Great North Road

by Peter F. Hamilton

  The state of Office3 was a perfect reflection of the team’s morale. He still had a full complement of detectives working their way through data at each of the consoles. All of them in sweaters against the poor air-con. Fast-food wrappers and disposable cups were piled up precariously in the bins. The carpet had acquired additional unidentified stains. Cushioning on the arm of Abner’s chair was held on with black gaffer tape.

  Pausing by the door while the blue seal came on, he found the drabness and apathy to be supremely depressing. What a difference a month made, back when they started with their unlimited budget and bigtime political pressure to get this solved. People had arrived early and stayed late, bringing a surge of enthusiasm to the monumental task. Now this. And he couldn’t even find it in himself to deliver a decent pep talk each morning. He felt like a fifth-division club manager at the end of the season, faced with relegation to oblivion. All his clever talk, keeping Eva and Ian tight to deliver the killer clue, had been pissed away in a drizzle of mediocrity. And from the way Chloe Healy and Jenson San regarded him in the canteen these days, like alligators watching a duckling, he was pretty sure O’Rouke was up on the sixth floor sharpening his knife.

  His iris smartcell grid produced a communication icon that made him frown. It was the Newcastle Metro emblem, a dark yellow square with a stylized red M in the centre. He twisted the icon, and watched the text unfold from the Metro management system, telling him his dayrover ticket was now active.

  Just to prove how blue his thoughts were, it took him a good thirty seconds to work out what it meant. He collected his jacket from the inner office. ‘Out for lunch,’ he told Ian as he walked away.

  Light snow was falling from a dark-grey sky, precursor to a heavier fall within a couple of hours. He trudged up Grey Street towards the Metro station at Monument, the closest to Market Street. It was like early evening, the light level was so depleted. Sludge clung to his ankle boots as he went down the steps to the underground entrance.

  Kaneesha Saeed was there, a ball of navy-blue mohair with a green tartan scarf and matching hat. She wandered over to a big map of the Metro network stuck on the wall opposite the bank of escalators. He stood beside her, and she shuffled sideways until she was facing a hologram poster for a Parsec resort in the Mediterranean, where girls in bikinis played slo-mo volleyball on the beach, a white marble hotel glimmering in the background. A constant stream of people walked along behind them, tramping the slush and jostling their backs.

  ‘No mesh on this,’ Kaneesha said.

  ‘No lip-reading software,’ he finished for her.

  ‘You’re growing into your job, Detective.’

  ‘Thank you. Do you have a name for me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Crap on it, Kaneesha, what is this?’

  ‘I picked up some words. Something’s happening. Something big.’

  ‘Okay, man. What?’

  ‘I don’t know that, moron. I’d have to be inside to know.’

  Sid glared at the exotic beach with its brilliant sunlight and emerald palm trees. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ he hissed.

  ‘It’s a big deal going down. Think what that means.’

  ‘Low odds on two major corporate ops running simultaneously.’

  ‘Well done, pet. Whatever the murder covered up is reaching its endgame.’

  ‘Can you find out?’

  ‘No.’ Her round head shook from side to side. ‘This is your way in. You need to work through the Gang Task Force. They’re idiots, but they’re not totally useless. The evidence will be in their intelligence somewhere. A pattern, a name. You have to find how it hooks into your case.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘We’re through now, Detective. Goodbye.’

  ‘Take care, man.’

  *

  Sid had never liked the fifth floor. For a start it was home to the Police Standards Division, which ran in-house investigations against Newcastle’s officers; and he’d spent enough time in their office last year. But it also housed three of the city’s major task forces, who regarded themselves as the elite. Sid had his own views on that.

  Detective first grade Hayfa Fullerton met him in the lobby outside the lifts; no one was allowed into the task force offices unescorted. A lot of smartdust scattered around had suppression functions, making sure the fifth floor’s networks remained secure.

