Treasonable Intent

by C Shaw Hilton

  Nia smiled knowingly. “You’re a good officer Ray, but way out of your depth. Don’t be fooled into defending the indefensible as some kind of patriotism.”

  “Ha,” he replied, “that’s rich, coming from someone with treasonable intent!”

  Nia stood up. Her face registered anger. “You’re young so I’ll let that go. Think Ray, think! For god’s sake man don’t you see. For over seventy years we have lived with a nuclear deterrent and the concept of mutual destruction. What if one power suddenly made that irrelevant? If one nation created a different type of technology that made hydrogen bombs look like spears? Rose Garden is on its way to becoming the ultimate weapon.”

  Ray blinked. This wasn’t what he expected. In his head he had placed Nia as some kind of deep sleeper agent. Probably Russian. Smith and the others he guessed were imported FSB agents. Now there was a growing sense they were British renegades, inside the establishment but with a radical hatred of the very military assets they were pledged to defend. It wasn’t a happy realisation.

  Nia was looking at him closely. “I’ll be blunt. Operation Lightening has been a set up from the start. Neville Benning and I designed it with the help of some loyal friends. We skewed the plan and all the protocols to ensure it became the confusing shambles we intended.”

  Ray couldn’t hide his surprise: “The Head of the Threat Assessment Team is part of this?”

  Nia smiled and nodded: “A brilliant man. Neville and I go back a long way. He spent years crafting a set of networks across governments and the private sector to ensure the science behind these new technologies was shared and not misappropriated. As in the nuclear age he worked to create a balance that operated in everyone’s interest.”

  Ray spoke in a monotone. His mind was racing to absorb each revelation. “I just don’t believe what you are telling me. Selling the UK out like this…it just makes no sense.”

  Nia waved a hand dismissively. “Think what you like. It’s the truth.”

  She reached down into her purse and pulled out a syringe. “I’m afraid I am going to have to leave you here. We had planned to use this place as an operational base. Hiding in plain sight as they say. Unfortunately that hasn’t worked out. Now I will just have to leave it as another scene creating confusion and suspicion.” She stood up. “This is a nerve agent. Nothing too dramatic but for a few days it will induce a coma then leave you with short term memory issues. I will dose you and your two colleagues in the garage. You will doubtless face a long investigation trying to explain why you abandoned Major Wilkins to her fate and ended up here. ”

  Ray had already calculated that his time was running out but the term “nerve agent” genuinely chilled him to the bone. He convinced himself she was lying and the dose was lethal. His eyes began to dart around the room looking for anything that might enable him to fashion his escape. He needed to buy time.

  “Well if I am to be drugged for days at least you can tell me what you intend to achieve?” he stated.

  Nia was filling the syringe from a small vial. She gently put it on the nearby coffee table and looked at her watch. She had planned to be at the house for only ninety minutes and had just twenty left. “Operation Lightening is a diversion. We are going to steal Rose Garden, expose it for what it is and, for a price, sell it to the other players in the market. We will restore balance and make the world a safer place.”

  Ray thought she looked smug. He found it hard to credit the delusional naivety in what she and Benning had conceived. If this technology was as revolutionary as she implied the idea of letting it go into the hands of rogue states or aggressive military dictatorships was deeply disturbing. As was the fact she told him anything. It reinforced his suspicion that she would kill him.

  He was about to respond when the sound of someone kicking a wall panel came from upstairs, followed by the noise of splintering wood. Nia looked to the ceiling: “Smith is very thorough” she muttered. A seconds later they both froze. The distinct sound of a short burst from a machine pistol filled the house. Every bit of Ray’s training and the raw instinct to survive kicked in. Still tethered to the chair, he sprang up and in a forward hop like a kangaroo, jumped onto the startled Nia Williams, driving his knees into her pelvis and head butting her in the face. They both ended up on the sofa for a moment as she tumbled backwards. The recoil from its springs flung him back and he ended up on the floor. He could see blood gushing from her nose and a look of startled horror.

