Interface: A Techno Thriller (16 page)

2:07... 2:06... 2:05...

He took a decision. With renewed energy he ran to the door.

It was locked. And the key was gone.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed hard. The door groaned in its frame but held. He tried again, throwing his full weight against it, but was thrown back onto the floor. There could only be a minute and a half left now. He thought back to when Kate had rescued him from the mugger. He remembered the flash of movement as she had kicked. So much power and accuracy. He had tried a few kicks like that since in front of his bedroom mirror, feeling like a fool but curious too. He tried to recall what it felt like, then kicked out.
 

He bounced off the door again.

1:10... 1:09... 1:08...

Adrenalin racing, he shook his head, drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. He could see the kick in his mind. He watched how her leg moved: the exact way it extended and accelerated. He could do that. He could recreate it.

He kicked again.

The door burst open. With a whoop of triumph he leapt through then ran towards the emergency stairwell, bounded down two flights of stairs and out through a fire door.

Behind him a hot angry explosion blossomed.

FORTY-FOUR

KATE EASED HER VW BEETLE to a stop outside the gates of the Angstrom Clinic and turned off the tiny engine. It was a dark, cloudless night and the only illumination came from two rather feeble streetlamps.

"OK, now what?" she asked, looking at her watch.

"I still think we should call the police," Jo said. "After what we discovered in Harley Street--" She stopped as a motorbike glided smoothly out of the private road and past the Beetle, the rider turning briefly to look at them. The electric gates buzzed and began to close.

Kate shook her head. "Do you think Tom is confronting Chatsworth?"

"Probably. He looked pretty mad."

"Then we should get in there and stop him."

"You think they'll just let us in?"

"I didn't mean we should ask for permission--"

In the distance was the sharp, percussive bang of an explosion.

Jo threw herself out of the car and ran to peer through the gates. In the distance there was an angry red glow. She moved towards the gates as they clicked shut. "We have to get in there!"

"Actually maybe we
should
call the police," Kate said, also climbing out of the car.

Jo stabbed at the buzzer. "You call them! I need to find Tom!"

From inside the clinic grounds, they heard the pounding of someone running towards them, gasping for breath.
 

A moment later, Tom pelted into the dim illumination of the streetlights. He saw them and froze. "What are you two doing here?"

Jo gripped the bars. "We wanted to stop you doing something stupid." She looked back in the direction of the explosion. "What happened?"

"We need to get out of here. It's not safe. I'll tell you on the way." He glared at the metal bars and kicked at them. "Jo, do you have a hacksaw in your bag?" he called through the bars.

"Don't be ridiculous." She unshouldered her rucksack. "I do have ten metres of climbing rope, though."
 

"What on earth is that for?" asked Kate.

Jo shrugged as she pulled the rope out and slung one end over the top of the gate to Tom. "Just in case." She pulled the rope tight.

"Just in case of what?" asked Kate.

Tom started climbing: he hauled himself quickly over as Jo nodded approvingly. The moment he jumped down to stand next to her, shivering despite the mild night, she wrapped her arms around him.
 

He hugged her back for a moment and then pushed her firmly away. "Let's get out of here."

FORTY-FIVE

IT WAS THE EARLY HOURS of the morning. Marron sat in the back of the dark grey Ford Mondeo: a boring vehicle perfect for this mission. The car made its way onto the M4 motorway, heading west. Twenty minutes ago the tracer in the CERUS guide had pinged its latest location: a farm on the outskirts of Windsor. Whoever this woman might prove to be, he knew where she was. It was time to have a conversation.

With him in the car were two of his more reliable security staff, not part of the regular CERUS Tower security team. They were both gruff ex-military and more than capable with the range of weapons that they were carrying.
 

His phone rang: Alex's number. "Is it done?" he asked.

"There was a complication."

"What do you mean?"

"Chatsworth has been managed. But Faraday escaped."

"How is that possible?"

