Interface: A Techno Thriller (19 page)

Three hours later she had created what she needed. She had 'kludged' the scanner together with Blutack and sticky-tape: half its components were cannibalised from other devices, including her oldest mobile phone. The scanner's performance would be variable and she suspected the battery life would be dreadful, but that wouldn't matter if it just worked. She slotted in a nine-volt battery: it beeped into action and started scanning for a lock. Three minutes later it beeped again. Lentz looked at the display and smiled.
 

He was in central London, near Waterloo.

FIFTY-SIX

"I KNEW YOU WEREN'T POLICE," Kate told Croft, folding her arms.
 

Croft shrugged. "So what
is
your involvement in all this? Is it just about a story?"

"It was. But it's not really one we can publish now that we've become part of it and seen what danger we're in because of it."
 

"We were unprepared last time: it won't happen again. If I make a call, I can have two armed units here to escort you to a safe house in half an hour."

"You say that, but can you trust your own people?" Geraldine folded her arms. "Just before you arrived, I received a phone-call from my boss. I was told not to help you. It was more than a suggestion."

"You
knew
I was coming? Who tipped you off?" Croft demanded.

"I don't know. Like I said,
someone
contacted my boss: he wouldn't be drawn on the details. I assume it's someone in Government – or the Security Service. If I knew for sure, you'd have already read about it in the papers."

"How does Tom Faraday fit into all of this?"

Kate glanced at Geraldine. "We believe he is absolutely central."

"Central in what
way
? And where is he now?"

"I'm not sure we can trust you yet. Before I tell you anything about Tom, I need you to help me. I want you to find out about an old CERUS project called Tantalus. It seems to have been wiped from the digital footprint, but Geraldine found some details in old paper records. We think it's relevant." She paused. "We believe it involves intelligent nano."

His expression darkened. "If that is true, we should be going in now and searching CERUS' labs."

Kate shook her head. "If you could even get the operation sanctioned, the Tower's got ninety floors. Good luck with finding anything before their lawyers shut you down or their security team destroy any evidence. If you dig a little, something may come up that will help us formulate a better plan."

"Fine. I'll see what I can uncover. What are
you
going to do?"

"Best I don't give you the specifics. I'll call you again, via Geraldine, and we can meet."

"How soon?"

"Yesterday, if possible."

FIFTY-SEVEN

TOM WALKED WEST ALONG THE Thames, past the London Eye, as seagulls wheeled overhead. He felt in his pocket and found the phone he had bought on Kate's instructions: a cheap handset without even a touch-screen. He put in her number, let it ring once, then hung up.
 

He looked up to find himself passing a funfair set up on the plaza. Even though he was in the very centre of London, the peeling, faded attractions had seen better days. It was early and the crowd was sparse. He noticed a basketball shooting game where you had to score three shots out of five. On a whim, Tom handed over two pounds and grabbed a ball. He used to play at college and felt reasonably confident given that the hoop was quite close.

The first shot felt OK, but banged off the back rim. Adjusting his stance, Tom shot again. It felt perfect, but still ricocheted off the back. He squinted at the metal ring.

"That basket is not full size," he said to the boy running the stall.

The boy shrugged. "Just take your shots."

Tom frowned and shot again. Another miss.

"Better luck next time," said the boy, with a smug smile.

"I've got two more shots."

"Sure, whatever. But no prize if you don't get three in."

Tom picked up another ball. He felt the grooves on the rubber: felt the shape, allowed for the weight. And then he shot.

Another miss. He ignored the boy.

He grabbed the last ball and threw it. It went in. He blinked and thought about how it had felt: thought about the motions.
 

"One out of five. Don't give up the day job," said the boy.

Tom narrowed his eyes. "I think I'll have another go."

"Sure," said the boy. "I'll take your money all day."

Tom cleared his mind, remembering what had happened with his last shot, loading it back into his memory.
 

Swish. In.

He picked up the next ball and repeated the process.

