Interface: A Techno Thriller

  Contents

  Title Page Novel

  Copyright

  Synopsis

  Dedication

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY-ONE

  FIFTY-TWO

  FIFTY-THREE

  FIFTY-FOUR

  FIFTY-FIVE

  FIFTY-SIX

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  FIFTY-NINE

  SIXTY

  SIXTY-ONE

  SIXTY-TWO

  SIXTY-THREE

  SIXTY-FOUR

  SIXTY-FIVE

  SIXTY-SIX

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  SIXTY-NINE

  SEVENTY

  SEVENTY-ONE

  SEVENTY-TWO

  SEVENTY-THREE

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  SEVENTY-FIVE

  SEVENTY-SIX

  SEVENTY-SEVEN

  SEVENTY-EIGHT

  SEVENTY-NINE

  EIGHTY

  EIGHTY-ONE

  EIGHTY-TWO

  EIGHTY-THREE

  EIGHTY-FOUR

  EIGHTY-FIVE

  EIGHTY-SIX

  EIGHTY-SEVEN

  EIGHTY-EIGHT

  EIGHTY-NINE

  NINETY

  NINETY-ONE

  NINETY-TWO

  NINETY-THREE

  NINETY-FOUR

  NINETY-FIVE

  NINETY-SIX

  NINETY-SEVEN

  NINETY-EIGHT

  NINETY-NINE

  ONE HUNDRED

  ONE HUNDRED ONE

  ONE HUNDRED TWO

  ONE HUNDRED THREE

  ONE HUNDRED FOUR

  ONE HUNDRED FIVE

  ONE HUNDRED SIX

  ONE HUNDRED SEVEN

  ONE HUNDRED EIGHT

  ONE HUNDRED NINE

  ONE HUNDRED TEN

  ONE HUNDRED ELEVEN

  ONE HUNDRED TWELVE

  ONE HUNDRED THIRTEEN

  ONE HUNDRED FOURTEEN

  ONE HUNDRED FIFTEEN

  ONE HUNDRED SIXTEEN

  ONE HUNDRED SEVENTEEN

  ONE HUNDRED EIGHTEEN

  ONE HUNDRED NINETEEN

  ONE HUNDRED TWENTY

  ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-ONE

  ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-TWO

  Thank you!

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  INTERFACE

  Tony Batton

  Interface

  First UK Edition v.005

  Copyright © Tony Batton, 2016

  All rights reserved

  First published in 2016 by Twenty-First Century Thrillers

  The right of Tony Batton to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and dialogues are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchase.

  Find out more about the author at:

  www.tonybatton.com

  And to get a FREE short techno-thriller, go to:

  http://www.tonybatton.com/free-story-from-interface

  When Tom Faraday joined internationally renowned CERUS Biotech, he thought he'd landed his dream job. A chance to work with their famous CEO, William Bern, perhaps to change the world.

  But Tom has found himself in an organisation in crisis. The company bet the house on a radical biotech project, only to be blocked by a government with reasons of its own. Now CERUS is running on vapour and the corporate vultures are gathering. Bern isn't one to go down without a fight. He's turned things around before, and he has a plan to do it again.

  The problem is, twenty-five years ago CERUS made a similar mistake. And if history is repeating itself, Tom might be the only one who can stop it.

  for Sarah

  ONE

  THE BUILDING WAS NOT WHAT it seemed to be. The site was called Eastwell, but there were no signs and the name did not appear on any map. From the road it looked very little like an advanced research facility and considerably more like an ageing warehouse, with rough concrete-block walls and a corrugated metal-sheet roof, both painted a colour best described as 'peeling grey'. There were two double-height roller doors, but no windows. The whole site covered a patch of waste ground two hundred metres by four hundred, enclosed by a high, well-maintained metal fence. It was surrounded by dense woodland and there was only one access route: two kilometres of unmade road. Eastwell looked like what it was: a place that discouraged visitors.

  Yet today, thought Dominique Lentz, there are many.

  She stood in one of the two doorways, hands on hips, glaring through her thin-rimmed glasses. Two minibuses, six vans and three large four-wheel drives were parked inside the metal fence. Like the warehouse they bore no decals. All the number plates had been taped over.

  A dozen armed guards in black combat-gear patrolled a notional perimeter, clearly more concerned with watching those already on the site than any outsiders who might try to gain entry. Around forty technicians clad in disposable grey overalls were now swarming over the site.

  Her site. Though not for much longer, it seemed.

  The captain of the guards had produced a set of instructions signed by Bern himself: wet ink on actual paper. Naturally, she'd immediately called the CEO's office. One of his team had confirmed she was to cooperate. Fully.

