by Gabriel Kron
“What were the messages?”
“No message, just text files. One looks like a data dump of network addresses, the other is German and appears to be instructions for making a carbon based component.”
General Rourke thanked the technician. Once he was gone, he sent Colin Mundy instructions to contract out a level 5 sanction on Mark Stacey's online existence. No loose ends.
Aberdeen, Scotland. Day 56.
The weather wasn’t great when we arrived at Aberdeen Airport, but at least it wasn't raining and the slight lack of visibility didn’t appear to cause the pilot any problems as he landed. The Learjet taxied a long way away from the other planes. The reason soon became obvious as it was opposite the heliport where a people carrier transported us to a blue and white Bell 429. The Bell 429 stuck out like a sore thumb amongst all the other usual Tiger, Puma and EC225 helicopters that were parked up at the heliport.
Luxury cars, private jet and now a private helicopter. Unless we were going to be flown out to a private yacht we surely couldn’t be impressed further.
After about fifteen minutes into the flight, we circled a country house of the kind that would appear as a location in a period TV drama. A large H was painted on the lawn to the front of the mansion fronted by a Grecian style portico supported by six stone pillars. Three lines of tall sash windows surrounded the whole building and revealed the bright warm yellow glow of chandeliers and wall-lights within.
High end luxury cars were parked opposite the house. I recognised at least two Aston Martins. Wide stone steps led down to the gardens and the helipad.
As we landed, the single figure of a female descended the steps towards us. She waited for us to exit the Bell whilst holding her long hair in one hand to keep it out of her face. The pilot pointed towards the woman and shouted above the noise to follow her.
“Good morning everyone, I hope your journey up here was relaxing. It was a long way, so we tried to do it as fast as possible for you,” she said with a soft Scottish accent. “I’m Kate Lines, if there’s anything you need, please ask. Richard sends his apologies for not coming to meet you directly. He’s just finishing up some other business first that really can’t wait.”
We followed Kate to the main entrance of the Mansion House.
“Oh my, look at that view,” Clive said as he looked back towards the helicopter and then saw the landscape.
Beyond the well-kept mansion lawns, where a Land Rover was being loaded with our crates from the helicopter, was a blanket of heather that gave way to the crystal clear waters of a large loch. High peaks rose from the horizon jutting into a fast moving moody sky. The few trees that dotted the landscape were all windblown in the same direction.
“Beautiful but harsh,” Lee said.
“Welcome to Chaterman Hall, Scotland is indeed very beautiful but also quite challenging. This is the head office of the Foundation.”
The entrance hall was a large open marbled floor with a wide staircase that split at the first landing and wrapped around the walls to balconies off the first and second floors. Large oil paintings lined the curved walls. A glass roof created a light and airy feel to the hall that was probably larger than any of our own houses. It was certainly a contrast to living in freight containers in a dirt yard.
Kate, who looked to be in her early forties, was dressed for business, wearing a white knee length skirt and suit jacket with blue embroidered detail. She carried a tablet computer that she kept checking.
“It looks like they’re nearly finished. Please,” she said as she opened one of the large interior doors to a side room. “Your equipment and luggage will be brought to you soon in the library where you should set up for whatever demonstrations or presentations you plan to make. Refreshments are already served, please help yourselves. There is a bathroom at the far end of the library.”
As Kate left we all began talking at the same time. It was funny, I found it funny anyhow, and began laughing.
“What’s funny?” Becs asked as she started to help herself to a bowl of cut fruit from the table of refreshments. I chose a hot croissant and coffee.
“All this. This is a different world. How can people live like this and yet we still have homeless people living under the bridges in our own capital city?”
From behind us, “I am reminded of that every day.”
We turned to see who had just spoken. Standing in the doorway of the library stood the commanding figure of a man dressed in a dark three piece suit complete with fob chain. He had a full well-groomed beard with silver hair that was beginning to recede but impeccably cut.
“Hello, I’m Richard Lines. Sorry for the delay. We are running slightly late. The rest of the board are taking a short break, but first, I wonder if Daniel, please, would you walk with me?”
As he turned to leave the room I noticed he had a cane that was right in keeping with his style. He didn’t appear to actually need it.
I turned and waved to Becs and the others who were all enjoying the refreshments and surroundings.
“You’re impressed with the Foundation?” Richard said as he crossed the entrance hall and entered the room opposite.
“It’s hard not to be, Mr. Lines,” I said, taking in the grandeur of the high ceilinged reception room with crystal chandeliers. The room was large with a scrolled marble fire place. The fire was lit and well stoked with logs several feet in length.
“Richard. Please feel free to call me Richard. Yes it is very obvious that a lot of money is behind all of this, but then it is hard to be a philanthropist without it,” he crossed the room to a drinks cabinet, “It’s early I know, but do you fancy sharing a nip with me before going outside?”
I accepted the crystal glass with a shot of golden single malt whisky and allowed it to explode in my mouth. I welcomed the warm almost burning sensation of the oak-matured nectar.