  Hayfa herself was in her fifties, with a tired-looking face to which she’d applied a minimum amount of make-up; her dark hair was cut short, a style that required little upkeep. Helped by a grey, mid-price department store suit, she successfully projected the image of a drab bureaucrat too busy filling in expenses to deal with anyone. The greeting was professionally courteous, and nothing else. She showed him to her office. A corner office, Sid noted, the one directly underneath O’Rouke’s, though considerably smaller.

  ‘So what can I do for you?’ she asked once he’d sat down in front of her desk.

  ‘You’ve heard about my case?’

  ‘The North carjacking; word is you’re not making much progress.’

  ‘We’re running a simulation that should produce our principal suspect.’

  ‘Right. The taxi backtrack HDA forced on O’Rouke. He’s not pleased, Sid.’

  ‘Name a time you’ve seen O’Rouke happy.’ He gave her a cards-on-the-table grin, which was a masterclass in smooth. She was one of O’Rouke’s devotees, a real solid block of the support pyramid which kept him in his office. ‘Whoever killed my North had to have gang support.’

  ‘Logical. The taxi was one of theirs, and ripping the meshes took organization. But if I knew anything I would have given you the data. I mean, screw the memo on inter-department cooperation, I could do with the credit.’

  ‘Take the credit. I just need to survive.’

  ‘So why are you here?’

  ‘There’s a big play coming off, I think the two might be connected. I’d like your intel on it.’

  ‘Uh huh.’ She gave him a neutral stare. ‘And how did you come by that notion?’

  ‘My own investigation. A source dropped a word.’

  ‘That’s a big word to drop.’

  ‘So there is something happening?’

  Hayfa took her time, making a show of deciding, pushing home just who was alpha here. ‘We’re picking up some activity on the street,’ was all she finally admitted to.

  ‘Unusual activity?’

  ‘Only in scale.’

  ‘So there is something going down?’

  ‘Could be. We don’t know yet. Best guess we can make from the money that’s being splashed round and the lowlives it’s buying, there’s some kind of shipment coming in.’

  ‘Okay. Who’s being loose with their money?’

  ‘Good question. That’s what my people are trying to find out.’

  ‘I need the data they’ve gathered. The AI can run correlation on it.’

  ‘Our sources need to remain secure.’

  ‘Aye, man, I wasn’t thinking of broadcasting this.’

  ‘I’ll ask which of your team has clearance to handle this. It’s sensitive. If any of them make the grade we’ll talk again.’

  ‘Appreciate that.’ Sid got up to leave.

  ‘How is the HDA connected to all this, Sid? Why the pressure?’

  ‘It’s a North,’ he told her.

  ‘Bollocks. What’s going on?’

  He couldn’t help himself: ‘If you like, I can find out if you’ve got clearance.’

  ‘Screw you.’

  ‘Sure. But I’d like you to get that data to whoever you clear out of my people by tomorrow morning at the latest. You don’t want me to go over your head on this, trust me, man. I’m swimming in shit, don’t get in with me.’

  The blue seal around Hayfa’s door died away as it opened, and she gave him a V sign.

  Monday 18th February 2143

  ‘Our survey was approved by the City Architect’s Office,’ Jacinta said over breakfast. ‘It cleared the
Civic Administration network last night.’

  ‘Aye, brilliant, man,’ Sid said. The survey was the last legal obstacle to selling their Walkergate house; an official report by a ridiculously expensive building structural analyst that concluded four walls and a roof existed, but guaranteed nothing else. Sid had already sorted out the mortgage with a company registered in Cambodia, who’d agreed to loan them money for the Jesmond house based on a combination of their salaries, and provided a certification to that effect to his solicitor. That would allow the money to be legally transferred on completion of the sale. As far as his UK bank and GE Tax Bureau would know (and could prove) the Cambodia mortgage company held the deeds and received monthly payments. In reality, Sid owned the mortgage company, and it had taken a loan from another finance market in Vietnam, a much smaller one, because they were using a big slice of Sid’s secondary savings as a down payment on the new house as well as the equity from the old one. So out of the official monthly mortgage repayments half would pay off the Vietnam loan at a reasonable rate, and the rest would go direct to Sid’s secondary. They’d legitimately wind up with a bigger house, and have more spending money per month than before.

