by Tomas Black
“No?”
“Vashchenko is recruiting talent. It’s not clear why, but his activities have raised red flags in the intelligence community.”
Stevie looked distraught. “What do I do, Alice? If it’s known I’m working for him, they will deport me!”
“Oh, tsk, tsk,” said Alice. “Calm down. It won’t come to that. Your recruitment was fortuitous.”
“How do you figure that?”
“It’s placed you on the inside of their organisation.”
“Alice, I’m not a spy. If they find out I’m talking to the authorities …”
“Listen. Carry on as normal,” said Alice. “You have no choice. We’ll work out a way to contact you—”
There was a sharp tap on the window. The grinning face of Baz Kulik stared back at them.
“Oh fuck, it’s Baz,” said Stevie.
“Stay calm,” said Alice. “I’m your new landlady. You’re moving into digs.”
Kulik pushed his way past the other tables and stopped in front of them. “Who is this old bat?” he said, in Russian.
Alice smiled back at him. She hoped Sergei stayed where he was and didn’t snap the greasy pole of a man in two. “Hello, dear.”
“This is my new landlady,” said Stevie, in English. “I’m moving into digs.”
“Good luck with that one,” said Kulik. “She looks like a grinning fool.”
Alice remained calm.
“Don’t be rude,” said Stevie, switching to Russian. She turned to Alice, “Sorry, gotta go. The rent sounds fine. Let’s do this again.”
“That’s alright, dear,” said Alice, still smiling. “You run off and have a pleasant time. We’ll sort things out later.”
Stevie gathered up her things and followed Kulik out of the cafe. Sergei waited until they were out of sight before returning to sit with Alice.
“She’s in big trouble,” said Sergei. “But very cute. I think I will kill this Kulik for her.”
“No,” said Alice, her eyes narrowing. “He’s mine.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Electric Blue
Drum was surprised when Mei pulled up in her car outside the coffee shop on Butler’s Wharf.
“Nice car,” said Drum. He stood back and admired the sleek lines of the vehicle painted in an electric-blue with its large racing tyres and a chassis that sat low to the ground. It was built for speed. Mei looked just as sleek as she slid from the car, dressed in a black, fitted jacket and skin-tight jeans. He was pleased she had dressed casually. It was Saturday, and he’d put on his old, brown leather jacket and a pair of faded denims.
“Thanks,” said Mei. “It’s made in China. I had it imported. Cost me a fortune—but hey, it’s only money.” She gave him a bright smile. “Luggage?”
He lifted an old canvas bag. She reached inside the car and pressed a button on the dash, opening the front of the car. “It’s electric,” she said. “Motors at the back under the seat.”
Drum stowed his bag next to a small suitcase. It looked like Mei was travelling light. He eased himself into the passenger seat.
“I thought the drive would give us an opportunity to talk,” said Mei, sliding into the driver’s side. Drum nodded. She pressed a small button beside the steering column and the dash lit up like Blackpool illuminations. Other than that, there was complete silence. She pulled out sharply, the acceleration snapping Drum back into his seat as she navigated the narrow side streets until they were back on the main road, heading over Tower Bridge.
Mei was a competent driver, briskly overtaking less nimble vehicles until they were heading out along the Highway and onto the A13 where she powered on the juice and promptly broke every speed limit from Canary Wharf to Canning Town. It reminded him of another fast car and another woman, just a year ago, along this same stretch of East London. It had been Victor’s car, a sleek red Italian job that roared rather than purred. Seeing Victor walk away from the meeting yesterday had not sat well with him; it also upset Alice. He hoped Sergei had survived the trip to Cambridge. Alice was less than enthusiastic to have the young Russian intelligence officer as company. But they had given him a name: Gleb Vashchenko. The Russian’s were playing a clever game by revealing Charles’ killer. They knew he’d never let the man live. He’d do their work for them.
And then there was Mei Ling.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she said. “Is that the right expression?”
“Your English is very good,” said Drum, snapping himself back to the present. “Where did you learn it?”
“School, university. Worked in the States. How about you? Do you speak any languages?”
“A little Russian,” he said.
“Really, why Russian?”
“Comes in handy in my line of work,” he said.
She smiled. “You were in the Army, I understand.”
“A career soldier, for my sins.”
“Where did you serve?” she asked.
This was sounding more like an interrogation, he thought. “Oh, nowhere interesting. They marched us up and down the parade ground, that sort of thing.”
“I can’t believe that,” she said. “But I understand if you don’t want to talk about it.”
They turned off the A13 and onto the North Circular until they hit the M11 where Mei put her foot down, keeping to the fast lane for most of the time. He wondered how many speeding tickets she would end up with—and if she cared.
“Investment Banking,” he said, trying to turn the conversation around. “Not a career you think of.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Money’s good. You get to travel to nice places, meet interesting people. What’s not to like?”
She had a point, thought Drum. He bit the bullet. “The day of the climb. Did you see anyone on the platform as we were abseiling down?”
She looked at him and pursed her lips. “Just the safety officer. Did you speak to him?”
“He’s dead,” said Drum, thinking there was no point beating about the bush.
