Interface: A Techno Thriller (31 page)

"Ah," said Marron. "I wondered how our buyer was so well-informed."

Bradley shrugged. "I was never working for you. I
was
working for Celia."

"She was going to stop the project. She thought her husband's death had changed everything."

"You didn't have to kill her. You could have persuaded her--"

Marron laughed. "You say that like you'd never met her."

Bradley's cheek twitched and he pulled out the handgun Marron had given him. "You think you can just deceive and manipulate everyone. That you can do whatever you like to whoever you like." He raised the weapon and aimed it at Marron's face. "Perhaps I should show you that isn't the case."

Marron stared back, unblinking. "I don't think that's Mr Leskov's style."

"No," Leskov said. "I would prefer that you didn't. Pursue revenge on your own time. Now, the clock is ticking, quite literally." He gestured to two of his guards. They grabbed Tom and pulled him across the roof. Tom struggled, but they were far stronger than him and pushed him into the helicopter. One of the armed men inside gestured with his weapon and, teeth gritted, Tom reluctantly buckled himself into the seat by the door, watching the stand-off between Marron and Bradley.
 

For several moments, they stood frozen. Then Bradley lowered the gun.
 

"Can I come too?" asked Holm in a frail voice. "I'd like to see this project through and I'm getting the feeling that science is finished here."

Leskov raised an eyebrow. "Bradley speaks highly of you, Dr Holm."

"Ed," Marron said, "think very carefully about what you're doing. Your life could depend on making the right decision."

Holm shrugged. "I'm following the money. And I don't think I can work with a murderer."

Marron smiled. "Then you may be out of options."

Leskov cleared his throat. "Let's move."

He, Holm and Bradley hurried over to the helicopter and climbed in, along with the rest of the guards.
 

"Have a pleasant flight, Neil," Marron shouted.

Tom watched one of the guards slide the door closed then the huge rotors began to spin. In seconds, the craft had lifted off.

NINETY-EIGHT

MARRON LOOKED UP AS THE helicopter receded into the distance, then turned to Alex. "Apart from them taking Faraday, I think that went pretty well."

"I'm sorry, did I miss something?" called Kate. "Leskov just robbed you and left us here next to a bomb that he could detonate at any moment."

Marron didn't reply. Instead, he walked over to the bag Alex had left next to the lift and opened it, taking out a small briefcase. He put it next to the other briefcase that Alex had already placed on the ground and flipped them both open.

Inside each case were five coded bank account keys.

"Alex switched the briefcase," Lentz said. "You have all the keys."

Marron nodded. "Did you think I'd really let them fly off with half a billion pounds of my money? Leskov brought us a little gift. I just returned the favour." He held out his hand and Alex placed a tablet computer in it. "Nobody outplays me. And certainly not Neil Bradley."

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◇

The helicopter quickly gained height, its rotors whispering in the cold night air. Bradley stared out the window, watching the rooftop recede into the darkness. Everything had gone perfectly: they had everything, on their own terms. Yet Marron had not looked dejected.
 

"Why were you carrying a gun, Neil?" Leskov asked.

"Marron gave it to me, in case of emergency. Sorry, I let him get to me there." He held the weapon out. "I should probably let someone who knows how to use it look after it."

One of the soldiers took it from him and hefted it. "It's not loaded," he said in a thick accent.

"No, it has special lightweight ammo."

The soldier pulled out the clip. It was empty.

"But... I don't understand."

"Why would Marron give you an empty gun?" Holm asked.

"Because he
didn't
trust you," Tom said.

Suddenly, the pilot's voice sounded in their earphones. "I'm detecting two helicopters, three kilometres out. We're going quiet-mode: no raised voices please." The noise of the blades diminished and their frequency lowered. The helicopter abruptly changed course, moving lower and more slowly.

"Amazing craft," Leskov whispered. "Worth every penny of the two hundred million it cost. Now I must thank you, Neil, for coming through for me. You're going to fit well into my organisation. I'll get you working with my son, show him how big business works--"

"The helicopters are still incoming," hissed the pilot. "I'm in stealth but they're tracking us."

