by Rob Aspinall
Wow, tearing around like this was fun. If only everything in life was on green.
Of course, there were no traffic lights in the sky. Which meant the chopper was still on us. But according to the sat nav, we were close to our destination.
I took a few lefts and rights as we entered a rundown zone full of factories and crumbling brick buildings.
We swung into a side street. Ling took her feet off the dash. She tucked her phone away and straightened up in her seat.
“Nice of you to join us,” I said.
She ignored me, wound down the window and spat out her bubble gum.
I noticed her noticing something in the passenger mirror. I checked the rear view: a white SUV with blacked-out windows. It was definitely tailing us.
We entered an abandoned warehouse—its doors open and completely empty. Nothing but rusting steel pillars and a cement floor.
I brought the Charger to a stop in the middle of the warehouse. Turned off the engine. Heard the police chopper buzzing overhead.
The plan was to head out on foot. Seeing as we didn’t resemble the robbers or carry any cash, we wouldn’t get pulled. The official line was we were exchange students who’d wandered into the wrong part of town. The very wrong part, by the looks of the neighbourhood.
Only, the plan had a snag.
The SUV sped into the warehouse behind us. It slammed to a stop, big-rimmed tyres squealing.
Four men piled out. Semi-automatic pistols and baggy leisure wear. Gang tattoos and as much bling in their mouths as around their necks.
They surrounded the car and banged on the glass. They cocked their weapons and kindly opened our doors for us.
Me and Ling looked at each other and smiled.
8
Meet N Greet
Cadillac Escalade. Full leather trim. Ling at the wheel. We passed by a flowing river on a sweeping rural highway. Gangster rap replaced by a Japanese pop playlist syncing with the SUV’s stereo. I kinda liked it. Ling sang along quietly in Japanese. She sung like an angel. Like an angel that couldn’t sing. But I wasn’t about to tell her.
The carjackers had left us some snacks. We left them a few broken bones and bullet holes on the warehouse floor.
I offered a big green bag of something called sour candy. Ling took a few and popped them in her mouth. I threw a couple in mine, bopping to the beat of the music. Ling’s face screwed up and she let out a little squeal. The sourness hit me a second later.
Jesus, the pain. I grabbed a couple more from the bag.
Ling slowed the SUV and pulled off the road as it curved into a right hand bend. We rolled through a canopy of forest into a clearing. There was an abandoned building, like an old mill or something. Flaky white paint, windows bricked out and a rusty metal staircase leading up to a steel door. The other yellow Charger was parked outside, wearing a new set of plates.
We climbed out of the SUV. I sucked in the country air and listened to the birds in the trees. It wasn’t too far outside Wilmington. But far enough. We climbed the staircase and Ling banged out a rhythm on the door.
After a few seconds, I heard a clunk. Bilal opened the door. He was lean and smaller than I remembered, dressed in a dark-blue tee and jeans. I reckoned he was in his twenties. Flawless dark skin, a pencil-thin designer beard and close-cropped black hair. “Nice rims,” he said. “Where’s the other wheels?”
“We got carjacked,” I said, stepping inside.
“Shit,” he said. “I hope you went easy on them.”
“Easy-ish,” I said, as Bilal shut the door behind us.
We followed him along a tight corridor into an open space over two floors. It had a metal gantry running around the top and an open plan space at the bottom. He led us down the stairs. Light broke in through dirty skylights and dust danced in shafts in the air.
Roni sat on a cracked brown leather sofa—her legs crossed, rattling her fingers over a laptop. A giant pair of white headphones on her ears. A bleach blonde shock of hair this time, rather than the bright red of the Texan desert. But the same mass of tatts and scowl on her face as before.
Inge stood behind a kitchen counter at the far end of the room, making coffee. The other driver from the bank job sat on the end of the counter, crunching a red apple. He was stocky with receding sandy hair, shaved like he was fresh out of the army. He wore combat pants and black utility wear.
“Nice pad,” I said. “Where am I sleeping?”
“You’re not,” said the man on the counter, mouthful of apple.
“We move tonight,” said Bilal, throwing himself on the sofa.
“Where to?” I asked.
“We’ll let you know,” said Inge, clinking a spoon against a cup.
“So are you gonna tell me what the crack is, or not?” I said.
“The crack?” the guy with the apple asked.
“With you guys,” I said. “You rob banks, assassinate JPAC committee members. I mean—”
“We’re on the same side now,” Inge said, stepping around the counter, a white espresso cup between finger and thumb. “And these are my plucky volunteers.” Inge pointed around the room, starting with apple guy. “This is Klaus,” she said. “Ex-JPAC team leader out of Amsterdam.”
Klaus nodded at me.
“You’re already familiar with Bilal’s work,” Inge said.
Bilal threw me the same salute as in Uzbekistan.
“And you’re well acquainted with Ling by now,” Inge said.
Ling ignored the pair of us, glued to her fruit game on the far arm of the sofa.
“I guess so,” I said. “So clearly all four of you are Type A’s. Who’s the mouth on the sofa?”
“This is Roni,” Bilal said. “She’s a black hat.”
“A what?”