  Lentz glanced at the list of requirements on her clipboard. To be followed to the letter, it said at the top.

  Lentz didn't like being given instructions; she was usually the one who gave them. Muttering, she turned back inside, passing through the airlock door and then descending by a set of metal stairs to sublevel two: the first of the operational levels. The majority of the laboratory was underground, in part to shield the sensitive equipment from electromagnetic interference, but mostly to hide the operation from anyone who might try to eavesdrop. The work taking place here was far too valuable and too important. Which was why it was so nonsensical that Bern would want to stop it all. The instructions had used the word 'terminate', not 'put on hold
' or 'suspend'. Could Bern really mean it?

  One of the technicians walked past her, guiding a cart with three large filing boxes on it. Seeing her, he paused, seemed to think about saying something then moved on. Lentz stared at the boxes. She didn't have to read the yellow stickers to know that they read

  PROJECT TANTALUS

  STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL

  PROPERTY OF CERUS BIOTECH

  CONTENTS MAY BE HAZARDOUS:

  USE EXTREME CAUTION

  Lentz continued down the corridor, looking for Richard Armstrong. He'd taken the news as if it didn't bother him that much: as if he wasn't surprised. But for Lentz, the work was personal. She was thirty-one years old, so it was a little early for her to consider the project as her life's work, but there could be no doubt of its significance. There'd been talk of Nobel prizes and indecent amounts of money. And of course there was the research itself: the real reason she had got involved. It was a chance to achieve something incredible: to turn an exciting possibility into reality. A chance to make a difference. But now they were taking it away from her.

  Armstrong stood waiting next to Laboratory One, hands in his pockets. "Hey, Boss. Looks like we'll get to go home early today."

  Lentz counted to five before answering. "You think this is all a joke?"

  "Don't mistake frustration for humour," he replied. "I gave them access to Labs Two through Seven, then they ordered me back up here. Said they didn't need me. Wasn't sure what else to do."

  She shook her head and walked past him into Lab One, a large workspace filled with high white benches and lit by crisp bright lights. "These people didn't come to listen."

  "I suppose it's not really surprising." He followed her into the room. "Not after what happened."

  She spun, her shoes' rubber soles squeaking angrily on the tiled floor. "After what happened?"

  "The incident. Obviously."

  Her eyes narrowed. "What incident?"

  Armstrong cleared his throat. "I assumed you knew." Lentz took a quick step towards him. He took a pace back, bumping into one of the workbenches and turning to look at it accusingly. "There was a problem with the testing," he mumbled.

  "Insertion's not for several weeks. What are you talking about?"

  "I heard a couple of the medical team talking in that canteen you never go to." Armstrong leaned forward, lowering his voice. "They told me it was brought forward."

  Lentz shook her head. "I monitor every room in this site. The surgery isn't even built yet."

  "It wasn't done here."

  "What are you talking about? How could it happen anywhere with the chip not even ready?"

  Armstrong crossed the room and glanced into the corridor, then closed the door. "They're saying four people died." His voice was barely a whisper.

  She blinked. "We weren't ready. Everybody knew that. I would never have signed off on this."

  "Maybe that's why they didn't ask you."

  "Then who did they ask? I'm in charge of everything here so who authorised it?"

  Armstrong raised his hands. "Nobody's saying."

  "I can't reach Bern. His assistant said I need to come in and meet this Peter Marron to discuss a new direction for me at CERUS." She paused, hearing footsteps in the corridor. She waited while they faded away.

  "The new HR director?" said Armstrong. "I met him last week. He's not someone I'd want to annoy."

  "Neither am I." Lentz folded her arms. "And what can he do? Fire me? I'll just up stakes and take my work somewhere else."

  Armstrong shook his head. "We're all under non-disclosure agreements. They'll sue us if we even think about the project outside this building."

  "But this doesn't make sense. If there was an accident, there would be an investigation."

  "Isn't that why these people are here?" Armstrong shook his head sadly. "Perhaps it's for the best if we all just move on. You know how many people said this was a terrible idea. Who said this was a line we should not cross. Maybe they were right."

  From the corridor came the sound of heavy-booted feet and shouts that the facility was to be cleared.

  "We can't stop this now." Lentz shook her head. "You can't make people forget an idea."

  There was a loud knocking on the door and a raised voice. "Dr Lentz? They need you outside."

  "I think," said Armstrong, "that our new friends might disagree."

  "You're so naïve." Lentz placed a hand on his shoulder. "Believe me, something like this won't stay undone forever. We may not have been quite ready, but times will change, technology will change." She paused. "And then that technology will change us."