Another swish. Another score. The boy looked uneasy now.

Tom picked up the third, fourth and fifth balls with the same result.

"Oh wow," said a little girl, watching with her mother.
 

"You cheated," said the boy running the stall.

"How exactly?" Tom gave the boy a smile. "I'll have that one," he said, pointing at a large cuddly monkey. When the boy handed it over, Tom turned and offered it to the little girl. "Do you want to look after him for me? If it's OK with your mummy?" He glanced at the woman, who smiled in a bemused manner. "He's too big for me to take back to work." The little girl shrieked with delight and grabbed the toy.

Tom walked away, feeling good, but wondering what on earth had just happened. As he walked, he realised he'd not had breakfast – or dinner the previous night either. He felt the back of his head. There was a buzzing sensation again.
 

It was now beyond any doubt. They had done something to him. And whoever
they
were, and whatever that
something
was, it had enabled him to do what he had done at the fairground. He had remembered the basketball shot and then been able to recreate it faultlessly. Just as he had been able to recall the Italian words. Perfect muscle memory and perfect recollection.

He found himself in a small park, surrounded by offices. Across the other side was a small café. As he walked, he closed his eyes. He could still see the scene before him: an old man sitting on a bench, a woman in a brown coat tapping at a tablet, two school kids arguing, and on the edge of the scene a figure dressed in black, looking directly at him.
 

His breath caught in his throat.

Alex.

 
A chill swept over him and he opened his eyes. The figure had gone. He spun around and then he saw her, walking sideways to him, trying to approach from a less obvious angle. Suddenly aware that he had seen her, she broke into a run.

How did she always seem to know where he would be? No time to worry about that now. She was closing fast, her face set.

Tom ran.

His sprint took him past the old man on the bench, who flinched back, and then the woman in the brown coat, who had turned her tablet towards him, her eyes opening wide.
Was she with them?
He saw her eyes flick to Alex. In a flash, she pulled something from under her coat. She held it like a gun and pointed it at him.

No. Just behind him.

She fired.

He spun and saw the taser hit Alex in the chest. Her expression spoke of shock and fury as she collapsed to the ground, her body jerking. Tom stopped as the woman in the brown coat turned to him.

"Get out of here!" she shouted. "Your friend will be up and about in three minutes. I wouldn't wait."

Tom nodded. And ran.

FIFTY-EIGHT

BERN SAT IN HIS PENTHOUSE office, staring out of the window. Behind him, on a display screen, the story of Chatsworth's death was running on the early evening news. He turned back to the three men standing before him.
 

"So, Peter, do we have a problem?"

Marron folded his arms. "It's a tragic occurrence, but I believe Chatsworth's part in the project was largely over, so we shouldn't be impacted."

Heidn shook his head. "That's cold, even for you. He was a good man."

"As William has reminded us, this project is bigger than any one person."

"It isn't that he's dead, it's how he died," Holm said. "First Armstrong, now the doctor. Both killed by explosions? Can they really be unconnected?"

"The police haven't attributed foul play to either event," Marron said, "if that's what you're suggesting?"

"Has nobody else made a link? It seems to me it's rather staring us in the face."

"Trying to play detective can be entertaining, but is it helpful?" asked Marron.

Holm glared. "It
is
if someone is targeting people on this project."

"Leskov has the resources," Marron said. "And he's one of the few people outside this room who knows about the project, but I can't see why he would want Armstrong or Chatsworth dead."

Holm coughed. "What if they were selling us out? I mean, there is a lot of money at stake and if Leskov found out..."

Bern shook his head. "I can't believe anyone linked to this organisation would behave in that way."

Marron sighed. "I certainly hope that's true. But I can look into it, if you want."

"Only to the extent that the project doesn't need you. That has to be our priority. So, gentlemen. How are we doing? Because some good news would be most welcome right now."