  Makele heard the gunfire and stopped editing the CCTV. The weapons were in the car but he still carried a 9mm pistol and the taser. He ran into the lounge, pistol drawn. Ray was on his side on the floor. The motion had loosened his bonds but he was still tied to the chair. Nia was groaning in pain semi-conscious. She slumped sideways on the sofa. Makele registered the scene but recognised the gunfire came from the first storey. He decided to leave them and head upstairs. Making his way step by step he peered through the bannisters on the landing to see the body of Smith halfway out of the spare bedroom. He was lying in a pool of his own blood. From downstairs the groaning subsided and the sound of something banging against a wall replaced it. It was Ray trying to smash the chair and release himself. For a second Makele was distracted and looked back towards the lounge. He hesitated about going back down. It was a fatal mistake. As he glanced downstairs Olsson stepped out of the bathroom and fired two shots into his head. Makele span through the air and crashed to the bottom of the stairs in a heap. Olsson raced down the stairs, jumped over the body and into the lounge. Ray was still tethered to the broken remains of the chair and Nia was still groggy and bleeding. Olsson pointed the HK at both of them. “Well, well,” he said, “what have we here?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Trent was apoplectic with rage. It was late, he was tired and the stress of the previous few days meant that he had slept fitfully. Having been trailed by the NSA he had arrived at the New England facility in the late afternoon. He had just managed to get to the bathroom in his accommodation when his phone rang. It was Sidowski. He came straight out and told him about the conversation with Benning.

  Trent gargled in a strangled way almost spitting out the words, “Who?…what the?… are you telling me they jumped Haller and have him as a hostage? The Brits want to ransom him?”

  The NSA agent remained calm. “This is a rogue MI6 officer. He has burnt all his bridges. We can afford to be tactical in handling this and if necessary, with extreme prejudice. I spoke to the National Security Adviser who has briefed the President. State have been speaking directly to the Brits. The view here is not to do any deal.”

  Trent was still struggling to speak. A large vein had swollen in his neck and his temple was pounding. He could see in the long mirror on the wall opposite that he looked flushed and perspiring. “He kidnapped Haller and is trying to blackmail both of us. I need the doctor here. It is your job to fix this sort of thing,” he roared.

  Sidowski waited. There was no point replying and he hoped that Trent would calm down in a minute or two. He didn’t.

  The tirade continued. “This Benning is a duplicitous bastard. I saw how he operated in Hong Kong. Have you any idea what this means! He proposes we give away billions of dollars of intellectual property rights. He has lied, cheated and manipulated everyone. You need to recover Haller and terminate Benning.”

  Sidowski had enough. “Frankly Trent I don’t care for this posturing. You told me you needed Haller to make your ballistic missile hacking work. I am telling you that you can’t have Haller because the price is giving Benning the interface.”

  Trent was still struggling to speak, let alone come to terms with the news. “Fix it!” he yelled. He slammed the phone down and cut off the conversation. He rushed to wash his face in the bathroom. As the cool water splashed over him his anger subsided to be replaced by genuine alarm. “My God…my God…” he said to the mirror, shaking his head and studying his bloodshot eyes and worried brow. This was a disaster. Haller could have monitored the
test from Switzerland as originally planned and then come over later to help the development work. Now he was a hostage in the hands of a madman. Without Haller the technology he had developed would take twice as long to become commercially viable. The ballistic missile disruption could still be tested but if the interface didn’t work …God knows how he would fix it. Damn. Damn. Damn.”

  He went to the window door and slid it open, stepping out onto the large deck outside. The air was cool and fresh. The mountains were quiet. He spent several minutes just drawing in deep breaths until he felt calm.

