The Locke Cipher

by Gabriel Kron

  “How many more will die because of this machine?” I asked. “Too many have died so far to try and suppress something we don’t even have working yet.”

  “Ah yes, how we are going to resolve this mess?” Richard said. “I called you all in here tonight because it might be the last time you see each other until public disclosure in four days time. I’ve spoken to Lee and Clive on this already, although they probably didn’t realise exactly what it was I was getting at.

  “In four days time there will be a press conference where there will be a prototype product launch as well full technical disclosure. Key figures from the world’s top universities will be there as well as all major news media outlets and the police,” Richard paused to let that last point sink in. “Daniel you will be handing yourself in, voluntarily.”

  “What?” Becs questioned with dismay in her voice.

  “You said that before but didn’t explain. What good will handing myself in do?” I said.

  “Daniel, I am a great believer that the truth can always win. Over the next four days you will be here helping George and the team build your case. Once we have everything we need to get you in front of a Judge, we hope to get any charges against you thrown out. You want to be a free man Daniel? To be able to enjoy the fruits of what you’re bringing to the world? Then you need to hand yourself in, but to someone we know isn’t going to let you be handed to MI5 or extradited to Germany or the US.

  “At the same time you hand yourself in we will expose who is behind the suppression and disclose the technology world-wide. Now that’s an awful lot to organise in four days and we intend to be able to show the world a working real world free energy generator……….”

  “In four days! How the hell are we going to do that?” I responded.

  Helicopter. Day 56.

  Lee looked out of the Bell’s passenger window at the mansion house below and the familiar figures of Daniel, Becs and their new benefactors, Richard and Kate Lines. Richard lifted his cane to wave as the helicopter pitched forward and headed through the valley.

  Lee sat opposite Steve Osbourne, the body-guard who had taken control of the embarrassing confrontation between Daniel and the guard he had injured. Osbourne was young, but sharp-looking who obviously knew his business.

  “Can I use my mobile phone?” Lee asked with a strong suspicion he couldn’t.

  “Not really, but give the pilot the number and he’ll connect you,” Osbourne said handing Lee a head-set so he could talk to the pilot.

  Thanking the pilot, Lee gave him Wendy’s number and listened to it ring several times before she answered.

  “Good morning, rise and shine,” Lee said all upbeat.

  “Morning. Where are you, you sound like one of those old radios? How did it go with the Foundation?”

  “I’m being flown by helicopter back to you now. I can’t tell you much over the phone, but we’re going to need the spare room made up, we’ve got a guest staying.”

  Devil’s Dyke, Brighton. Day 57.

  Clive held Brenda’s hand as they were driven towards the Devil’s Dyke Science and Technology Park hidden in the mile long valley cut into the South Downs just north of Brighton.

  Their chauffeur Simon was one of the armed security detail that the Lines Foundation had assigned. Clive wondered how it was possible for private guards to be armed in the UK. British law forbade the ownership of all handguns after the Dunblane massacre in 1996. He decided to not ponder on it and was just grateful for the protection.

  Devil’s Dyke was a small set-up in comparison to some, comprising only a handful of specialist material manufacturers and test labs.

  The chauffeur stopped at each of the three perimeter check points as they wove their way down into the valley. Each facility branched off a central service road that ran through the centre of the park itself. Another security gate let their car through into the manicured lawns and large ponds of the gardens that surrounded a hi-tech contemporary glass and concrete research facility. The clean lines of the architecture and grounds were simple and reminded Clive of Japanese Zen Buddhist gardens he and Brenda had visited on one of his inter-University Research Lectures. It had also been their twentieth anniversary.

  During the discussions about the Lockridge Project, Richard had asked Clive if he would oversee the manufacture of the brushes as per the Locke Cipher instructions Mark Stacey had decoded.

  “We’ve only got four days to make a set of working brushes. I hope these guys are as good as Richard says they are,” Clive said as they walked through the silent sliding doors of the glass fronted double-storeyed entrance of the TekMet Research Facility. A large ironwork sculpture took pride of place in the centre of the reception area. Water ran down the rusted twisted shard of iron some ten metres high that appeared to balance on a needle point at the water’s surface. The sound of the water gently cascading was calming. It was obviously a popular meeting point with several white-coated personnel sitting on the circular bench that surrounded the pool.

  From across the reception area the single figure of a young woman with dark hair tied up into a chignon approached them. “Mr and Mrs Sinclair? Welcome. My name’s Robin,” she said with a hint of an American west coast accent. “Welcome to TekMet, I understand you will be staying here for a few days whilst working. I’ll show you to your quarters now and point out what’s what along the way. We’ll be passing the labs you’ll be working in.”

  Clive and Brenda followed Robin through the reception lounge to a viewing gallery overlooking a large open plan industrial type engineering floor of immaculate cleanliness. Everything looked colour coded. The floor was a light grey and free of all clutter, hand rails and barriers were blue, stairs yellow, structural supports green. The laboratory was the size of several football pitches and a hive of activity with various teams of personnel working in key areas. At the far end of the building stood two large furnaces. Men dressed in silver heat suits used long handled tools to push and pull a large bright yellow sheet of hot steel along rollers towards the mouth of another large machine that swallowed the whole sheet, screeching loudly in the process.

