by Tony Batton
"No. In the subjects." Holm ran a hand through his short hair. "The nanites are ignoring their programming. They won't stop."
Bern frowned. "I don't understand."
"Neither do we," Heidn said. "Everything was progressing perfectly. The nanites had created nodes connected to each subject's cerebral cortex, but after that they should have deactivated, awaiting further instructions. They did not."
"Then what are they doing?"
"They decided to anchor themselves more permanently to the brain. They're doing it by replacing brain tissue with a network of greater structural strength, but they're creating it from the raw materials available – and killing the subjects in the process." Heidn hesitated. "All of them."
"Then do something!"
Heidn cleared his throat. "We've already exhausted the options."
"Including wiping the nanites?"
"It won't make any difference at this point. They've already caused irreparable brain damage."
Bern pinched the bridge of nose. "How did you allow this to happen?"
"It happened so fast. By the time we understood what was going on, it was too late." Heidn shook his head. "We ran simulations. We made our best possible projections, but simulations can only take you so far. We always knew this was pushing the limits."
Bradley shook his head, his voice trembling. "Do you have any idea how Leskov will react if we fail to deliver this technology?"
"You are the one who promised," Heidn said. "We just undertook to try."
"If Leskov did kill Armstrong and Chatsworth, what's he going to do to us?" Holm asked.
Bern cleared his throat. "Can we start over? Commence with new subjects?"
"We could," said Heidn, "but we'd need to find them, vet them. And now we don't have Chatsworth or the clinic. Plus there's the rather big issue that we don't yet know how to stop the same thing happening again. It could take months to resolve. If it is resolvable."
"Maybe," Holm said, "we need to accept the reality that this isn't going to happen."
"I," said Bern, "am the only one who gets to say when something isn't going to happen." He placed his palms together. "Stay here. There's someone I need to speak to." He turned and walked out of the room. Behind him a life support system sounded an alarm.
It didn't slow him one step.
◇ ◇ ◇
When Bern arrived back in his office, Marron was waiting for him. "You saw all that?" asked the CEO, as he sat at his desk.
"I did."
Bern looked at his phone. "Leskov's due his daily update. What should I tell him?"
"In my experience, one always tells rich people what they want to hear. If that happens to be the truth then so much the better."
"I'll bear that in mind." Bern narrowed his eyes. "Tell me you prepared for such a contingency."
Marron frowned. "We always handle that sort of information on a need to know basis."
"Yes. And now I need to know."
"Then the answer to that question is 'yes, but'. I authorised an additional test subject, known only to Chatsworth and myself. That test subject is still alive."
"That's great news. Do you know why?"
"It's not certain, but the answer is probably at an even greater level of need to know. I'm just protecting you, William. Let's just say that I chose someone I could observe easily: a CERUS employee. Unfortunately, there's been a complication there too and he is currently unavailable to us. I'm seeking to resolve the issue, but there are other players in the mix."
"We need him here."
Marron nodded. "I'll handle that. You should watch Heidn and Holm. I'm worried they're losing focus."
Bern sighed. "If only Dominique Lentz was still on the team. She wouldn't be throwing in the towel."
◇ ◇ ◇
Alex answered Marron's call on the first ring.
"Please tell me you failed," he said.
"We had him in sight, but Lentz helped him escape again. It's very--" Alex paused. "You're glad we failed?"
"The situation has changed. The other subjects are no longer viable."
"I see."
"Faraday seems to be unique and the scientists have to know why. I need you to bring him here."
There was a pause. "With Lentz helping him that may prove even more challenging than killing him. She seems to have found a way to prevent tracking."
Marron paused. "If we can't find him then we look for someone we can find and make him come to us."
SIXTY-TWO
THEY DROVE THROUGH THE NIGHT, apparently free from pursuit. Tom watched as Lentz nursed the old van through every turn and gear change. For the first half hour he had barraged her with questions: Who is that woman who's been trying to kill me? Who are you? Are you working for CERUS or against them? Why are you helping me? What is this thing in my head? She had just told him to wait.
Tom shifted in his seat and felt his head-covering crinkle. He was wearing a hat made of tin foil. Had he been less fatigued or grief-stricken, he might have laughed when Lentz asked him to wear it. Instead he had simply said, "Will this stop them tracking me?"
"Until I devise a more permanent solution," she had replied.
So he had put it on. Jo would have had a field day, he thought sadly.
Now he stared out of the window at the occasional streetlight, watching the reflections off the windscreen, listening to the knocking of the old diesel engine. He was tired and desperately hungry. But he was safe. At least for a while.
◇ ◇ ◇
He woke to find that the van had stopped. The sun was up. And he smelt coffee. Lentz opened his door and held out a plastic cup.
"It's not that fresh or hot, but it is strong," she said.
He took it, nodding thanks. "Where are we?" The van was parked in the shadow of a large tree on a gravel road beside an old wooden building.
"My secret lair."
"I was expecting some kind of cave, but this looks like a barn."
"It's what's inside that counts. Come on, I'll show you."
