The Locke Cipher

by Gabriel Kron

  Studying the rooms he could see from this aspect, he analysed each person who presented themselves. He had studied the many images of the target and was confident he would recognise him, even through a window at this distance.

  Fox saw movement on the first floor again. He dialled the Viper spotting scope magnifying ring to the maximum x100 setting. At first he saw the usual two people, an older man and a much younger woman. Both were dressed for business, neither the target. This time though a third person presented themselves, framed nicely by the sash window. Fox recognised his target.

  Calmly, Fox slid back from the spotting scope and positioned himself behind the C14 Timberwolf sniper rifle resting on its front bi-pod. Fox chambered a Lapua .338 Magnum 300 grain round designed for super-sonic accuracy and removed the safety.

  He figured he would only have time for one shot. A second would allow their security to locate him. He would also have to move fast, with only one road in and out of the area, he wanted to get out onto the busier A roads.

  As he looked through the scope, the target was still standing looking out of the window.

  The cross-hairs settled on his chest.

  Fox started breathing out — removed the safety — gently squeezed the trigger.

  After the initial recoil, he watched the vapour trail and could see he had been on target, but he couldn’t see anything else as the window immediately turned silvery grey, typical for the laminates of bullet proof glass separating but holding.

  It was time to go. Leaving the tarp, he slid the C14 into its case and carried the spotting scope, tripod attached. He looked behind at the manor house and was shocked to see two vehicle headlights already leaving the immediate grounds of the house.

  He started running.

  Lines Foundation. Day 59.

  The window exploded in front of me. Instinctively I closed my eyes but felt the shattered glass sting my face before I could raise my arms.

  Emma, the legal secretary, screamed and George pushed her towards the office door. “Get out, get out now! Stay away from the windows!” He turned to grab me, but I was already making my way to the door. I kept my head down as I grabbed Becs' hand and followed Louise through the door.

  “Dan, you’re bleeding!” Becs exclaimed as she looked at my face.

  It was stinging and I could feel the trickle of blood from my forehead. I went to wipe it, but Becs stopped me. “Don’t, there’s still glass in there.”

  In the hallway, another of Richard’s private security team met us and pointed down the hall. “Go to the end room and shut the door behind you,” he commanded and entered the room we had just left giving a running commentary into a hand-held radio, “...single shot ... did not breach

  ... two possible vantage points…”

  We were sent to a panic room, which was actually a self-contained two storey apartment in the middle of the building. There were no outside windows and the main door was heavy duty steel cleverly painted to look like wood. Only Becs and I entered, everyone else was busy doing their jobs. We sat at the main table and Becs patiently picked the small splinters of glass from my forehead. The cuts were superficial with any bleeding quickly stopping.

  “That was too close,” I said and winced slightly as Becs finally dabbed my forehead with a damp cloth.

  “Too close too many times,” she said.

  “What about the others?”

  We didn’t have to wait long to find out. After a couple of minutes, Richard let himself in.

  “Okay, that was a bit of a scare,” Richard said, but sounded upbeat. “The sniper has been caught and is now being held. Clearly, somehow, we’ve had a breach,” Richard paused and then added, “Do you like our Panic Room? The previous tenants of Chaterman Hall had it built during the cold war years.”

  “It’s like the containers at the yard. Actually, the only thing in common is that there are no windows. Are Clive and Lee safe do you know?” I asked.

  “Yes, yes, the security details have reported in with no threats made. As a precaution we’re moving you to London tonight, in fact as soon as you’re ready. I will follow on in the morning and meet you for breakfast. Please help yourself to the clothes in the wardrobes, they are all new and they’re for your use so please pack for two nights. If all goes well, we will be returning here tomorrow.”

  He explained that he would be spending the night alerting the media of the Press Conference and briefing Scotland Yard of the proposed surrender. It was better I wasn’t on Foundation property when he did this, just in case someone decided to act sooner than planned.

  The wardrobe in our room was a room in itself, fitted with hardwood built-in cupboards and drawers and a large floor to ceiling mirror on the end wall. Two holdalls had been left for us.

  I packed quickly, the selection of clothes was limited but high quality and came is several sizes of each item. There was even a selection of leather shoes, all black and highly polished. They were complete wardrobes, from new wrapped underwear to a selection of silk ties, including a clip on bow-tie. Becs was less impressed with her selection, complaining that they were all too business-like or too flowery, referring to the long Laura Ashley dresses.

  The telephone started ringing, so I left Becs trying on one of the more fashionable business suits, to answer it.

  “Mr Bateman, I have a call for you, can you take it?” an operator said when I answered.

  It was Clive and he sounded excited.

  “Daniel, we’ve done it. The third batch of cells, I mean brushes, have just cooled down and we’ve just started testing one. We’ve got a high gain that’s way beyond the norm and, and, we can show this tomorrow, it’s repeatable.”

  “Really? That’s great news. Have you tried them in the Lockridge yet?” I asked, wondering how he knew they worked.