  Robin was like a tour guide as they walked through the long glass gallery above the laboratories and workshops. At the end of the walkway they entered an interior courtyard that served the living quarters.

  Twenty self-contained flats occupied one sector of the facility and appeared to be used to full effect. People were coming and going and music could be heard playing somewhere from one of the apartments.

  Robin showed Clive and Brenda where everything was in the apartment and proudly showed off the balcony that overlooked the courtyard gardens. At one end was a children’s playground. The other end was more like an exotic garden at Kew with another water feature surrounded by trees and plants with leaves the size of elephant ears.

  “Someone will come and get you in about one hour. We’ve been told you need to start as soon as possible,” Robin said as she left.

  Clive sat on the bed and started getting his notes and files together.

  “I feel like I’m about to take an exam,” he said as Brenda opened the balcony doors.

  “Do you think you’ll pass?”

  “I don’t know. You’d think that with everything we’ve got on this, that it’s going to just be a case of putting it together and bingo, free energy.”

  “If you’ve followed the instructions, why wouldn’t it?”

  “Because it’s an analogue device and it will need tuning and we’ve only got a few days.”

  SIS HQ - Vauxhall Cross, London. Day 57.

  Since the discovery of their compromised network security by one of their own assets, General Rourke had become paranoid of all the sub-contracted intel.

  The trail to Bateman had gone cold again despite their tactics of trying to scare him out of the woodwork. It was possible that they had managed to frighten Bateman and his colleagues enough to suppress the technology. At least it gave them long enough to put as
much disinformation out there as possible. Would it be enough to discredit the Lockridge story and kick it into the long grass of internet conspiracy myth? Only time would tell.

  Cornell knocked on Rourke’s door, opening it before the General could acknowledge.

  “Sir. We’ve got new intel from Redbull again,” Cornell announced as he entered and closed the door behind him.

  “Show me,” Rourke said.

  Redbull was one of his own assets. Cornell handed Rourke a tablet computer displaying a single email from their closest source to Bateman.

  To:-██████████████

  From:- [redbull]

  Subject:- Fw:- DISCLOSURE PRESS CONFERENCE

  To:-██████████████

  From:-██████████████

  Subject:- DISCLOSURE PRESS CONFERENCE

  Hi ████,

  The work you did was great, it has given us a big head start, I heard about the attack, hope you are okay?

  Connection with Lines Foundation means we will be holding a press conference at the Science Museum this Friday, it will feel strange going back to Albertopolis.

  It’s a big day for Daniel, he’s handing himself in so he can prove his innocence. Please say you’ll come.

  Kind regards,

  ████████

  Rourke handed the tablet back to Cornell.

  “Good, this could be our last real chance. Organise a four man grab team, we’re going to that conference to take control of any operations involving taking Bateman into custody. Whoever it is. But I want him before he has the chance to hand himself in. Let’s find out more about this Lines Foundation as well.”

  “Yes sir,” Cornell acknowledged and left to organise the grab team.

  Rourke had phone calls to make. It was time some of the others on the Committee did some work to help protect their precious energy portfolios.

  Judge Martin Webb wasn’t going to appreciate a call at any time of day or night, but Rourke needed a super-injunction against any mention of Bateman or the Lockridge device to back up the DA notice he would also use. The DA or Defence Advisory notice was actually a waste of time without the super-injunction. It was only advice and therefore the media didn't have to accept it. The super-injunction would forbid the media from reporting on either the technology or anything about Bateman.

  There was one other call to make, another angle to try to prevent the Lockridge device and the knowledge of it from ever being properly disclosed.

  Friedmann’s residence. Day 58.

  “Are you sure you can’t come with me to London?” Karin asked Henrik as he cleared the empty plates away from the dinner table. “That was very good by the way. Thank you,” she said having enjoyed another of Henrik’s organic creations.

  “Yes, yes I am quite sure I can’t move either Friday’s or Saturday’s appointments, sorry,” Henrik said.

  Karin stood up and poured more red wine into his glass before topping her own up.

  “Okay never mind. Do you mind if I retire with my wine to the study? I’ve got to finish up some paperwork before I can go. It’s a shame, it’s going to be a big day for Daniel.”

  “Quite sure. You go and do what you need to. I’ll finish up here and see you when you’ve finished,” Henrik said and continued to fill the large butler sink with hot water.

  Karin liked their little study, it had served a vital purpose in the house over the years. The walls were a testament to the whole family’s collection of qualifications and awards, neatly framed and hung.

  Leaving the main light off, she touched the shade of the table lamp to turn it on. The computer was already booted and displaying a slide show of family photographs. She had seen them many times before, but they always made her smile seeing her two sons growing up. Most of the pictures had been taken by Henrik who therefore didn’t appear in many.