  He’d had his apartment built in the style of a ski lodge in the centre of the facility. It was a series of work units and underground laboratories but laid out as individual low rise buildings amongst the woods. Originally chosen because it was convenient for both Boston and New York it had become his first proper home after a life of motel rooms and later college lodgings. It had replaced the Chicago hotel suite as his favoured space. The apartment was his refuge, to which he rarely invited anyone else. He loved the peace and tranquillity and fresh air. It was still cool outside. He felt himself shiver and decided to step back inside and close the door behind him. He had to think carefully and he did not have much time.

  Trent made himself some smoked salmon and scrambled eggs with toast. He had no cook or home help, even though he could easily afford both, because he wanted the isolation. A cleaner came and tidied every week but he generally enjoyed doing the domestic chores as a complete mental break from the pressure of work. So it was on that evening, as the sun set, it would have appeared to any caller that he was busying himself vacuuming the carpets in the hallway. Only the frenetic manner of his activity might have given away the fact he was still extremely agitated and his mind was working on what options he had available.

  The doorbell rang. He looked at the video screen. It was Lauren, she was early. He didn’t relish letting her in. Putting the vacuum cleaner aside he slowly walked down the hall and opened the door. To his slight surprise she kissed him lightly on the cheek before inviting herself in. “Get me a drink Trent,” she ordered, “it has been a long day.” Trent went to the fridge and poured a chilled glass of Russian River Chardonnay, Lauren’s favourite tipple. He gave it to her and fixed himself a Wild Turkey on the rocks.

  They both slumped into the leather sofa that occupied half of his snug. He waited for her to speak after sipping the drink.

  “Trent,” she began, “I have spent the day trying to lobby various regulators and officials. I thought we had made progress on getting the support needed for our planned expansion. This afternoon I was called by a Senator I know well. He told me a block has been put on any permissions we might be granted. A few phone calls to our contacts on the Hill revealed it has been put on by the National Security Agency. I need you to tell me why.”

  Trent swallowed hard. He had rehearsed his response several times but knew it wouldn’t convince her. “It is leverage. They are pressuring us to test the system against the North Koreans.”

  Lauren looked at her nails in a studied theatrical gesture: “There is more to it isn’t there?

  Trent looked ashamed: “I am afraid Haller has been kidnapped by some rogue British Intelligence agent. He wants the interface in exchange for his release.”

  Lauren snorted into her drink: “Ridiculous. The Chinese must be behind this”

  Trent swigged back the amber liquid in his glass and went to fix himself another one. “Apparently not” he replied. “In any event this kidnap is linked to some plot against the UK cyber defence system. Even if we wanted to do a deal for Haller, the NSA will not allow it.”

  Lauren looked directly at him: “We are not doing any deal. We can do without him.”

  He struggled to make eye contact with her. “That is where I think you are wrong. It may take twenty or more years but Haller will achieve his dream. When he does he will be offering the wealthy a glimpse of immortality. A complete coding of themselves that can be transferred to a new body. We can share in the vast wealth it will create if we stick with him. In the short term he is the best option I have to fix any glitches if the ballistic missile disruption goes wrong.”

  Lauren wrinkled her nose as an expression of doubt. “Even if that is true, and I have my doubts that Haller is the man to do it, that sort of technological power will never be allowed to reside in the hands of a single person, company or even state. Nor will the great mass of people accept immortality as something determined by wealth. There will be lots of expense and no profit. It will probably end up banned with a vicious criminal trade on the black market. This is not where Esterhazy should be investing its energy. As for this test against North Korea… it will just have to wait.”

  Trent sipped the smooth bourbon. He looked directly at her. “There is a slight problem. Haller apparently had all his work with him on a laptop. His abductor has the information. It is encrypted but as we know, it will only be a matter of time before it is accessed.”

  “What?” Lauren gasped. “You mean that some loose cannon has the full details of our technology and your plan to test it on the ballistic missiles? The whole point of such a test is that it is done without anyone knowing it has happened and that nothing can be traced back to us. This guy, for all we know, could tell anyone.”

  “He doesn’t know about the test,” Trent looked anxious.