Holm cleared his throat. "The four subjects are safe on Level 64. Following Stage Two, we're seeing promising reactions from the nanites. Tomorrow we'll start some conscious testing. All seems to be on track."

Heidn nodded. "The nodes are forming well. I couldn't be happier with our progress."

Marron's phone buzzed and he raised a hand. "Sorry, I have to take this."

◇
◇
◇

Marron stepped from Bern's office and into the stairwell before he answered his phone. "Is it done?"

"No," Alex replied. "He escaped again. And it appears our problems are combining. The reason he was able to elude me was that he had help. From Dominique Lentz."

"How did she find him? How does she even know he exists?"

"You tell me. You said she didn't get the project data."

"Not from her incursion here. Clearly I underestimated her."

"If she has the data that changes the paradigm dramatically." Alex hesitated. "Given these changes, I'll need that team after all."

"I have some people on standby; they'll be with you within the hour. Where is he now?"

"I don't know. The system isn't finding him very quickly."

"Be patient. As long as he doesn't go completely off grid, you'll get your trace."

"Do I kill Lentz as well?"

"Not unless it's your only option. I would very much like to question her."

"What about afterwards? She tasered me and I'd like to have a word with her about it."

Marron smiled. "Once I've finished, you're more than welcome to take it up with her at length."

FIFTY-NINE

AT ONE END OF THE Serpentine in Hyde Park stood an unremarkable café-restaurant: the kind that offered food well below the standard of its location. Tom sat at a corner table, facing out across the room, in plain sight of the other diners – safe for now, he hoped. He was tired and hungry and the large plate of paella, while bland, was warm and filling. He was already planning his dessert selection, but, as he glanced through the menu, his thoughts turned to how Alex had managed to find him. Had he been bugged? After making his escape, a thorough search of his clothing had revealed nothing that he could imagine was any kind of tracking device. To add to the mystery, there seemed to be more than one group pursuing him, and they were at clear odds with each other. Who was the woman with the taser and why had she saved him? Could he trust her?

A slim woman with salon-perfect hair and a glistening smile walked into the café and glanced around. She fixed on someone at a table near him and walked that way. Tom shook his head and smiled inwardly. He was obviously getting paranoid.

But then the woman stopped and sighed, looking lost. She turned to Tom and said politely, "Could I sit here a moment?" She stood tall, confident, her expression relaxed.

"Sorry, I'm waiting for someone," he said brusquely.

She shrugged and walked back to the entrance, but Tom felt her eyes casting over to him repeatedly. Next to him, a waiter cleared his throat. "Phone call for you," he said.

How would anyone know he was here? "Are you sure?"

The waiter rolled his eyes, motioning Tom to follow him to the end of the bar where he passed him the receiver. "Is this Tom Faraday?" asked a woman's voice.

"Who is this?" he replied, looking around. At the back of his head he felt the familiar buzz.

"I'm the person who saved your life earlier today with the taser."

"How do I know that?"

"Good point. To prove my credentials I'm going to tell you how they are keeping tabs on you. Although first we need to get you to safety."

Tom paused. "Where are you?"

"Close, but unfortunately the others are much closer."

Tom looked over his shoulder. "Why don't they just shoot me then?"

"Too public. You've chosen a good location. But they'll follow you until the circumstances are more favourable. And they can find you anywhere." She paused. "Meet me and I will explain everything."

"Wouldn't I be safer staying here?"

"That café will close in less than an hour and then you'll
have
to leave. Is there a woman there with you? A disarmingly attractive woman?"

Tom swallowed. "She asked to sit at my table."

"She's probably there to divert your attention. The others will be less obvious. You need to get out. You have to decide, Tom. Life is about these moments: small choices that make a big difference."

He took a breath. "What do I have to do?"

"Put the phone down. Ask the waiter where the toilets are. Next to them is a fire exit. I've shut down the alarm, so just open it. From there, run north as fast as you can, until you see me."

"How will I know it's you?"

"I'll be the one who isn't shooting at you."