"I left him tranq'd in a locked room for the bomb to take care of, but now I'm looking at him, climbing over the gates of the clinic. I'm not sure how he recovered so quickly."

"Then why are we talking?"

"That would be the complication. There are two people with him: one is his flatmate, the other is the reporter."

"I thought he'd gone to the clinic alone."

"Apparently they followed him. I figured I'd best check with you before I act."

Marron muttered. "You're going to have to manage all of them."

"Is that kind of body count acceptable?"

"No, but what is the alternative?" He paused. "I want you to call in some support."

"I can deal with three civilians."

"I'm sure you can, but I can't take any chances. The reporter has already proven she has some self-defence skills, and Faraday is apparently less predictable than we believed. No mistakes this time, Alex."

"Working alone is how I avoid mistakes."

"Just do as you're told."

There was a pause. "I monitored their conversation. They're returning to his apartment."

"Then you know where to set up. Be there first."

"Understood."

Marron click the phone off. "How long?" he asked the driver.

"Twenty-five minutes, Sir," the driver replied, tapping a navigation screen on the dashboard.

"Make it twenty."

◇
◇
◇

Nineteen minutes later, they pulled off the side road onto a gravel track, powerful headlights illuminating the way. They wound through a stand of trees and came to a halt fifty metres from a large wooden structure.

"This is the location," the driver said, "but it looks like an old barn."

Marron leaned forward, looking at the display on his phone. "The signal hasn't rebroadcast in the last hour."

"I see no signs of occupation. You want me to drive closer?"

Marron shook his head. "Let's proceed on foot."

The three men grabbed powerful torches and walked quietly around the building.

"Those tyre tracks look fresh," said the driver, pointing at the ground. "But it might not mean anything."

Marron walked over to the main door. There was a very large padlock in place. As he looked closer, he could see it was well-oiled.

"Is it a trick?" asked the driver. "Did she make it look like the signal came from here?"

Marron frowned. "If she knew about it, she'd probably just disable it rather than try anything more complicated. Perhaps she came here then went elsewhere."

"Want us to break in and have a look around? I've got tools in the car."

Marron sucked in his lower lip. "I'm not sure. Perhaps--" His phone rang. Another member of his team.

"The system raised a flag," the man reported. "The cameras we placed at Armstrong's house. The same woman who entered the Tower has just arrived there."

"Get a team in place, but don't do anything until I get close." Marron clicked the phone off and turned to the driver. "I need you to take me to Armstrong's house: the target is there."

"We could just torch this place."

"After we're done, you two can come back here and turn the place over, just in case. For now, let's get moving."

FORTY-SIX

IT WAS DARK WHEN KATE parked outside Tom's apartment building. The street was deserted. Tom sat staring through the window. He could almost feel the hum of the streetlights above him.

"We should just go to the police," Kate said. "That would be the sensible course of action."

Tom shivered. "Things in my head? Bombs killing people? The police will think I'm mad." He paused. "Or a killer."

Jo gripped his shoulder. "These people just sent a professional to kill you. The question isn't whether the police believe you, it's whether they can protect you."

Kate rolled her eyes. "C'mon. You think they'll do anything if they know he's spoken to the police?"
 

"All we know," said Jo, "is that whoever is involved wants Tom dead."

"They probably think they've succeeded," said Tom, his voice weak. "I just need to stop. To think about what to do next. Let's go inside and take it from here."

Jo nodded. "And hopefully the journalist can hold off calling her editor."

Kate sighed. "Believe it or not, I'd prefer to focus on us all getting out of this unhurt."

They made their way into the building and up the stairs to the second floor. Jo unlocked the door, ushering them all inside while Tom closed it behind them, sliding the bolt into place. He frowned at the keypad on the wall. "Didn't you set the alarm when you left?"

Jo looked puzzled. "I haven't been home all day, so it must have been you."
 

Tom jerked his head to Kate. "We need to get out--"

"Stay where you are," said a chillingly familiar voice.

