okay, yes, I understand. Have you updated everyone? We need more people in Arrivals. He’s not trying to leave, he’s meeting someone,” Mueller said and started heading that way through the airport to terminal one.
“How do you know, sir?” Wolf asked following.
“Do you have the inventory from his hotel room yet?”
“I’ve seen it but not got it with me, why?”
“Was his passport there?” Mueller stopped and faced Wolf.
“Yes...it was.” Wolf's expression changed as the penny dropped. “He can’t leave, can he?”
“No,” and he won’t be leaving, Mueller thought.
Stuttgart Airport, Monday 10:30am Day 4.
Clive had landed and was in the baggage collection area. I stood at one of the payphones off to the left of Arrivals and watched the double doors for Clive to emerge.
I felt on edge, especially since it seemed that the number of police patrols in this area had increased. If they were looking for me then it would only be a matter of time before I was spotted.
The double doors slid open as the next group of travellers filtered through. Clive was there, towards the back of the group and was pulling a suitcase that had its own wheels and extendible handle. I was about to walk over to him as he looked around to try and spot the “me” he would recognise. So I removed my hat and glasses but jumped as two armed police officers walked right past the telephone stands. Neither officer looked at me.
As the officers walked off, I headed straight for Clive. There was no time for explanations, so I had to be clear. I scanned the area as I got close. Shit. Two dark clothed men ran up to the railings overlooking the arrivals lounge, the taller was wearing a long trench coat. I recognised him as that of the pockmarked BKA man with the Taser at the hotel. He had tried to kill me. Who is this guy?
I approached Clive from the side.
“Clive,
it’s me. Please follow me, please,” I said and immediately carried on walking with everyone else hoping to god that Clive was following.
Stuttgart Airport, Monday 10:31am Day 4.
Just as Mueller and Wolf got to arrivals, Mueller’s radio bleeped. “Mueller.”
“We think we’ve got him on CCTV, sir. He’s walking towards the main doors now.”
Mueller peered over the railings trying to spot Bateman, but there were just too many people at this time of day. Then he spotted the black baseball cap.
“Du, schwarze Baseballmütze, halt!” Mueller shouted and pointed.
He could see armed officers start to converge on Bateman through the crowd.
“He’s trying to leave the building now, come on,” Mueller shouted at Wolf as he ran towards the service stairs.
Stuttgart Airport, Monday 10:32am Day 4.
I heard the shout from above and could see police from every direction making their way towards me. They had their guns at the ready.
They had their guns at the ready, but they weren’t aimed at me?
I looked behind. Just beyond where Clive was I could see someone with their arms in the air. He was wearing a baseball cap, a black one, just like the one in my hand.
The armed police pounced on the man. The other travellers had moved well back and the man laid face down, spread-eagled on the marble floor.