"How?" Leskov asked.

There was no answer, but the helicopter descended further.

"They're still following," said the pilot.
 

"Our weapons are arming," said the co-pilot, alarm in his voice as he flipped switches on the control panel.

Leskov leaned forward. "I said do
something
. I didn't mean fire at them."

The pilot looked at the co-pilot. "Someone else is in control. We're locking on one of the choppers."

"What's that whirring and beeping?" asked Bradley.

"Our missile moving into firing position," replied the co-pilot, stabbing agitatedly at the console.

Suddenly the missile launched. They watched in horror as the air-to-air missile streaked away. In eerie silence it struck its target, fire blossoming in the night sky.

A familiar voice suddenly filled the cockpit. "Most impressive." Marron's loud tones reverberated around the small space. "Although I'm surprised you took the shot. It's almost like you're not in control. "

"You!" hissed Leskov. "How are you doing this?"

"You did hand over the full schematics to your craft, which rather exposed its vulnerabilities."

Leskov shouted at the pilot. "Trigger the bomb. Do it at once!"

A different voice broke over the radio. "THIS IS ROYAL AIR FORCE HELICOPTER TANGO WHISKY SEVEN NINER, HAILING UNDESIGNATED ENEMY CRAFT. LAND IMMEDIATELY OR YOU WILL BE SHOT DOWN."

"The bomb isn't responding to our signal," shouted the co-pilot. "Another of our missiles is arming!"

"DISARM YOUR WEAPONS. REPEAT: DISARM YOUR WEAPONS. YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS TO COMPLY OR YOU WILL BE FIRED UPON."

Holm suddenly bent down and yanked one of the briefcases towards him. He ripped it open. There were no bank keys, but instead an electronic device, awash with blinking LEDs. "Oh crap," he said. "That's my control box."

"
Your
control box?" Leskov shouted.

"I built it as a demo for the Tantalus interface, to connect to the helicopter systems. Marron must have reconfigured it."
 

"Can you shut it off?" asked Tom, struggling with his seatbelt.

"It's broadcasting our whereabouts on every conceivable frequency." Holm pulled open a side panel. "If I can just remove the--"

Under their feet they felt the whirr of another missile moving into place.

"Shut it off!" shrieked Leskov. "Shut it off or throw it out!"

The RAF helicopter fired.

Marron's voice rose in volume. "It was always the plan that you come by helicopter. And, Neil, just to be clear, I selected you specifically for this role. I always knew about Celia. I always knew about you and Leskov."

But the occupants of the helicopter weren't listening. Leskov's pilot threw the helicopter into a dive, a sudden blast of cold air and noise filling the interior. But he was not quick enough.

Bradley's last thought, as he looked around the helicopter, was:
where is Faraday?

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◇
◇

Marron and Alex stood on the top of CERUS Tower. Up in the sky, they saw the RAF missile strike Leskov's helicopter. The explosion was instantaneous. A blossoming flower of fire and destruction filled the air. Debris began to rain down.

"A pity Leskov changed the plan, but if we couldn't have Tom, then it's better that nobody does." Marron glanced at Kate and Lentz, who had watched in stunned silence, then walked away, Alex joining him. They stopped at the stair access point and Marron spoke to guards. "Clear the building. Get all our people out of here."

The man nodded. "What about the two prisoners?"

"They're fine where they are."

◇
◇
◇

Tom glared at the device as Holm frantically tried to deactivate it, idly wondering if he could control it. But he had no collar. And no time.

In the confusion, nobody was watching him. There was only one thing he could do that might make any difference. He could try to do what he had been designed to do: control the helicopter. He closed his eyes and felt for the system. It was there. And it felt familiar.

But without his collar, the connection was weak, tenuous. There were protocols that did not flow and others that reset as his connection continued to drop in and out. He couldn't break through the firewalls, and the weapon systems were the most heavily protected of all.

He didn't have enough time.

He felt the targeting system lock onto the RAF helicopter. He could see it and
feel
it, but he could do nothing about it. There was only one system he could interface with. It was basic, designed for the saving of human life rather than protecting secrets – though if he activated it incorrectly, it would probably kill him.
 