Tom eased himself from the front seat and stretched awkwardly. "Are we safe here?"
She ran a hand through her hair, unkempt and shot through with grey. "As safe as we can be."
"I need to make contact with a friend to let her know I'm OK."
"In good time. We have lots to do first, Tom."
"Like answering some of my questions?"
Lentz pulled open the door of the barn. "Some of them."
SIXTY-THREE
THE PUB WAS CROWDED EVEN at 6am, though at this time of day it was more of a breakfast café. Its early-morning fry-ups were legendary in central London and, with Smithfield meat market only two minutes away, the odours of sweat, chopped meat and cooking oil layered the air in a combination that was frequently overpowering. A steady stream of customers arrived, ate and left.
Among the crowds, a slim figure wearing a cap and jacket stepped through the entrance. She glanced around then moved to a booth at the back and slid in next to a man wearing jeans and a grubby sweatshirt. He nodded but before he could speak a waitress appeared and pulled out her notepad. They ordered by pointing, which was what most of the clientele did, exhausted after coming off an all-night shift or having emerged from a nearby nightclub. The waitress smiled, yawned and moved on to the next table.
"This is your disguise?" asked Kate, once the woman had left.
"Would you prefer a high collar and dark glasses?" replied Croft. "And I'd take your cap off inside, unless you really want to look odd. Did you tell anyone about this meeting?"
Kate shrugged and removed the hat. "The only other person who knows where I am is Geraldine. And, while I may not always agree with her, I trust her with my life."
He looked around the room then locked his gaze on her again. "So what's the story, Ms Turner?"
"You go first."
Croft folded his arms. "At some point, we're going to have to start trusting each other."
"I suppose." She lea
ned closer, lowering her voice. "Richard Armstrong approached me. I think he'd worked on the Tantalus project twenty-five years ago and understood just how dangerous CERUS' latest experiments really were, but he died before we could discuss most of the details. I decided to look into who else might have been with the company that long and came up with a few names: Bern, obviously, and the head of HR, a man named Peter Marron. Then there was a scientist and former brain surgeon called Stefan Heidn. When I started searching those names, they cropped up in relation to another scientist: Dominique Lentz. She died twenty-five years ago, apparently in an accident, but I found archive photos of Lentz and Armstrong together; Lentz's responsibilities included project-managing work on neural interfaces. Then I started trying to figure out if what happened twenty-five years ago could help me figure out what was happening now." Kate paused. "So what did happen with Armstrong? How come you were monitoring the crime scene?"
"He was on an MI5 watch list but it's classified above my level of clearance. I couldn't find out why."
"So what can you tell me?"
Croft sighed. "I looked into the name Tantalus but I found absolutely nothing. Not in the police records. Not in MI5's databases."
"That seems unlikely if Armstrong was right and people died?"
"I agree. As I see it, there are two possibilities. One is that there was a system failure and the electronic records were lost or deleted. The other is that someone deliberately deleted them." He shook his head slowly. "What is this neural interface that Lentz was working on? Is it some way of controlling a computer with your brainwaves? Like a headset or pads taped to your forehead?"
"I believe it may have been more... invasive than that. An implant of some sort, though that's still just a guess."
"How does Tom Faraday fit with all this? Because he seems to be key."
"He is, but not out of choice. It started when he was abducted after the CERUS launch event. I had proof – CCTV footage – but... well, it was wiped and Tom has no recollection of the weekend. I think someone took him and experimented on him."
"And he didn't visit a doctor after he 'lost' an entire weekend?"
"He did. His name was Chatsworth."
"Oh."
"Anyway, his flat-mate and I persuaded Tom to get a second opinion."
"The doctor in Harley Street?"
"That's right. The test found something metallic in his head. Tom took off to confront Chatsworth, then everything went crazy."
"So you're saying he had some sort of experimental brain op? Even if it were keyhole surgery, surely that would have been apparent even without tests?"
"That's the part that doesn't make sense."
"And what does this have to do with nanotechnology?"
"I have no idea. All I know is that's what Armstrong was so worried about."
Croft leaned back in his seat. "Look, I'm on your side, but I need actionable proof. I need Tom. Do you have any way of contacting him?"
"Not that wouldn't risk others finding him first."
Croft sighed, looked around and stood up. "When you're ready to really trust me, give me a call."
"Wait." Kate reached into a pocket. "This is my gesture of good faith." She placed a small plastic box on the table. "It's what Armstrong gave me. He claimed it was intelligent nano. I was going to try to get it tested myself, but I'm sure you've got access to far better labs than I do."
Croft carefully picked up the box. "I'm not sure whether to hope you're right or wrong."
"There's one other thing I hoped you could follow up. If someone's making something like intelligent nano, they're usually making it for someone. There must be a customer."
Croft nodded. "Suddenly I'm not hungry." He pulled a twenty pound note from his pocket and threw it on the table. "You stay and enjoy. And try to stay out of trouble."