She stared straight ahead but said nothing.
“Someone killed him,” he added, bluntly.
She nodded but showed no emotion.
“You’re not surprised,” he said, half turning to face her.
She glanced at him. “Let’s stop pretending, shall we? We both know who and what we are.”
“You first.”
She stared straight ahead. “Captain Benjamin Drummond of her Majesty’s armed forces, former Signals Intelligence Officer, cyber warfare specialist. Two tours of Afghanistan and one tour of Iraq. Present security status unknown, but probably working for British Intelligence.”
He nodded. “Mei Ling Chung, Chinese intelligence, drives a nice car.”
She gave him a quick look as she weaved around several cars that appeared to be standing still in the fast lane. “Is that all you have?”
“It’s pretty rubbish, I know,” he said, “but we may be after the same thing.”
“I’m willing to share.”
“Then share,” he said.
Mei continued. “Relations between our two countries are at an all-time low. Each is blaming the other for attacks on their security infrastructure. Everything points to Salenko Security Systems. It’s in each of our interests to show that a third party is involved.”
“I agree,” said Drum. He wondered how much he should divulge to a foreign intelligence operative, but they would get nowhere dancing around each other. “Did you speak to Francesca Moretti before she died?”
“No,” said Mei. “I understand you saw her that morning.”
“We had breakfast,” said Drum. “She knew something was wrong inside Salenko’s organisation but had nothing concrete. All she knew was that someone was leaking to the press.” He held back the information about the device. There was only so much he was willing to share.
“The whistleblower,” said Mei. “Francesca mentioned that in a briefing—which is how we knew of McKinley’s intention to hire you.”
“I believe the whistleblower is linked to the attacks,” said Drum.
Mei frowned. “What makes you say that?”
“Without revealing any sensitive details,” said Drum, “did the attacker leave an IP address?”
“Yes,” said Mei. “We traced it to the Salenko campus. Why?”
“Don’t you think it was sloppy of the attacker to leave a traceable network address?”
“Yes, we thought that—but then it was all we had to go on.”
“Right,” said Drum. “A breadcrumb for you to follow.”
“I don’t understand,” said Mei. “What do they have to gain?”
“Whoever it is, contacted me a few days ago—called herself Jane, said she worked for Salenko. She also helped me out of a dangerous situation.”
“Jane? You think she works on the campus?”
“Seems reasonable,” said Drum. “We’ll make it a priority to find her—before someone else does.”
“Gleb Vashchenko,” said Mei.
Drum turned to face her. “What do you know about him?”
“He was red-flagged entering China just before the attack. We believe he was recruiting—for what, we don’t know. After the attack, I was officially assigned to the case. My priority was to track him down. I came close in Shanghai but he slipped out of the country. We received intel he was heading for London.”
“I see,” said Drum. “I believe I saw him on the gantry that morning of the descent. I also have intel that places him at the scene of the murder of the safety officer—Charles was a friend of mine.”
“I’m sorry, Drum,” said Mei. “Do you have any idea where he is now?”
Drum thought back to his meeting with Victor. Gleb was in Cambridge recruiting young talent and Stevie was high on his list. But he didn’t want Mei to know that. “Do you have a photo of him?”
Mei spoke rapidly in Mandarin and a large screen on the centre dash displayed a mug shot of the man he’d seen on the gantry. Dark cropped hair, between thirty-five and forty, square-jawed, low browed with a deep scar down the right side of his eye. Drum was impressed with the technology.
“That’s him,” said Drum, “but why would he want to kill me?”
Mei glanced in his direction. “He wasn’t trying to kill you. He was trying to kill me.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Salenko
They arrived in Cambridge by late afternoon. Mei took a route that skirted the town centre.
“We’re not checking in?” said Drum.
“No,” said Mei. “We have time to check out the Salenko campus.” She smiled. “A surprise visit.”
Mei spoke to her on-board computer and an alternative route was calculated and displayed on the screen. She turned off onto a smaller road that took them out towards the small village of Fen Wootton. He was admiring the countryside when his phone buzzed. It was Alice.
“Hi, how was your journey?” said Drum.
“Could have been better,” said Alice. “Where are you?”
He glanced at Mei, who was paying attention to the road. “I’m heading to the Salenko campus with Mei Ling.”
“I see,” said Alice. “You can’t talk. I understand. Just to let you know we made contact. Our friend was right. She’s in serious trouble. We’re sorting out a plan of action.”
“Good,” said Drum. “I’ll catch you later. I’ll message you a location.” He hung up.
“Everything alright?” asked Mei.
“My office manager, making sure I arrived safely.”
The low, sprawling buildings of the campus came into view. Drum noted the security fencing along the perimeter, a remnant of the days when the place was a MOD data centre. The road led them to a turnoff and the entrance to the campus.
“What’s the plan?” asked Drum.
“We’ll contact Salenko, get ourselves orientated and you can devise a plan to review their security.”
“You’re sure he’ll be there?” said Drum as they approached the gates.
“I’m told he’s always there,” said Mei.
“You have someone on the inside,” said Drum, thinking it was probably a smart move. Many Chinese students now studied at Cambridge.