  TWO

  TWENTY-FIVE YEARS LATER

  IT WAS FRIDAY NIGHT AND the main hall of the Exhibition Centre on Level 69 was considerably over its recommended capacity. Nevertheless, the waiters managed to weave their way through the tightly-packed crowd, distributing glasses of champagne with military precision.

  Wearing his best suit, Tom Faraday stood to the rear of the room, positioned so he could watch the entire scene. He took one of the offered glasses with a polite nod, but he didn't need champagne for the evening to feel special.

  One month ago he had got the phone call. Three interviews later and his life was transformed. Instead of working seventy hours a week, ploughing out a path as a junior associate at a City law firm, he had been plucked from obscurity, head-hunted to join the world-renowned CERUS Biotech. He didn't even start until Monday, but here he was at the VIP launch for the company's new London headquarters, waiting for CERUS' famous CEO to make an appearance.

  Tom's phone buzzed in his pocket. His flatmate Jo had texted twice already, eager to know if Bern had strayed off script as he was known to.

  Hey loser. Want to do breakfast tomorrow morning? 7am? I'm away after that for the weekend.

  Tom started to tap a response when a voice broke over the public address system, "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLEASE DIRECT YOUR ATTENTION TO THE STAGE AND WELCOME YOUR HOST, CEO OF CERUS BIOTECH, WILLIAM BERN."

  Applause rang out as Tom watched a tanned, energetic man in his fifties bound onto the stage.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, good evening." His amplified voice seemed to come from every direction at once. "It is my absolute pleasure to welcome you to the grand opening of our new head office, CERUS Tower, here in the heart of London's Docklands." Bern paused and leaned forward. "I want to thank you for taking time out of your busy schedules, especially on a Friday night. I trust someone is keeping your glasses full." He turned and waved his hand. The lights dimmed and a projection of CERUS Tower lit up the wall behind him.

  "Why are we all here? Those of you who know me know that I would love to be revealing a big surprise. Something that would truly 'blow your mind'. But, unlike most of our projects, we could hardly keep this building under wraps. Over the last twelve months it has steadily come to dominate the Docklands' skyline. But while the exterior may be rather obvious, inside revolutionary features are woven into its very fabric. In terms of both design and technology it is a quantum leap." Bern made another gesture and the image converted to a graphic showing statistics proclaiming energy efficiency, structural strength and the building's carbon footprint.

  "Our chief architect will be available to answer your questions later, but let me rudely steal some of his thunder by quoting a few numbers for you: 1100 feet tall, 90 occupiable floors, housing 95% of our UK staff in a single site. There are 10 express elevators, 4 gymnasia, 42 miles of air conditioning ducting, and 275 espresso machines." Another gesture, and the image zoomed in to the reception hall, clad in glass and aluminium, filled with smiling CERUS employees.

  "But in the end, why do we have a building except to provide the perfect environment for our people? It's become a cliché to say that people are your most valuable asset, yet here at CERUS we've walked that talk and created the most revolutionary work space anywhere in the world. Which brings me to..."

  Tom was watching the presentation, so he didn't see the figure ap
proach, just felt a finger tap his shoulder and turned to see a short man, somewhere in his fifties, the barest remnants of hair clinging to the back of his skull. Around his neck he wore a CERUS photo ID card, but it was obscured by his party invite tag. All Tom could see was that his first name began 'Ric'.

  "You're in legal, right?" said the man, clutching an empty wine glass. He swung his gaze around, as if someone might be watching. As far as Tom could tell, the entire room was looking at Bern.

  "I start on Monday," said Tom, with a smile. "Look, do you mind if I..." He gestured at the stage, but the man ignored him.

  "I need to speak with you. It's important."

  "Of course. I'm not on the system yet, but give me your email and I'll set up a time for us to chat."

  The man frowned. "I want to report something. Is there somewhere we could speak?"

  "Why don't you call me for an appointment on Monday? I'll give you every assistance then."

  The man shook his head agitatedly. "I can't have anything on the system. Right now they won't have a clue that..." He seemed to hesitate. "Look, never mind." He turned and slipped away into the crowd.

  Tom turned back to the front just as the CEO finished his speech.

  Bern cleared his throat and said, "I'll take a few questions now." He looked around the room, almost like it was a challenge.

  "How's the view from the top?" asked a man near the back.

  "I'll assume that's a specific question about my office, rather than a prompt for abstract thoughts about business leadership," said Bern. "And the answer is, truly amazing. My apologies that, for security reasons, I can't take you all up there to show you."

  "What do your staff think of the new, predominantly open-plan working environment?" asked a woman at the front.

  "I won't pretend it's not a major adjustment for some. But it maximises use of light and space, and it really drives collaborative working. Also, most of our office-designated floors will use hot-desking. So anyone can have a window seat – if they get in early enough."