Richard walked to the other end of the room where a large pair of French doors led out to a white granite patio.
“Daniel, I am not a man for small talk, or beating around the bush. The Foundation handles millions of pounds of projects on a daily basis and despite not wanting or needing any publicity we are swamped with applications for funding. We are philanthropic, but what we do is ensure that we can continue to be so. We can’t share what we haven’t got.”
“It’s certainly impressive and like I said, impossible to miss, what with the Learjet, helicopter, Astons and all this, but I’m easy to impress. It’s you we need to impress.”
“Well, yes, indeed. Officially I don’t make the decisions. I employ a panel of Foundation board members to assess each application. Few actually get past the paper interview stage. You’d be amazed at how many businessman out there consider us an easy target.”
We walked slowly along the terrace overlooking the beginnings of a valley the loch sat in.
“I’d never heard of you until a few days ago,” I said.
“Like I said, we neither want nor need the publicity.”
“We passed the paper interview then?”
“Not exactly. I don’t make the decisions, normally. You’ve got my wife to thank for getting you this far, so quickly. My wife and your friend Wendy Gregson.”
“Apparently so. I owe my friends a lot for what they’ve done over the last year. They’ve helped, sorry, I mean are helping me, through some really tough times,” I said.
“Yes, so I understand. Wendy has explained a lot already, but indulge me by telling me how you see it.” Richard pointed the end of his cane towards me. It appeared less likely that he had any real need for it.
Richard was obviously keen-eyed and read my reaction to his using the cane as a prop.
“Ah the cane. I don’t generally need it, but I had a fall last year because of one thing or another and the doctors recommended I should use one. It rather suits the image, no?” Richard posed with the cane, pushing his chest out in a mock posture and then laughed. “Please, I’m sorry, this is a serious time. Apparent
ly you may have found an answer to the world’s energy crisis? Is that true, because usually claims of that nature are generally...bullshit.”
As we walked slowly around the outside of the mansion, I told Richard my version of events starting from my first introduction to Jack Welch. Richard listened and asked only a few questions to clarify a point here or there.
Then he looked at his watch. “Well I think the board will be ready and your friends will be set up by now as well. Are you ready?”
“I think so,”
The truth was, I was nervous as hell.
Richard stopped just before we re-entered the house. “Listen, don’t tell the others, but I can tell you the board will not pass this project for funding.”
I was taken aback. “What? Why are we here then?”
“I’m telling you this so you don’t get fazed by the board’s questions. Be honest and answer as straight as you can. I know they will reject this project just because of the controversy of you being wanted for murder. The arrest warrants, both here and internationally, are very real.”
“But I didn’t murder anyone—” I started to argue my point, but Richard stopped me.
“You don’t have to convince me Daniel, but unfortunately I don’t think you will convince the board who will be just trying to protect the Foundation’s unblemished reputation and reduce the risk. But I have a trick up my sleeve so please don't worry. Just be honest, don’t lose your temper and tell it as it is.”
“But why even do this presentation then? What’s the point?” I asked suddenly feeling that this was all a lie — a stalling tactic.
Richard stopped and re-closed the front door.
“Daniel, let me tell you something, I don’t make the decisions any more because I rely on my instinct, intuition or gut feeling. Be it for the person or for the cause, if it’s the right thing to do, then it’s something I want to facilitate.
“Goran Lines, my father, became a philanthropist late in life, but he did so because he knew the value of doing the right thing. He made his fortune through hard work but in one lucky break he was in the right place at the right time with the right people. With more wealth than he could ever have dreamt of, overnight he decided to give it all away.
“He helped to further science and industry by providing the facilities that allowed the sponsored projects to best succeed. Often, he would sponsor a project just because it was the right thing to do. The Foundation’s share trading portfolio is what now generates the funds for future projects. We are self-sufficient, even to the point that your journey here today, using our cars, jet and helicopter will probably result in the Foundation making a profit somehow.
“Philanthropy has changed. It’s now called Venture Philanthropy and is little more than the equivalent of a slightly more ethical investment bank. The board in there are nothing but bankers, although I would say that if the banks had these people running them, then our country wouldn’t be in the dire state it’s in now.
“Daniel, I want to go back to good old-fashioned philanthropy. That’s one of the cards up my sleeve. Let’s go and do this shall we. I’m sure your friends are ready.”
“Okay, let’s see what your board can throw at me then.”
We re-entered the house and Richard left me to go back to the others and check on their progress.
They were of course all ready. The three demonstration units showing various stages of construction had been positioned to one side of the library on wooden plinths, and a large LED display screen on its own trolley stood centre stage.
“Have a good chat?” Becs asked.
“What’s he like then? He reminds me of a slightly taller Richard Attenborough,” Lee said without looking around from the laptop being used to display the slide show we had prepared.
“I think he’s on our side,” I said and let Becs adjust my shirt.