“A hacker with malicious intent,” said Klaus.
Inge sipped on her espresso. “She hacked the Pentagon, the NSA and the CIA, all in one afternoon.”
Roni slipped the phones off her head. “Yeah, well I was bored and the fed station had wi-fi.”
Roni jumped up and wandered into the kitchen. She poured herself a coffee.
“She even found her way into Daddy JPAC,” Bilal said.
“You hacked JPAC?” I said. “And you’re still alive?”
“They hired her,” Klaus said, tossing his apple core in a bin.
Roni shrugged. “Didn’t realise I was working for a set of dicks.” She nodded towards Inge. “Lucky for me, our glorious leader here clued me in. Busted me out.”
“Wait, you’ve lost me,” I said, turning to Inge. “You're one of JPAC's top assassins. Suddenly you’ve gone all Edward Snowdon?”
Inge motioned to a stool in front of the counter. “Take a seat,” she said. “Let me explain.”
9
Revelations
It was an emergency planning session. I was about to take a red eye to Quebec when I got the message. I was ordered to reroute to Dubai. It wasn’t long after Alaska—what they were calling Snowfall. The meeting took place in a seven-star hotel. Nadia Mishra was leading the session, the new Head of Ops. The others were senior committee members. All different countries of origin. Some public figures. So I knew it was big. Especially as I’d been called in as personal security. Type A's rarely provide security. We're generally kept well away from the organisation itself.
So I stood there, early morning, tired from the flight. Inside a conference room on the sixty-fourth floor of the Marriot. Staring at a giant window full of clouds. Pretending not to listen.
“Security, inside the room? Is that necessary?” I heard an Australian man say.
“You’d have to ask the Chairman,” Nadia said. “He assigned Inge to me.”
“The Chairman?” a large Japanese man said. “That’s who you’re representing?”
I noticed a few worried faces around the table.
Nadia smiled. “He’s given me full authority. And I’m sure you can understand his reasons for not accepting any engagement
s at present.”
The discussion continued. They talked about Snowfall. About wanting to delay certain projects while a restructure took place.
“Until things settle down,” Nadia said. “Then we’ll proceed with X21.”
“X21?” a thin, dark-haired woman said. She was French. A right-wing politician I recognised from the news. “You can’t be considering . . .”
“If events in Alaska proved one thing, it’s that X21 is ready for deployment,” Nadia said.
“Ready for deployment?” the woman asked. “This is news to me.”
“The Spider’s Web incident was unfortunate,” Nadia said. “But as unofficial tests go, X21 was a success.”
“A success?” a tall Swedish woman said. “It killed half the employees in the facility. It was impossible to control.”
At this point, I really started to listen. News had travelled fast about the Alaska incident. Nathan hadn't told me the fine details about the attack on Berlin, but it all started to make sense.
“When Deathstalker and RunRabbit set off X21 in the mountain, they did us a favour,” Nadia said. “A live test we weren’t prepared for pointed out a flaw in our plans. They even destroyed the evidence on our behalf.”
“Apart from those infected special forces,” the Japanese man said.
“Yeah, we had a terrible time rounding up the bodies,” an American man said. I guessed he was CIA by his unshaven grey stubble and his cheap suit. “Thank God they fell ten thousand feet. Next time we won’t be so lucky.”
“Next time we’ll be prepared,” Nadia said.
“And what about the other pressing problem?” asked an old, black South African man. “They’re destroying missions, projects, data vaults.”
“We’re rolling out a process of change regarding data,” Nadia said. “Our vaults will be going mobile.”
“How soon?” the Frenchwoman asked.
“As soon as possible,” Nadia said. “It may take some time . . . And I’m dealing with Vasquez and the girl.”
An ageing man with the air of an Oxford scholar removed his glasses. He squeezed his eyelids and looked up at Nadia. “These plans of the Chairman’s. Am I the only one who thinks they’re a little . . . Extreme?”
I saw members nod in agreement around the table.
Nadia took a sip of water. “They’re not the Chairman’s plans. They’re the committee’s. The schedule received a seventy percent mandate. Ten percent who voted abstained. And you can guess why.”
“Yeah, because they want the peace,” said the American, “Just not the war that comes with it.”
“And it’s no more extreme than what’s happening out there already,” the Frenchwoman said.
“We either let the patient die from a system-wide collapse, or we cut off a limb,” said the South African man.
“Several limbs,” the Englishman said, pushing his glasses back up his nose.
“Come on William,” the American said. “You’ve seen the projections.”
“I know, I know,” the Englishman said with a sigh. “It’s just . . . We’re talking billions of lives here . . . If it all goes to plan. How can you be sure you can control it? What if it affects the entire population?”
“That's a concern we share,” said the Japanese man.
“Look, ladies and gentlemen,” Nadia said. “This is the plan. The wheels are in motion. It’s a matter of when, not if. But if you don’t approve, you’re welcome to resign your position on the board.”
There were nervy glances around the table. As if Nadia's invitation was more of a threat.
“Of course, once you’re on the outside, we can’t guarantee your safety,” Nadia continued.
“What does that mean? ” said the Swedish woman.
