Treasonable Intent

by C Shaw Hilton

  The code on the door, retina scan and palm print were provided by the Captain. He looked hard at the camera above the door and seconds later the two officers inside authorised entry. Fawzia and the others hung back out of sight and then raced down the corridor and through the open portal.

  The Captain barked at the two officers; “Please stand away from the terminals sirs. The Major is here on a national security mission and will need complete co-operation and full access to the equipment.” Fawzia stepped forward. She had rehearsed the procedure in her head, time and time again in the helicopter. She punched a code into the phone and placed it next to the terminal, holding it firmly in her right hand. The others looked on, intrigued at how such a small device could somehow operate against one of the most sophisticated systems in the world.

  “Ninety seconds,” said Fawzia “we just need ninety seconds.” Already the screens around them had begun to fill with new codes. Suddenly the lights dimmed.

  “What’s happening?” asked Bob. The Captain looked at his colleagues for an answer. The Royal Marine Lieutenant Commander stepped back to his workstation and began typing into the keyboard. A few seconds elapsed before he turned to the rest of the room. “It’s on to us.”

  As the words were uttered the automatic door to the ante-room closed and the deadbolts could be heard locking them inside. “Get it open!” snapped Bob. The Captain raced over to the wall unit that controlled the locks. “It’s been over-ridden. I will have to disconnect it and use the manual levers to free the bolts.” One of the Dark squadron handed him a multi-tool and he began taking the screws out of the face panel.

  Suddenly the fire alarm sounded and the sprinkler system sprang to life. “Cover the kit with your jackets!” shouted Fawzia. She hunched under the outer anoraks held over her by the two marines as the room became drenched. All the time she could feel the phone in her hand becoming warmer. She had been told to expect an unusual tingling and some small involuntary muscle spasms but now these became more painful and pronounced. It was as though she was being touched across her shoulder with a cattle prod. “Get the cables off the floor before we are all electrocuted!” shouted the Navy commander. The Dark Squadron dived beneath the workstations and pulled the tangle of wires out of the puddles that were forming.”

  “Come on, come on!” shouted Fawzia to herself. Then, suddenly, there was a sound like a sharp crack of an electrical discharge.

  “Oh Crap!” blurted the Commander. “It’s trying to open the other door.”

  All eyes turned to the heavy door on the other side of the room. The reinforced glass portal was intact but the door itself was vibrating and along its base a strange hissing sound could be heard.

  “It can’t do that!” yelled the Captain. “The door opens inwards and there is all that pressure from the liquid argon inside. The motorised mechanism isn’t strong enough.”

  The Commander looked ashen. “Yes, but it is strong enough to weaken the seal and that will allow the argon to escape. You can hear the air seals fracturing along the base already. It will start leaking liquid argon any second!”

  Bob looked at the Captain.” We may have to blow the exit door if you can’t get it open.”

  The Dark squadron troops pulled directional charges from their equipment belts and without commenting placed them against the hinges. The hissing across the room became louder. Then in a moment when time seemed to slow, a fine spray of liquid argon began to splatter the floor, instantly mixing with and freezing the water that was collecting from the sprinklers.

  Fawzia’s gaze was fixed on the phone and her watch. Her pains were intense and in short bursts but the adrenaline was flowing and her focus did not shift. “Ten seconds!” she shouted.

  “Blow it!” shouted the Captain, “I can’t disconnect it.”

  “Hold that!” shouted Fawzia,” blow it when we reach Zero…six, five...”

  There was a scream to her right. One of the marines was suddenly splattered across his legs with the frozen argon as the spray began to increase in intensity. He span and in that second dropped his jacket over the terminal. Fawzia was in darkness as the light from the screen was blocked. Her phone still projected a faint glow and she turned it to her watch. “…four,three,two,one,zero..blow it.”

  There were two loud bangs that echoed around the small room. The heat and blast turned the occupants and all the furniture and kit upside down and in the process flung the naval commander into the frozen pool. The exit door was half hanging on by the deadbolts but the hinged side swung open to leave sufficient gap for them to step out. The squadron troops jumped into action. Their orders were clear. Get the Major and her phone to safety. Fawzia found herself being dragged from under a workstation and through the door in seconds. Behind them Bob was trying to extricate the Commander but the cold shock had proved fatal. The wounded marine was being lifted out by his comrade. “Everyone out!” shouted the captain as he picked himself off the floor. Bob saw it was too late and joined the race down the corridor to the next security door at the top of the stairwell. As he was pulled through it by the others he heard a rushing sound back down the corridor. The seal had finally failed completely. Hundreds of litres of liquid argon sprayed out and began to turn to gas. In the inner room the liquid level dropped sufficiently for the top third of the cube to become exposed. It sat there in silence without any indication of activity.

  In Corsham and Oxford the stream of operational commands suddenly ceased. At GCHQ and the National Cyber Security Centre the officers from CERT confirmed Rose Garden was no longer autonomous and the Cube was inactive. There was a collective sigh of relief.

  Epilogue

  At 10.00 pm in the Cabinet Office, the Prime Minister closed the National Security Council meeting, thanking all those present for their professionalism and hard work. The threat was over. Rose Garden would be rebuilt but without its autonomous artificial intelligence. The world would be safer and Britain would remain at the forefront of cyber warfare technology. As the last figures drifted from the room she beckoned Sir Alistair over to her side of the table and waited for the door to close.

  She looked hard at him. “It really is shut down?” she asked.

  He nodded: “Emphatically. The Cube is being dismantled as we speak.”

  “The terrorists?” she gave him a knowing look.