He turned and saw the woman from the party: the woman who had killed Chatsworth and left him to die. Tom knew he ought to be afraid, but something overrode it. This woman knew what was going on: she must know who was behind it. She would give him answers. Tightening his fists, his heart banging in his chest, he threw himself forward.

But Kate moved faster, stepping forwards and driving the heel of her hand towards the other woman's throat. Tom's eyes could barely follow the movement. Yet the woman simply swayed back and caught Kate's wrist, twisting it sharply, horribly. There was a loud crack and Kate screamed in pain, falling.

Tom began to run forward, but another voice called out, "Stop right there!" A large man with a shaved head appeared in the doorway to Tom's bedroom, holding a silenced pistol.

Tom edged away, dimly aware that Jo seemed to have vanished. "What do you want?"

The woman took a step towards him. "How did you get away from the bomb? You should have been unconscious for an hour."

"I don't know what to tell you. What the hell did I do to deserve all this?"

She laughed. "You were born."

Tom was about to speak again, but, with a loud shriek, Jo charged from her bedroom, a baseball bat raised over her head. Everyone looked on, stunned, as she brought the bat down towards the gunman's arm. But she was not quick enough. The man spun away, his expression intense. He raised the gun.

And fired.

Everything seemed to move slowly. The impact hit Jo in the chest and she was knocked backwards. Tom leapt to catch her, but she was heavy, lifeless. She slipped through his arms, crumpling onto the floor. There was blood. So much blood. And she didn't seem to be breathing. He needed to do something. Then he saw her glassy, staring eyes, and he knew that it was already too late.

He screamed.

"So much for doing this cleanly." The woman reached inside her jacket and produced a similar pistol. She pointed it at Tom. "Look what I have to do now."

"No!" shouted Kate.
 

But the woman swung her gun away from Tom, towards her colleague.

The man with the shaved head blinked. "What are you doing, Alex?"

"Giving them a killer. Someone of no consequence." And she fired. The bullet struck him between the eyes: the back of his head exploded and he fell to the ground. A terrible silence, mixed with the smell of gunshot and blood, permeated the room. The woman shook her head as she raised the gun. "I'll make this quick."

Tom stared at the barrel: at her finger on the trigger.
 

He wanted to stop her. He needed to stop her.

He
would
stop her.

And something within him connected with that anger. Something reached out. He curled his fists, digging his nails into his palms, drawing blood. Next to him Kate seemed to be shifting her balance.
 

He shouted, a cry of pure rage. But his voice seemed to have gone and all he managed was a hoarse gasp. In the next room there was a pop and a voice spoke, commanding and loud:
"...and now it's time to take a few calls..."
.

Alex turned, confused. "Who else is here?"

Tom started to move, but again Kate was faster. She scooped up the baseball bat Jo had dropped and swung it at Alex's head. Alex started to react, to sway back from the blow.

But this time she wasn't fast enough. There was an ugly thunk as it connected with her temple and she fell to the ground.

FORTY-SEVEN

THE RUINS OF RICHARD ARMSTRONG'S house were immersed in darkness. Putting some form of lighting on would certainly have helped in the search, but it would also have alerted the small police team still stationed outside.
 
Lentz stood up from where she had been scouring the remains of the kitchen and rubbed her back. For the first fifteen minutes, the smell of charred wood and melted plastic had made her want to gag, but she'd worked on regardless. Yet, despite her diligence, it all looked like a huge waste of time.
 

Had Armstrong hidden the data in a secret fire-proof safe? He'd always been so thorough, so careful, she couldn't believe he wouldn't have tried something of the sort. But if he'd been too careful she might never find it. And if she were to take steps to thwart CERUS, she needed a weapon: her weapon of choice was always information.

So where could it be? It had to be hidden but accessible, because he'd probably have updated it regularly. But she'd already exhausted everywhere obvious that hadn't burned down. What if Marron and his team had removed it already?
 

Her phone vibrated.

Lentz held her breath. One of the two motion sensors she'd placed on the damaged external doors had been triggered.