“It means don’t come knocking on any bunker doors when the shit hits the turbo fan,” said the American.
“I suggest you think of your families,” Nadia said, taking another sip of water. “Now, onto other business . . .”
I don’t remember much of the rest of the meeting. I drove Nadia to the airport. Escorted her onto her jet where her usual security detail took over.
I got on a plane to Canada, to continue with my original assignment. Usually I sleep like a baby on flights. The training—to sleep where and when you can.
But this flight was different. I couldn’t switch off. Couldn’t process what I’d heard. The Chairman overestimated me. Perhaps overestimated my programming, I don’t know. But by the time I landed in Quebec, I’d made up my mind.
I had a new mission.
10
Train Of Thought
Inge finished her story and her espresso.
“Come on,” I said. “Like you didn’t know you were batting for Team Evil?”
“I didn’t know the full extent of the plan," Inge said. "I’m guessing neither did Philippe, until he saw that list.”
“What list?” Bilal asked.
“It was on a pair of contact lenses,” I said.
“Remote retina-activated messaging,” Roni said. “One of mine.”
Inge set her cup down. “You’ve been in the game long enough, Lorna. You know it's not black and white."
“I know your old boss killed my auntie. That you tried to release a virus in Berlin. Destroyed half of San Francisco with a death machine. That's pretty black and white.”
“And what, you haven’t taken any lives since you stepped in the ring?” Bilal said.
“Yeah, well, I guess—” There wasn’t much I could say about Inge and her team that didn’t apply to me. It kinda stung to think about it.
“Most of us were kids when we were recruited," Bilal said. "They told us we were fighting for the greater good.”
Inge stared at the floor. “But Philippe going rogue . . . the events in Alaska . . . You get to the point you’re not sure what you’re fighting for. After that meeting in Dubai, I was certain.”
“You weren’t the only one,” Klaus said through a mouthful of apple.
“So you set up a team?” I asked.
“I’d worked with Bilal before and knew he had his doubts,” Inge said. “Ling was in a JPAC prison in China. She’d already broken her programming and gone rogue. We got her out and she was happy to sign up."
“And when me and my grab team were sent to bring Inge in,” Klaus said. “I was the last man left standing.”
“A little de-conditioning was all it took,” Inge said. “And Klaus agreed to switch allegiances.”
“Then all we needed was tech support,” Bilal said.
“Roni was the best and the easiest to persuade,” Inge said.
“It only took half a million JPAC dollars,” Bilal said with a smile.
“So we’re all one big happy fucked-up family,” Roni said. “Now we’ve got the soul-searching over with, can we get on with the plan?”
“What have you got?” I asked.
“The Uzbeki data raid we beat you to,” Bilal said. “Most of it was junk. But Roni found some partially destroyed intel about a Siberian data bank.”
“And if we want to take them down, we need to find out exactly what they’re planning,” I said.
“Plus we can release the juiciest parts,” Klaus said. “Make the wider intelligence community aware.”
“Make the world aware,” Bilal said.
“Information is the best weapon,” I said. “That’s what Philippe used to say.” I got a triple-pang of sadness, guilt and anger with the mention of his name. I ignored it and focused on the task at hand.
“We think Siberia could be the key,” Inge said.
“Great," I said. "Let’s go.”
“There’s just one problem,” Bilal said.
“JPAC mobilised their data vaults after you and Philippe began to raid them,” Inge said.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“The vault is moving,” Klaus said.
“Moving how?” I asked.
“By train,” Inge said.
“The train rarely stops,” said Bilal. “And we can’t predict when.”
“It’s running on six-thousand miles of track,” Inge said. “Powered by a special fuel cell. It could run for a week without slowing down.”
“Then we get alongside it,” I said. “Two off-roaders. Flank from either side.”
“They’ve got armed guards, highly-trained, watching for vehicles," Klaus said.
“Helicopter, then?” I said. “I mean, unless it’s a bullet train.”
“It’s not,” Inge said. “But they’ve got radar picking up any aerial assault. Helicopter. Light aircraft. They'd see us coming long before we got there.”
“And that means UAV jets scrambled,” Bilal said, pushing off the sofa and pacing around the room. “They’d be there in minutes.”
“And we’d be ashes on toast,” I said. “Huh. It’s a toughie.”
“No one’s mentioned data security yet,” Roni said, flopping on the sofa in front of her laptop.
“You want to talk us through it again?” Inge said.
Roni’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “Let’s see,” she said, reading off the screen. “We’ve got full body scan on entry. The floor’s pressure-sensitive, able to read stride patterns. And then there’s the infrared cameras. They’ll pick up any moving heat signatures.”
“Could we blow a hole in the roof?” Klaus asked.
“They’re built from carbon-engineered titanium,” Bilal said. “It’d take time to rig up that kind of plastic.”
“Then we buy ourselves the time,” Klaus said.
“They’re bound to have a rapid response team within reach,” Bilal said. “Considering all the effort they’re going to in protecting their data.”
“So it’s Fort Knox on rails,” I said.
Inge nodded. “Travelling at seventy-miles-an-hour.”