  Lauren was direct: “For all you know he could have forced Haller to tell him all about it.”

  Trent was floundering but had one last save: “Haller doesn’t know any of the detail of the test let alone the target. He was just working behind the scenes on the technical detail only.”

  She looked at him long and hard and after a few seconds spoke with a finality that signalled the end of the discussion. “This has become a bigger mess than before. I will have to spend the next few days trying to sort it and I expect your full co-operation. That includes telling me anything else I should know about this matter, rather waiting for me to ask pertinent questions. I shall return to Washington tonight to call in as many markers as I can. Perhaps I can persuade with the Federal government to give us more time. The rogue Brit can get lost. Haller will have to take his chances.”

  Trent put his glass down and slumped, deflated in his chair. “And the test?” he asked.

  Lauren stood up. “Your call” she said with a hint of resignation and then, without a backward glance, let herself out. He looked at his phone. There were four missed calls from Sidowski. Reluctantly he picked it up and pressed ring back on the last one. This would be another difficult conversation.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The JCW debriefing was chaired by Brigadier Harry Fielding. Alicia and Fawzia were joined by the duty officer who took notes and by the Head of Cyber Defence Operations at GCHQ. When the Brigadier entered the room Fawzia stood to attention and exchanged salutes. Alicia sat in a chair to her right. Fielding placed himself down behind the large oak table and gestured at Fawzia to take a seat.

  “Tell us what happened this morning after you left Plymouth,” he began. The tone was neutral but his eyes were fixed intensely on her face as she gave her account. She carefully and methodically went through the fine detail of the journey to Exeter including her conversations with Ray Singh, described the terrifying ambush and finally her escape from the scene. She finished with an apology for losing her kit bag.

  Fielding didn’t give her much pause for breath when she finished. “Your secure tablet, the SSD card and all the operational notes were in the bag. You kept nothing on your person?”

  Fawzia knew the score. No attempt at deflection nor being defensive. “My phone and gun. Everything else was in the bag, Sir.”

  The Brigadier looked glum. “I suppose we can assume the attack on you was planned rather than opportunistic?”

  Fawzia sat upright and looked him in the eye. “Yes Sir. They knew exactly where to ambush the car.”

  Fielding nodded. “Well at least you’re alive to tell the ta
le, thank goodness. Unfortunately the fog and lack of CCTV coverage has frustrated our ability to reconstruct events in detail. It is possible they ran out of ammunition. Alternatively you were not seen as worth the risk of hanging round in the woods for more than a few minutes. Either way, they abandoned the grey van. We now think they left in a blue Mazda for which we only have a partial plate number. It’s probably false anyway.” He looked at Alicia. “Your man, Ray Singh left the vehicle before the attack. I understand he has disappeared?”

  Alicia hesitated slightly before replying. She was here voluntarily by invitation and although pledged to co-operate, was not accountable to JCW. “Yes Brigadier. We have tried to trace the communications to and from his cell phone but they appear to have been cloaked from about ten minutes before the attack. His phone is no longer registering as live.”

  The Brigadier looked unimpressed. “Your Section Head is also missing. She was supposed to return to the operational forward command centre late morning. Any idea of her whereabouts?”

  Alicia looked uneasy. The Brigadier seemed to have assumed an authority which included the right to interrogate her. With Nia Williams and Ray missing, however, she had to admit that the JCW leadership were right to raise concerns. She could at least give a straight answer. “No idea. The news came as a complete surprise.”

  The Brigadier looked across at the Head of Cyber Defence Operations. Louise Fitzsimmons was a former active servicewoman who had undertaken tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan. The victim of an improvised explosive device five years ago, she had lost both legs and now used a wheelchair for mobility. She had spent two years in recovery where she had first met Fawzia Wilkins in post-traumatic stress therapy. Returning to duty she had transferred to the GCHQ and had been promoted to Head of Cyber Defence Operations only three months ago. “Perhaps we should update our colleagues,” he suggested to her.