  “Not yet, what we’ve made needs shaping and I really doubt we will have time to tune it in time for the conference, but what we’ve actually got might be even more important. I can show you on the bench a COP of twenty at least and we’re only just getting started, and that’s on both digital and analogue meters. COP twenty!” he laughed. COP or Coefficient of Performance told us how well it was performing. Conventional generators and dynamos had COP's below 1, as anything above 1 was supposedly impossible for any generator. So a generator with a COP of 20 was more than remarkable.

  As I watched Becs try several other combinations of blouse, skirts, trousers and shoes, Clive told me more about what they had managed to do at the TekMet labs.

  Whilst waiting for the first set of test brushes to be made, Clive and the lab technicians designed and built a test rig for the brushes. Based on simulations of the Lockridge circuit, the test rig treated the brush as if it were running in the Lockridge device. The first two batches apparently didn’t produce anything. The third batch, however, was more than unexpected or extraordinary. These findings revealed why technology like this probably couldn’t be reproduced using modern electronics and why so many of the reported free energy machines like the Lockridge were based on motors and generators that required carbon or graphite brushes.

  “... It’s all in the switching,” Clive continued. “The energy in the circuit is so wild that any sensitive components, like switching transistors, just get the crap blown out of ‘em by the high voltages. It’s why motors are used, the brushes on the commutator are sort of the perfect switch. This place is incredible. We’ve made more progress in two days than I think we could ever have made on our own, ever. They’ve got these 3D printers that can make these in any shape we want. Absolutely incredible.”

  “Wish I could be there with you. Have you told Lee yet?” I asked.

  “Not yet, that’s my next call. I understand there was another attempt on your life today?”

  “Yep, luck seems to be on my side, but it does confirm we have a leak still.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “Not had the time to even think about it, but we should be able to work it out. Whoeve
r it was who knew about testing the brush in Potsdam and managed to find me here at the Foundation. That kind of limits it to you and me, Becs, Brenda, Lee and Wendy and those here at the Foundation.”

  “That’s not everyone.”

  “Who else then?”

  “Karin Friedmann?” Clive offered.

  “Karin? But she saved my life, and she was in Potsdam at the time.”

  “Henrik?” we both said at the same time.

  “No way would or could Karin be the one.” Clive said reservedly. “But Henrik? Not so sure about. Maybe. But why? He’s not going to be there tomorrow apparently, but Karin will be,” he paused and then added quickly, “I need to try and call her. If it is Henrik then she needs to know...”

  Becs came out of the walk-in wardrobe wearing a black Mandarin style Armani suit with a white collarless shirt.

  “You found something then,” I said. “Very sexy.”

  Science Museum, London. Day 60.

  General William Rourke hadn’t been to the Science Museum since he was a kid. His main memories were of trying to catch a brass ball that would retract into the table when you attempted to grab it, and a periscope in the basement gallery that looked over the main exhibition hall. He didn’t recognise any of it today. It had undergone several refurbishments over the decades with the latest making it look more like a set from a Star Trek film. It was a far cry from the old conventional musty museum of his childhood.

  It was mid-morning and already the museum was busy with its usual influx of tourists and school parties. There was extra bustle this morning as numerous news crews and reporters set themselves up.

  “Take the grab team and start a systematic search until we get intel that’ll let you focus in on Bateman. I’m going to find the Curator and make sure everyone is aware that we’re in charge,” Rourke said as he held up the super-injunction from Judge Justice Webb.

  As Cornell gave instructions to the four plain clothed agents in his grab team, Rourke found one of the security guards on the main door and showed him his MI5 warrant card.

  “Who’s in charge?” Rourke asked.

  “Of what, sir?”

  “Of this museum. Who is it?”

  “Err, the Director, Professor Langley.”

  “Good. Get him please. It’s important. Use your radio, telephone or just run, but get him now please.”