She looked at him and smiled, but said nothing more. They stopped at the gate and waited. A security guard, dressed head-to-toe in black, came out to meet them. Mei lowered her window.
“Hello,” said the security guard in heavily accented English. “Are you from the university?”
“No,” said Mei. “We’re here to see Mr Salenko.”
The guard looked down at a small hand-held tablet. “Mr Salenko isn’t expecting anyone today.”
“Phone ahead,” said Mei. “Tell his secretary Mr Drummond and Ms Chung are here to see him.”
The guard took a radio from his belt and spoke in a language that Drum thought sounded like Russian, but was probably Ukrainian. They waited a few minutes until the radio squawked a reply. The guard bent down and pointed to a space just beyond the gate. “Park there and come with me.”
The gate slid open and Mei eased the car through into a holding area. Heavy ramps prevented them from entering further onto the campus. Drum was familiar with this type of security which was normally associated with sensitive government installations. He counted at least half a dozen security cameras in this area alone. They parked the car and followed the guard into a small building. A young woman was waiting for them beside a camera rig.
“Good afternoon. My name is Sandra. Could I ask you to stand in front of the camera, one at a time, and say your name.”
Mei looked at Drum, shrugged, and stood in front of the camera. “Mei Ling Chung, Independent Bank of Shanghai.”
“Thank you, Ms Chung,” said Sandra. “Sir?”
“Ben Drummond, Roderick, Olivier and Delaney.”
“Thank you, Mr Drummond. Mr Salenko has cleared his diary for you. Drive along this road until you come to a set of parking bays marked Administration. You’ll be met there by one of our mobile security units and taken to Mr Salenko.”
“Security units?” said Drum.
Sandra smiled sweetly. “Yes, the campus is highly automated and you’ll see automated vending carts and security bots carrying out various tasks.” She pointed to the camera rig. “Your facial features and voiceprint are now in the system. The bots are programmed to respond to you according to the security clearance we have just granted. You’ll know when you see them. They have distinctive yellow and black markings.”
“Really,” said Drum.
“It’s a Chinese system,” added Mei.
“Of course it is,” said Drum.
They walked out of the building and got back into the car. Mei hit the ignition and the car lit up. Drum was disappointed that there was no throaty chortle of a gasoline engine. The security ramp in front of them slowly descended beneath the tarmac and Mei eased onto the campus and followed the road that wound its way in a semicircle through green open spaces and flower borders, punctuated by newly planted trees. Drum thought the place would look spectacular when the landscape had matured. After about half a kilometre, they passed by a long industrial building surrounded by a cordon of heavy fencing.
“The old Ministry of Defence data centre,” said Drum. “They must have refurbished it. Looks in excellent condition.”
“You’re familiar with such installations?” asked Mei, pulling over to get a better look.
“Yes,” said Drum. “The fencing looks light, but it’s reinforced along its length with deep foundations. Very strong. It’s fitted with a trembler system which activates the security cameras on each of those columns and alerts security when someone or something touches the fence. Those four large units attached to the outside of the building are diesel generators in case the power goes down and judging by the arrangement of the pylons coming into the place there are two separate mains supply for redundancy.” He looked at Mei and smiled. “If you’re thinking of cutting the power, then
think again.”
“Not my first thought,” said Mei, “but good to know.”
Mei followed the signs to the Administration building, silently navigating the paved road. Students turned to stare at the sleek, blue car as it glided by. Eventually, they came to a modern, two-storey horseshoe-shaped building beside the river. Mei parked in one of the allocated parking areas and they got out.
A movement off to the side of the road caught Drum’s eye. At first, he thought it was a waste bin, painted in yellow and black, but it unfolded and rose on its haunches to Drum’s height and balanced on two small wheels with perfect stability. The machine’s main trunk was cylindrical and crudely humanoid, expanded at the chest to accommodate a screen; a glass dome atop of the machine housed its cameras and other sensing equipment; its arms looked functional with hands that fully rotated and had three dextrous fingers. It moved incredibly fast, stopping just in front of them.
“Good morning, Mr Drummond, Ms Chung. If you would like to follow me.”
“Interesting,” said Drum.
“Let me try something,” said Mei. She spoke rapidly to the bot in Mandarin.
“I’m sorry, Ms Chung, I cannot do that,” said the bot and waited.
“What did you ask it?” said Drum.
“I told it to power down. Thought it was worth a try. But I’m impressed it understood me.”
“Let me try,” said Drum. “What is your designation?”
“I am MSU-12,” said the bot, and also displayed its designation on the screen.
“How many MSU units are there?” continued Drum.
“There are twenty-four units at this facility,” said the bot.
“Interesting,” said Mei. “Please lead on.”
The security bot did a smart about-turn and moved at a walking pace along the path towards the administrative block. Drum and Mei followed, keeping up with the bot, until they came to a flight of steps, whereupon the bot parted ways and quickly ascended a ramp at the side, reaching the front of the building before them. The bot waited until they were about a metre from the door then turned and entered the building, the doors sliding open to allow it access. It rolled up and stopped in front of a receptionist behind the desk.