◇ ◇ ◇
Kate picked at the two plates of bacon and eggs, but her brain was buzzing too much to concentrate on the food. It was time to go somewhere less public. She needed to speak with Geraldine and work out what to do next. In her pocket, she tapped her mobile: the one that Tom had called briefly from his new burner phone. She had memorised the number then deleted it. Now she, and she alone, could contact him if it became necessary. Standing quickly, she moved to the rear fire exit, which she'd noticed was standing ajar for ventilation. She stepped through and onto the street, slipping on her cap.
"Hello, pretty." someone said from behind her. A woman's voice.
Kate spun on reflex, her muscles corded, ready for action. A flurry of movement registered. Her arms lifted to block the incoming blow.
She did not succeed.
SIXTY-FOUR
TWO SMARTLY DRESSED FIGURES STOOD in St James' Park, wearing long overcoats and feeding the ducks.
"Why here?" asked Reems. "It would have been simpler to meet in my office."
"I wanted to give you a different perspective," said Croft, patting his briefcase, "when I update you on the CERUS situation."
"What update? I'm told the police haven't located any of the three persons of interest."
"They haven't. But I've been conducting some off-book investigations."
Reems frowned. "George, you know about my reservations. There's no need for us to make things even more complicated by treading on the police's toes."
Croft shook his head. "Why are you so resistant even now the situation has spiralled out of control?" He paused. "Why did you tell Business Week News to stay out of it?"
"What are you talking about?"
"The editor had been told not to cooperate, before I even got there. Very few people could have exerted that kind of influence: fewer still would have been aware of a need to do so."
"And you think it was me?"
"I looked at your file. Twenty-seven years in the Security Service: an unblemished career during which you've risen to the highest levels. But there's a six-month spell when you apparently did nothing. Why does the blank part of your file coincide exactly with a CERUS project called Tantalus that also seems to have been wiped from the records? Curious that it seems to be cropping up now and you're the person who doesn't seem to want anything to do with it, no matter how many bodies pile up."
"That part of my file is classified for a reason, George. I understand your frustration and I sympathise, but you know you don't have the full story. Why don't you trust the person who does?"
"People are dying and CERUS is involved. We need to move on the Tower. And for that I need a warrant."
"Bring me proof and we'll go straight to a judge."
Croft reached into his briefcase and produced a metal case. He unhinged it and lifted the lid to reveal a small glass vial. "Intelligent nano. Produced by CERUS."
She raised an eyebrow. "Is it indeed?"
"The source is credible. Get it checked out." He closed the case lid and handed it to her.
"I will. But remember, all we have for certain is some glittery water and your determination to go digging into your boss's personal file. I'll look into these nanites, if that's what they are, but we're overdue a serious conversation about your future."
"So no warrant. Will you at least let me try to join up some of the dots?"
Reems glared at him. "Cautiously, George. Tread very cautiously." She turned away and left him standing by the water. When she reached the road, she pulled a phone from her pocket and dialled a pre-set number.
"We need to meet," she said. "Today."
SIXTY-FIVE
SEVERAL HOURS HAD PASSED AT Lentz's hideout and they had achieved a great deal. Outside nothing had changed, but inside the barn was now considerably less barn-like. The van had been moved inside so as not to alert any passers-by. They'd emptied it of its substantial amount of computing tech and brought up more from the hidden basement, which held a range of supplies and equipment, including large quantities of tinned food, bottled water and other long-life supplies. If necessary they could remain here for weeks.
Lentz was
busily setting up and networking a phalanx of computer servers and laptops. Standing ready for connection were a number of other pieces of scientific equipment, most of which Tom could only guess the purpose of. "I'm not sure if you're a scientist or ex-special forces," Tom said, peering at the nearest contraption.
Lentz stood up. "Can't I be both?"
"You tell me."
She took a deep breath. "I used to work for CERUS. Before that I worked for the government. British Intelligence, to be specific. Technical field agent."
"That's quite a CV."
"It's had its low points."
"What have you been doing since leaving CERUS?"
Lentz paused. "Mostly I've been dead."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "But now you're not?"
"It's a long story. And if I'm going to tell it, I need more coffee." Lentz searched among some cardboard boxes then pounced on a small one and tore off the tape sealing it. Reaching in, she removed a percolator.
"Filter coffee?"
She looked at him. "I know you're probably an espresso child, but this is the best I have."
"I just haven't seen one in a long time."
"The way we do things changes when we learn better ways. Although sometimes better is a matter of perspective: something that is particularly relevant to your situation."
"What do you mean by that?"
She didn't reply, instead taking the glass jug over to a grimy looking sink and turning the tap. There was an alarming banging sound, but the water ran out clear.
"Well?" he said.
"How are you feeling, Tom? How is your head?"
"It's fine. Can I take this tinfoil hat off yet?"
"I need to perform a procedure first."
Tom flinched back. "Like the one that got me into this mess?"
"No, no. Nothing invasive." She emptied the jug into the percolator then added filter paper and coffee and switched it on. Coffee started to drip through almost immediately. "OK, the smell is enough for starters. Why don't you sit down and I'll tell you what I know."