  The guard fumbled with an old Nokia mobile, “Charlie, it’s Roland... I’m at the front entrance and I’ve got some guy from MI5... Yeah like in Spooks... He wants to see Langley, like right now—”

  ~~~

  Standing away from the passing museum visitors and other news crews, LBC radio News-reporter, Mike Smith, listened on his headphones for his cue from the award-winning breakfast show presenter Nick Cortina. He was going out live on London's prime talk radio station to over a million listeners. As he heard Nick's lead in, he cleared his throat and checked his microphone was switched on.

  “... Earlier you may remember I mentioned we had a bit of a mystery. Late last night the LBC News desk received an invitation to an event that promised to be revolutionary. So we sent LBC's roving reporter Mike Smith to find out more. Mike?”

  “Well Nick, it’s actually still all a mystery here at the Science Museum. The usually media shy Lines Foundation is to make an announcement that we have been promised will be revolutionary. Quite what that means Nick we just do not know, but it is a hive of activity here this morning as it seems LBC wasn't the only news desk invited. Quite dis-concertedly we’ve also seen armed police and ... Oh...?” Live on air Mike was interrupted as someone handed him a sheet of paper. “Nick, I’ve just been handed a piece of paper from the High Court. It's a super-injunction—” a few words could be heard quickly mumbled off mic, “...Sorry Nick. Considering that we don't even know what we are reporting yet, this is getting to be quite intriguing. We’re not sure what we're going to be allowed to report and we’re told that the conference will start in approximately five minutes.”

  “Thank you Mike, keep us informed. Mike Smith reporting from London’s Science Museum, on what yet, we don’t know and when we do, so... will... you. This is LBC 97.3. Andy has the traffic for us and big problems on the M25 I understand…”

  Off air, Nick Cortina waved for the producer to bring him a copy of the super-injunction.

  “There's a DA notice as well,” the producer informed him over the headphones.

  Nick quickly scanned the injunction and Defence Advisory Notice for clues, but had to get back to his show as the traffic report was ending.

  En route to museums. Day 60.

  In contrast to the style of transport the Lines Foundation had laid on so far, sitting with Becs on the floor in the rear of a white Transit van wasn’t stylish, but was essential.

  “Okay in the back there?” the bodyguard in the passenger seat asked as the van bumped over a sleeping policeman.

  “Fi—ne,” I replied as the rear tyres mounted and dismounted the traffic calming measure.

  Richard’s security team did not want my arrival at the museum to be announced in any way, shape, or form. All it took was for an over eager keen-eyed police officer to recognise me and decide to arrest me and the planned surrender would be ruined. It was important who I surrendered to.

  I heard the clatter of metal gates opening and closing and the characteristic change in exhaust tone as the van reversed into a loading bay or garage.

  We were escorted straight from the van to one of the basement vaults. It was large enough to be considered a warehouse and held artefacts and exhibits that weren’t being displayed in the main galleries. In one corner of the vault a large LCD TV screen had been set up and was displaying an image of the conference room where the Press release was going to be made. The image of a contemporary lectern, in front of a pleated dark blue curtain with a Lines Foundation emblem displayed in front, reminded me of the American style Whitehouse press statements regularly seen on the news.

  The bodyguards waited outside in the corridor leaving us alone for just a few minutes. The vault was huge and disappeared into darkness at the other end. I held my arms open, inviting Becs for a hug. We didn’t speak. We had said everything that was needed the night before, so we just held each other as if it was a long goodbye. Just in case it all went wrong.

  It wasn’t long before Richard Lines joined us.

  I thought I was smartly dressed in a dark grey American style Armani suit from the wardrobe at the Foundation. But Richard’s three piece suit with a pair of highly polished brogues and silver handled walking cane I had still never actually seen him lean on reduced my tie-less effort to that of a car sales-rep.

  “Are you all set then?” Richard asked.

  “I guess so.”

  “Good, I’m going to go and get Inspector Reynolds then. There’ll be a news cameraman as well, both as a means of record and of course the PR. Doctor Gregson is about to start the conference, you can watch it from here,” Richard said and then stepped forward and offered his hand to me. “Daniel. I’ll see you on the other side, a free man.”

  “Thank you. I’m looking forward to it,” I said as we shook hands.

  Richard left us, closing the door behind him. The sound of the lock echoed through the vault and a feeling of dread started to creep up through my legs.

  On the monitor screen set up for us to watch the press conference, we could see that the gallery where the conference was being held was filling up with reporters, cameramen and other guests who I assumed were invited members of various scientific institutions.

  Science Museum, London. Day 60.

  “Phew, this is going to be interesting,” Lee said to Wendy on the phone as he psyched himself up by jogging on the spot.

  “You sound nervous. Not like you,” Wendy said.

  “Oh I always get nervous. It’s a good thing, but not normally like this.” Lee was about to say that the only time he had felt this nervous was when he had first asked her out for a date, but a
young man wearing large headphones and carrying a clipboard tapped him on the shoulder.

  “It’s time Doctor Gregson,” the young man said.

  “You did this you know, it was your contact. You should be here doing this.”

  “No no, not me, that’s your job,” Wendy said. “Good luck, I’ll be watching it on the News.”

  As Lee crossed to the lectern, the general noise of everyone talking died down quickly. A display screen behind him was over eight feet tall and three times as long and had been displaying the image of a dark blue pleated curtain. The curtain image faded to a well-known photograph of the planet Earth at night.

  “Good morning, members of the press and the scientific community. I am Doctor Gregson. I am here today, talking on behalf of the philanthropist, Sir Richard G Lines, who has provided essential support on many fronts for this project and today wants to extend that support even further. We were hoping that this press conference would be able to be broadcast live, but because of the super-injunction you've all been given I assume, we appreciate that can’t happen. We do hope that you will be able to broadcast and report on today’s disclosure and exposé once you have vetted it.

  “Few people have heard of the Lines Foundation, despite all the fantastic work they do world-wide.”

  Lee turned sideways and watched images of some of the projects the Lines Foundation had supported over the decades.

  “From helping street kids, protecting natural habitats, providing revolutionary third world eye surgeries and innovative solar freezers producing over 5kg of ice every day. These are just some of the projects that we’re allowed to disclose as so much of the Foundation’s work is classified.

  “In truth, the backing of the Foundation on this project is largely due to Richard who has personally backed the project. But what is the project? We have deliberately kept it secret until now and we hope that once you see the following presentation you will understand why we suggested sending your science correspondents.”