  ‘Does anyone want this house?’ Zara asked anxiously as she spooned up her porridge.

  ‘Fifteen virtual viewings so far,’ Jacinta announced proudly. ‘The agent said three have requested a visit as soon as the datawork’s cleared.’ She and Sid clasped hands and shared a look.

  He didn’t have the heart to tell her just how bad things were with the case right now. No taxi and no overlap between all their data and Hayfa’s, plus he suspected Hayfa hadn’t downloaded everything. And O’Rouke wanted to reassign five of the team members.

  ‘So you two are going to have to keep your rooms tidy,’ Sid warned the kids.

  ‘Mine is,’ Zara said immediately.

  For the first time Will dragged his gaze from the screen which was showing the news from St Libra. The expedition e-Rays had successfully flown over the vast Eclipse Mountains, and were relaying the astonishing images of soaring snowy crags and valleys. ‘And mine,’ he protested.

  Sid eyed the lump of porridge on the front of Will’s Monday-morning-clean school shirt and pulled a dubious face. ‘Aye, well let’s keep them that way, shall we?’

  ‘I’ll take them in this morning,’ Jacinta said. ‘If you can collect them tonight. They’ve both got clubs, so it’ll be six o’clock.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Their hands finger-played again. ‘I know you like to get in early after a weekend.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He grinned.

  ‘Urgh,’ Will said; his nose was wrinkled up as he gave their hands a dismayed stare. ‘What is wrong with you two?’

  ‘Nothing, everything is fully functional, actually,’ Sid said. He smirked at Jacinta, who started giggling.

  Will gave his sister a perplexed glance, then shook his head dismissively and scooped up some more porridge.

  Sid and Jacinta exchanged one last glance. He knew they wouldn’t be able to get away with that kind of behaviour in front of the kids for much longer. That, moving house, the case – however it ended – it was definitely the end of an era. The world had that feel to it these days, as if he was marking time. He suspected it was the eternity of the zone theatre simulation which he had to return to day after day which was conjuring up the sensation. Aye well, only a hundred and nine of the little bastards left now. Today they’d reach the halfway point. Somehow he knew he wasn’t going to convince the team it was all downhill from now on.

  *

  Sid let the Toyota’s auto make the drive to the Market Street Station. It hadn’t snowed for five days, and the roads were reasonably clear, allowing traffic to flow as it always did when the majority were on auto. A heatless low sun shone brightly out of a clear sky, glinting off the ice which gripped the buildings.

  He let the official police overnights roll down his grid, keeping current with how the city had behaved over the weekend. As badly as usual by the look of things. Assaults, drunken brawls, burglaries, two arson burn-outs, three murders, a medium-size tox bust at a club, a whole column of car smashes from faulty autos, drunk manual drivers (why do they do that still?), and not enough grit on the roads.

  As the Toyota dipped down into the station’s underground car park Sid frowned and asked his e-i to bring up the file on one of the murders. The name was vaguely familiar. When the file started to expand he wished he could close it all down again. Jolwel Kavane had been found on the Heaton GSW site. Actually, a passing agency patrol car had seen him at four o’clock in the morning. It wasn’t difficult. Someone had doused him in bioil and set it alight.

  When Sid got up to Office3 he used the secure net to run a check. Jolwel Kavane had been mentioned in the information Hayfa Fullerton had sent down from her task force. He was a long-time police informer who was due to be contacted by the task force.

  Hayfa Fullerton wasn’t at all pleased to see him when he stepped out of the lift on the fifth floor. She never said a word as they walked down the corridor to her office. Sid took a guess that she hadn’t been up to see O’Rouke yet. The murder of a police informant was going to bring down a pile of grief as well as a formal investigation.

  ‘So what happened?’ he asked.

  ‘You tell me. Everything was going along fine until we shared our intelligence with you.’

  ‘No. Don’t even try that one. I accessed the file. Kavane was one of your actives on this. You were working him.’

  ‘Maybe. We’ll never know now, will we?’

  ‘So do you handle the murder investigation, or does that get kicked downstairs?’