  “All accounted for.” Sir Alistair chose his words carefully. “The Ali woman died in hospital earlier this afternoon. The cell Benning hid in Manchester did what they were told and fled to Dublin. What they didn’t realise was that they would be arrested by Interpol when they landed. It would appear the Israelis have issued international arrest warrants for them. I believe our Irish colleagues have agreed to decline their entry and are making arrangements to transport them there.”

  “So no trial in this country?” the Prime Minister looked relieved.

  “No trial anywhere.” He replied. “The only remaining cell member is Kirstin Stamm. She has been discharged from hospital. It would appear that she has reached an understanding with our Special Events colleagues.”

  The Prime Minister looked away at the portraits on the wall and fixed her gaze on the one of Churchill. “I wonder what Winston would have made of this?”

  He struggled to find a suitable response and simply muttered, “Quite.”

  She shuffled her papers and placed them in a red box. “So, Alistair. Just the principal protagonists to deal with.”

  He accepted the comment as an invitation to elaborate on his next steps. “We will publicly emphasise the role played by Olsson in all of this. The idea of blame resting with a Russian spy will be widely accepted. It will play well with our NATO allies and the general public.”

  He watched for a reaction but the Prime Minister looked impassive.

  He moved on. “Benning portrayed as a delusional mind will be trickier. He remains in Broadmoor, detained under the mental health act. There will be investigative media interest that we need to resist.” />
  The Prime Minister sighed. ”Yes. This has been too profound and damaging to escape the forensic scrutiny of the media and all the hype that goes with it. I suppose Benning has won in that sense. The autonomous AI is no more and all our cyber defences will be held up to public scrutiny.”

  “He still maintains he had reasonable intent. He sees himself as defending the greater good,” Sir Alistair replied.

  She stabbed a hard look at him. “The difference between reasonable and treasonable intent may just be one letter but, to me, it is all the difference in the world.”

  “Understood.” He replied contritely. “The press may try and paint him as a victim. Your political enemies might encourage that. Potentially we could be portrayed as acting unlawfully against him.”

  She looked slightly concerned; “…and our options if that happens?”

  He tried to be reassuring. “If the pressure becomes too much we will allow his extradition to the USA. The Americans are after him for treason. It will offer them some compensation for the damage to their interface system.”

  The Prime Minister closed and locked the red box. “And Doctor Haller?”

  Sir Alistair was forthright. “The man is a menace.” He had recognised the sharp interest of the Prime Minister in this enigmatic Swiss scientist. “We offered to employ him but he has declined. He wants to return to his own work in Switzerland. “

  She looked at him carefully. “A bit awkward as we did suggest to the Chinese we were putting him on a plane to Shanghai. The Americans also regard him as an asset of some value in restoring their damaged systems.”

  He could sense where this was heading. “I don’t think either of them hold any loyalty or affection for him. Both are nervous about his scientific approach and his motives. They want him because he knows too much and can’t be allowed to fall into the hands of anyone else.”

  The Prime Minister nodded. “Well he has certainly made enemies. I think he is more of a player that we appreciated or could prove.”

  Sir Alistair smiled ingratiatingly, “I agree Prime Minister. A dangerous man who pandered to the ambition of others in order to secure his own agenda.”

  She stood and picked up her red box. “Just make sure he is never a threat to us again.” Without a sideways glance she headed for the door and was gone. Sir Alistair sighed. He picked up his phone and arranged to meet Brigadier Fielding for a late nightcap.

  It was two days later when Haller landed back in Switzerland. The weather was hot and the sky cloudless. He made his way through the customs hall and out into the main terminal building. As usual, he’d called ahead to order a private taxi to his work address. Stepping into the sunshine, he spotted a young man with several other chauffeurs, holding a printed card with his name on it. A rather theatrical wave drew his attention and the young man hurried over. Taking his luggage, the chauffeur led him to the door of a black BMW 7 series. Haller slid inside the cool, air conditioned cabin. The young man climbed into the driver’s seat and the car sped away from the kerb. He exited the airport but instead of heading straight into the city pulled off the road into a small parking lot on the edge of the airport.

  “Sorry” he said, “I just need to stop to take a call.” With that he climbed out and disappeared with phone in hand, between the rows of parked cars. Seconds later he returned but with another figure. Haller panicked and scrabbled at the door locks but they would not open. Suddenly the driver was back in place and his companion swung into the passenger seat with a silenced pistol pointing at the doctor. Haller froze. He took in the wild hair and steel grey eyes. “Guten Morgen,” came a distinctive Danish accent. For a second Haller struggled for words but all that came to mind was the obvious “Who are you?” They were his last words. Kirstin shot him twice. She threw the gun on the floor and covered it and the body with a black car blanket from the boot. The driver fixed the twenty four hour ticket to the windscreen and locked the BMW. They would be far away by the time anyone investigated the abandoned vehicle.

  In London the operation had been watched on screen by Fawzia and the Brigadier in the operations room of the Ministry of Defence. The spy satellite image and drone footage showed the two figures walking away from the car in opposite directions.

  “It’s done.” The Brigadier sounded tired but satisfied.

  Fawzia grimaced slightly as she spoke. “Ironic that the woman who tried to gun me down, shoots the man who turned me into a cyber-weapon. Still, I don’t like this sort of cold blooded assassination.”

  “Haller was a threat. Just too dangerous to leave as a loose end. The Chinese would have soon got their hands on him” he replied.

  “And she goes free?” Fawzia asked.

  “That was the deal.” said the Brigadier, “Her Chinese connection will make a plausible case to put the blame on them once the body is discovered. I just hope that concludes this whole sorry mess.”

  Fawzia instinctively put her hand to the scar tissue on her neck. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt emotionally but found herself smiling. “So do I,” she replied, “so do I.”

  THE END

  The Author

  C. Shaw Hilton lives in Southport and was awarded a C.B.E. in 2005, having worked for local and national government.