He heard the pilot shout that they'd been fired on.

With a wrench in his mind, he sent the signal and the door blew out. At the same time, a sharp force thrust him sideways and away. Still strapped to the ejector seat, he tumbled over and over as the cold night air enveloped him. Above, he caught sight of the helicopter as it was hit by the missile.

NINETY-NINE

TOM FELL THROUGH THE AIR, tumbling sideways and downwards, the heat from the explosion burning above him. He
knew
that the ejector seat should automatically fire the parachute: that was how the system worked. Yet it hadn't happened.

As he tumbled, he realised he was not very high above ground. At free-fall speed, he would plummet a mile in thirty seconds. But he was lower than that.
 

Time seemed to slow. In a bizarre moment of clarity, he found himself puzzling over why the chute wasn't deploying. The ejector seat was a fully automated system. Was the problem that he had overridden it? Had he confused the program? He scrabbled behind him for anything that might be a physical trigger. Then he felt it, but not with his hand.
 

There
was
a trigger system. It was electronic and designed to be jacked into a computerised altimeter. But, Tom realised, he didn't need one of those. Time sped up again and he looked down and saw the ground rushing up to meet him. He reached out in his mind, through the noise and the cold.

He would find a way. He would not die here, in this manner.
 

He found he was able to concentrate: to find calm in the storm of noise and pressure. His mind touched the trigger.

Flapping and shrieking like a flock of angry swans, the parachute opened.

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◇

Lentz watched the countdown continue. Neither Marron nor Alex had returned and a stillness had fallen over the roof. "If you have any sharp objects to hand," she said, "now would be the time to bring them into play." She tugged at the plastic ties holding her wrists to the metal railing. "It would be so nice not to spend our last fifteen minutes completely helpless."

Kate didn't even move, just stared ahead. "Marron planned all this? To get rid of Bern and take over? How can you work for someone for twenty-five years and then betray them?"

"Perhaps something changed?"

"Or perhaps nothing changed. Maybe Marron's been playing this game all along."

"I don't buy it." Lentz pursed her lips. "Marron never struck me as someone who was driven by money. I think he really wanted to see Tom's interface work."
 

"Even so, did he not consider that it was a two-way street? An interface is two things coming together and affecting each other. But Marron just seems interested in Tom controlling the computer. Did he – did you – ever stop to think how it might affect him?"

Lentz sighed. "I never chose him for this."

"But it was always going to be someone. Going down this path made it inevitable."

Lentz shrugged. "Speaking of inevitability..."

They stared at the counter. It was approaching fourteen minutes.

ONE HUNDRED

MARRON MARCHED INTO HIS LEVEL 88 command centre, closing the door after Alex had followed him in.

"You're actually going to leave them up there?" she said. "With the bomb? I didn't think you really would."

"Going soft on me?"

Alex scowled. "Lentz might have some uses, especially now our scientists are dropping like flies."

"We can replace them."

"Not with people like Lentz."

"In most ways that's a good thing." Marron scratched his nose. "She would never have been
our
scientist. Now we need to get out of here."

Alex picked at a fingernail. "I promised the journalist I would kill her."

"Oh she's going to die. But so will we if we don't get further away." Marron walked over to a section of wall and typed a long string of numbers into a control panel. The panel hissed and swung out, revealing a large wire-frame cradle-cage. "Your chariot."

Alex walked forward and looked down. "Have you actually tested it?"

"No time like the present."

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◇
◇

Marron and Alex's cage dropped in near free-fall down the fitted tracks, far faster than the turbo lifts and considerably less comfortably. As it dropped below ground level it slowed, curving sideways until it was travelling horizontally along a tunnel no longer shown on any plans.

Finally, the cage glided to a halt in a small dimly-lit room. The floor dropped away just beyond the tracks, water glinting darkly a few feet below. Marron and Alex released their harnesses and started putting on wetsuits and scuba-gear from a box by the end of the tracks. They placed their electronics in watertight containers and sealed them shut.