  ‘Downstairs. I don’t have time and money to waste on crap like this.’

  ‘Crap like this?’ Sid snarled. ‘He was burned to death, man. It doesn’t get any worse.’

  ‘That’s the point. It’s how the gangs deal with snitches. That’s why they do it in public, too, not just bump them off in some cellar where nobody will ever find them. It’s a warning to everyone else. One you don’t ignore. All our contacts will be diving for cover today. Whatever the hell was going down, we won’t find out about it until after, if then. This is over now, do you understand? We blew it.’

  ‘Ah, crap on it, man.’

  ‘Still no taxi, huh?’

  ‘Still no taxi.’

  ‘Okay, look, we’re both going to get our arses kicked on this. If you find the taxi, let me know.’

  ‘Why?’ Sid asked suspiciously.

  ‘You said it, these two are probably connected. Find the taxi, see who gets in and out with the body, and I’ll run them through our AI. We both know they’re gang members, and we have hundreds of names, confirmed and suspected. If anyone can identify them for you, it’ll be my task force.’

  He didn’t have to consider the deal for long. ‘Okay. I’ll keep you in the loop.’

  *

  The message came through at eleven o’clock, issued from O’Rouke’s office. He was to report to the senior briefing room on the sixth floor in ten minutes. Sid thought he was getting hauled up before O’Rouke for a bollocking, then he noticed who else was included on the message: every detective above grade four in the station.

  He shared the lift up with three of them, all exchanging puzzled glances. They trooped into the briefing room and waited until O’Rouke came in. He was flanked by Jenson San and another man Sid didn’t recognize, but who wore the kind of stiff attitude and dark suit that nailed him as a senior bureaucrat – manipulative, negative, self-serving.

  ‘This is a GE-wide inter-agency alert,’ O’Rouke said. ‘And is classified Global Restriction.’

  Sid was icy alert now. Another Global Restriction? Crap on that.

  ‘Mr Scrupsis is from the GE Bureau of Alien Affairs, he’ll explain what’s going on.’

  The bureaucrat stepped forward. ‘Thank you, Chief Constable. This is basically a missing persons alert, and I’ll explain the importance of it in a momen
t. We are issuing this to every local and national law enforcement agency in the GE, and our equivalent colleagues are doing the same all over Earth. As of last Friday a Professor Sebastian Umbreit and his family – his wife and two girls, aged ten and seven – have gone missing. They live in Switzerland just outside Geneva, and the alarm was raised by work colleagues late last Friday. The local police investigated, and found no sign of a struggle. As far as we can determine, Mrs Umbreit picked the children up from school as normal, sixteen hundred hours on Thursday, and returned home. Local traffic records confirm this. Professor Umbreit left the institute at eighteen seventeen that evening, and also drove home without incident. Both cars were in the garage when the police arrived. We have not yet determined the exact time or method of abduction, but it is clearly a very professional operation.’

  Sid was glancing cautiously round the room to try and see Hayfa Fullerton, and what her reaction to all this was. Surely this couldn’t be the big operation the gangs were mounting?

  ‘As to the reason for the high level of the alert,’ Mr Scrupsis continued. ‘All I can tell you is that Professor Umbreit works for the Swiss National Nuclear Research Agency. His knowledge could be extremely dangerous in the wrong hands. So, his profile will be loaded into the civic AIs who will scan every surveillance system for him; in addition you will be issued a basic file on him, which you are to pass on to every member of your team. His field of expertise must not be revealed under any circumstances, not to them, or friends, or family. I hope this is understood.’ He stared round the room for emphasis, meeting as many gazes as he could. ‘Very well, thank you for your cooperation.’

  ‘Stay behind for a moment,’ Jenson San said quietly to Sid as everyone started to leave.

  Sid waited where he was until the room cleared – even Jenson San baled, clearly glad not to be a part of the smaller meeting. The blue seal came on around the door, and the windows turned silver. O’Rouke stayed up on the small rostrum, directing an inscrutable stare at Sid. For once his face had lost its ruddy flush, not that Sid could detect any nervousness.