  As she moved the mouse to cancel the screen-saver, she was surprised to find Henrik had left himself logged in. She began closing down the various web pages he had open and was finally left with Henrik’s email account on screen. Usually, she would have just logged him out and logged herself back on, but an email subject line caused her to pause.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t expect to see Clive’s invite to the Press conference — she had sent it to him anyway. It was the little blue flag next to the email that indicated Henrik had forwarded her email to someone else.

  She paused again as the mouse cursor hovered over the SENT EMAILS button. She pressed it and waited only a second before a list of emails Henrik had sent and forwarded was displayed. It wasn’t hard to find what she was looking for. She had only sent Henrik two emails in recent weeks, both related to Daniel Bateman and the Lockridge Device. The first was headed with just the simple word Potsdam, and was Lee’s email about what time he would be arriving at the Einstein Tower in Potsdam for the Mass Spec' test on the graphite brush. The second was Clive’s email headed in capitals DISCLOSURE PRESS CONFERENCE.

  “What have you done Henrik?” she whispered to herself and suddenly felt edgy about being caught.

  Henrik had forwarded the emails to the same contact. She hovered over it to see the full email address, but didn’t recognise it.

  She heard Henrik finish in the kitchen and walk past the study on his way to the lounge. She was ready to log off at the instant the door opened, but it didn’t and she heard Henrik keep walking.

  She had to find out what Henrik was up to. Using one of the search filters, she ran a search on the unknown email address. The cursor changed to a spinning circle as it waited to complete.

  ~~~

  Karin didn’t see the search result. Henrik had realised his mistake as he walked past the study. His medical bag was by the front door and it took less than a minute to prepare the syringe of morphine. The door of the study opened silently and Henrik saw what he feared.

  Without hesitation Henrik plunged the syringe deep into Karin’s shoulder and emptied the contents of the syringe.

  Karin yelled out as the hypodermic needle punctured her skin. She went to say something, but the effects of such a large dose of morphine were already hitting hard. Karin felt a tidal wave of heaviness rush through her and despite trying to ask “Why, Henrik, why?” she knew what was happening.

  Henrik knew the dose he had just injected Karin with would kill her if he didn't act quickly.

  Lines Foundation. Day 59.

  Over the next three days, everything was geared towards the disclosure press conference at the Science Museum, London.

  My job in all of this now was providing as much detail as possible to the Foundation’s legal team who busied themselves with investigating the leads that Mark Stacey’s data-dump from Westminster Palace had produced. Every aspect of the case was looked at from as many angles as possible, asking every question that could be thought of. It was explained that this wasn’t because I wasn’t believed, but to cover any questions the Crown might pose.

  I enjoyed jogging in the mornings with Becs around the loch. At the far end of it, we stopped and did pad work, practising more boxing type moves rather than the classical or conventional martial arts techniques. Becs was fiery and pounded the pads repeatedly whilst bouncing around, the moving pads presenting different targets that she had to work hard to hit. I felt confident that given the opportunity, she’d be able to put up a good fight if needed.

  This was possibly going to be our last chance to be alone together before the conference. There was a chance that despite the weight of evidence that was building up, a court may be persuaded otherwise. Even worse than being convicted in the UK would be the granting of an extradition order to the US on a trumped-up charge.

  We jogged gently back to the mansion to shower before another session of questioning from George Barnes. Becs sat cross-legged in one of the large armchairs positioned by the fireplace.

  It was the last day before the conference and my surrender,
which I kept having doubts about. Barnes did his best to reassure me that the odds were in my favour.

  “Daniel, right now we have enough evidence to at least initiate judge-led enquiries. Believe me when I say that some of the names involved couldn’t be more prominent. Unfortunately this means they will fight harder. And that means if we can’t get bail agreed, you may have to do some time until we get the case dropped,” Barnes said.

  He had stopped asking me questions and was explaining the legal processes I would quite likely have to go through and where I would be sent if taken into custody. I don’t want to spend any time in prison, I thought, as I stood and looked out across the landscape.

  “Mr Lines is calling in some big favours on this. Men like him have connections that you couldn’t make up. For instance, you’re not just going to stand on stage tomorrow and shout ‘Here I am, come and get me.’ Mr Lines knows exactly who you will be surrendering to.”

  Chaterman Hall. Day 59.

  Sheltered next to a large granite outcrop, Liam Fox had been lying in wait for the best part of six hours. Working alone, he used a powerful tripod-mounted spotting scope to peer in through the large sash windows of Chaterman Hall, three quarters of a mile away.

  The Scottish hills that overlooked the loch, grounds and mansion of the Lines Foundation estate were a harsh, remote location. There were few trees, and those that did manage to survive were wind-bent and a lot shorter than their age would suggest. Access was limited to a single winding road where Fox’s hired Citroen C5 was parked up on the grass verge with the bonnet lifted and the emergency triangle positioned in the road twenty paces behind.

  There was little movement outside the house, only a single helicopter arriving mid-afternoon that appeared to be there for the coming night as the pilot tethered the rotor blades in case the wind picked back up.