“On our side, in what way?” Clive asked.
“Kind of been told not to say, but I don’t think he agrees with the decisions of his own board,” I said in a lowered voice.
“So it’s a good thing then?” Clive said.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Before anyone could question me further, the door to the library opened and all eight members of the Lines Foundation board filed in followed by Richard and Kate. After what Richard had told me, I couldn’t help but think that they even looked like bankers, dressed in their pinstripe three piece suits.
The Lines Foundation board comprised of a mixed group of men and women, all in at least their late fifties with the exception of Kate.
“Right, good, it looks like everyone is ready,” Richard said as he positioned himself centre stage to address us all.
“Richard, this is a little improper, this should be going through the usual channels?” said one of the board members, a short overweight gentleman — his receding hair marking his age better than his overstretched skin.
“I know, I know. Please, please be patient. Let’s at least hear what they’ve got to offer and what they need first,” Richard was jovial in his voice but firm and authoritative in his delivery. “Daniel, the stage is yours.”
Lee started the slide show presentation as I welcomed and thanked everyone for the opportunity. I started with a brief history of the Lockridge device and what it is claimed it can do.
I could see several of the panel looking through the dossiers they came into the room with and shaking their heads. Not overly, but enough to notice.
“This technology is not supposed to be able to exist,” I said, “but I have seen it first hand and know it can. We have now managed to work out exactly how to build these devices, right down to having Mass Spectrometer tests done to identify what has been used. I’d like to hand over now to my colleague and good friend, Doctor Lee Gregson, who will try and explain how this device works and the hurdles we have in being able to release or disclose it to the public.”
Lee was a skilled orator. He was also animated, making him interesting to watch as he spoke, his hands and arms circling, grasping and manipulating invisible objects in front of him.
He began with a brief history of how electricity was generated, especially how despite over one hundred and thirty years since the first alternating current alternators or generators were invented, we still used the same methods of generation. The only exception to this was photo-voltaic solar panels.
“You might be wondering about nuclear power, but no, even then all we use it for is the production of steam to turn the turbines that spin the same technology that dates back to the late eighteen hundreds.
“With this technology that was understood by the German nuclear scientists of the time, an entirely new process of generation is at work, one that is more akin to the PV solar cells in use today.
“What we believe is happening is an electron avalanche at the semi-conductor type junctions, triggered by a combination of alpha radiation from the Radium Chloride and high voltage polarisation of the semi-conductor junctions. The more electrons the avalanche produces, the more electricity we can tap off for running our loads. Thank you, Daniel.”
As Lee handed the presentation back to me, the board started to talk amongst themselves in hushed voices. I waited for their attention again, but it didn’t seem to be coming. I looked at Clive who was closer to the board, but he just shrugged his shoulders.
“Excuse me!” I said in a slightly raised voice. It caught their attention. “Thank you. We can answer, or try to answer any of your questions at the end if that’s all right. Clive Sinclair is going to outline what we’ve termed a ‘Disclosure Program.’”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary Mr Bateman,” said the same short fat board member who had objected before.
After what seemed to be several minutes of waiting for the board members to finish what had become heated discussions, I heard the commanding voice of Richard Lines cut through, “Gentlemen! Ladies! Please! I know your points of view on the risks, I knew that before we even
heard the proposal, not that we’ve heard it all yet! I knew, George, you would object, same as you Gideon. Samantha, I can see you’re sympathetic, but you’ll vote with George I know. None of you are seeing past the short term on this.”
Each of the board members Richard named reacted in a similar disgruntled fashion but didn’t argue their positions.
“Gentleman, despite Foundation procedure, which I put into place, this is my family’s foundation, so I am insisting that we help this cause as much as we can. I will underwrite the finance personally, but I want whatever facilities and resources we have to be at their disposal. I could invoke clause eighteen, but that shouldn’t be necessary,” Richard said referring to a never before used clause in his contract about his power of veto being reserved. “It would have been wrong of me to not have passed this by you, and I know what our legal and moral obligations are here, but I ask you please to not take any rash actions until we meet again tomorrow.” Richard thanked his board members for their time and apologised again for the unconventional approach. The Foundation board members, with the exception of Richard and Kate, left the library, most of them just filing out without even acknowledging us. Two stopped and shook Richard’s hand, leaning in close to offer support it seemed.
“Er, what just happened?” Becs asked.
Richard turned to me and the others, “There are other pressing matters that need to be addressed, that outweigh the technology at the moment, regardless of how revolutionary it is. You’re an internationally wanted man, Daniel, wanted for multiple murders and seen as a clear and present threat to our national security. We have to address this issue first and foremost. As a philanthropic organisation we not only have a code of practice, but also a legal obligation to not aiding and abetting known criminals.”
“So we need to prove my innocence before you will help us?” I asked, realising just how easy it seemed to suppress something.
“Not necessarily, although that would be ideal. No, what we need to do is sit down with our legal team and let them start investigating.”