Interface: A Techno Thriller Read online

  Kate obeyed but Tom ignored her, watching the two men throw down the ram. One of them swung a rucksack off his back and produced a round metal disc from it. He stuck it on the door and all the men stepped clear.

  The disc exploded. Car alarms all around started ringing.

  Tom pulled at the door handle, but it wouldn't open. "We have to stop them!"

  "Sir, please stay in the vehicle," the policewoman shouted. "We need backup immediately," she said into her radio.

  Through the clouds of smoke, Tom saw the men jump into the van, brutally clubbing the guards with their rifle butts, then grabbing Alex's slender form and carrying her out. They climbed back into their van then turned and pointed their rifles at the police cars. Tom threw his arm over Kate and ducked. Two gunshots hit the car. Then there was the sound of the van's tyres squealing as it sped away.

  "I warned you, but you didn't listen," Tom shouted at the police woman, who was craning back to check on them.

  "Stay in the vehicle," she repeated. Then she climbed out and locked the door, running over to the prisoner transport and climbing in the back.

  Kate tugged at the door handle, but the door remained closed. She leaned close and whispered, "How did you know something was going to happen?"

  "I can't explain it. Something just felt wrong. It doesn't matter now. We're not safe with these idiots. We have to go."

  Kate shook her head. "If you hadn't noticed, she locked us in."

  Tom reached for the door handle and pulled. It opened.

  "How did you do that?"

  "Maybe one of the bullets hit something. Look, you can stay here if you like but I'm going."

  Kate sighed and nodded.

  "We'll head for that street on the left." He pushed open the door then launched himself out, Kate scrambling to follow. He heard shouts from the direction of the prisoner transport, but they were already tearing off down the street.

  FIFTY

  IT WAS 7AM AND REEMS had already been in her bunker office for more than an hour, trying to digest the reports that had come in overnight. Croft had requested a meeting and now she was forcing calm into her voice as they argued.

  He stood, eyes blazing, looking like he was not going to be assuaged. "Three incidents in one night. Three people dead, a prisoner liberated from police custody, and an MI5 officer – me – attacked in the line of duty."

  "I presume you want to make a link to CERUS?"

  "A link? How many do you want?"

  "I mean one based on actual evidence. One that suggests they are in any way culpable."

  "I can't believe I'm having to fight you on this. I don't understand it at all."

  She glanced at a screen in front of her. "I'm not fighting you. But you're too close to the situation and you can't judge it dispassionately. You went into Armstrong's burnt out house in the dead of night without backup, for God's sake." She shook her head.

  "So you're saying I should ignore what's happened?"

  "We don't ignore anything, George. We prioritise." She gave a sigh. "So who is this Alex woman?"

  "We don't know yet. She had no ID and she hasn't been flagged by facial recognition. Likely a professional."

  Reems scratched her nose. "Do you think she was working with the other two and we didn't spot it?"

  "It seems unlikely given that she was about to kill them when they overpowered her."

  "And why was the reporter with the lawyer? Are they in a relationship?"

  "I don't think so. Actually I met that reporter at the Armstrong property. She seemed suspicious of me: her company searched my credentials."

  Reems closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. "You're right, George. This is worth further investigation." She opened her eyes. "Go and speak with the reporter's editor: see where that leads you. But make sure you go home tonight. See your family." She paused. "How is your daughter?"

  "I'm sure you don't need to be troubled with..."

  Reems folded her arms. "George, please. I have some idea what you've been going through."

  Croft looked away. "We have good days and bad days. We've just changed specialists but..." He sighed. "It doesn't affect my duties."

  "Sometimes we get so caught up in trying to save the nation that we forget about life closer to home."

  "I'll keep that in mind." He turned and left the room.

  Reems watched the door close behind him. She locked it remotely before she picked up her phone and called a number by memory.

  FIFTY-ONE

  IT WAS BUSY ON CHISWICK High Road, the morning rush hour in full swing. Tom and Kate made their way slowly on foot, hidden amongst the crowds. Reasonably sure they weren't being followed, they walked into a Starbucks and ordered two cappuccinos.

  "Isn't this a bit public?" Tom asked.

  Kate shrugged. "We won't stay long. I just need to think of somewhere we can go."

  "These people just rescued one of their own from a police convoy. You think you have somewhere safe from that?" He shook his head. "While you're with me you're in danger, but there's no need for you to be caught up in this any longer."

  She reached forward. "Tom, what would you do by yourself? Go to CERUS? Go back to the police? We don't know what to do because we don't understand what's going on. Look, I'll find out what I can. Geraldine tracked down some paper records about projects CERUS did in the past that have been wiped from digital archives. Maybe there's something in there."

  "Fine. But I'm still going my own way. I've had one friend killed already today."

  Kate looked away, biting her lip then nodded, turning back to him. "Give me your phone first. They'll use it to track you." She handed him a business card and scribbled a number on the back. "This phone doesn't connect to me in any records. Get yourself a cheap, basic handset and call me, but only let it ring once. Then I'll have your number but no one will be able to track the call. If I find anything, I'll contact you."

  Tom pocketed the card then he placed his company phone on the table. "Do what you like with this."

  "Where will you go?" She raised a hand. "Wait, don't tell me. Just stay safe."

  FIFTY-TWO

  MARRON WATCHED AS THE WHITE Ford Transit van pulled into the warehouse. It was not the vehicle that had intercepted the police convoy; that was currently being compacted at a discrete junkyard, after the occupants had switched to the replacement. He was as sure as he could be that they had not been followed. Four armed men climbed out and stood aside. Then Alex stepped out.

  He walked over to her, his expression a mask. "What a mess," he said quietly. "What a complete and utter mess."

  She looked him in the eye. "Clearly I have much to learn."

  "You said you could handle Faraday." He leaned closer. "Should I give you another chance?"

  She didn't blink. "I won't let you down again."

  "You have to do better..." He smiled then wrapped his arms around her, hugging her fiercely. "You had me worried for a moment. If you weren't my daughter, I swear I'd... How did they overpower you?"

  "I think Faraday's interface might be working. The television suddenly turned on and distracted me. Next time I'll be ready. Next time I will bring him back."

  "Actually we don't need Faraday anymore, so I need you to neutralise him. He's currently my second highest priority. He ran off in the confusion your rescue created." Marron reached into his pocket and pulled out an oversized phone-like device. "But he won't be difficult to locate."

  She took the device and switched it on. A map lit up on the screen. "So what's the highest priority?"

  "A complication from the past. Dominique Lentz is still alive."

  Alex's eyebrows rose. "How is that possible?"

  "She negotiated with the assassin. Which is very disappointing."

  "That'll teach you to outsource. Will she be a problem?"

  "I intend to make sure she isn't. You focus on Faraday. Do you want a team?"

  "I work better alone. This morning certainly showed that."
/>   "That was unfortunate." He scratched his nose. "Who shot our man, by the way?"

  Alex gave him a direct look. "He misread the situation. What about Chatsworth? How are your friends going to react to that?"

  "I'll handle it. Just get to Faraday."

  Alex nodded. "I'll call you when it's done."

  ◇ ◇ ◇

  Marron was watching her walk away when his phone rang.

  "Have you seen the news?" Bern asked. "What happened with Chatsworth?"

  Marron took a slow breath. "The police are there, investigating the explosion, but they'll find no connection to CERUS, and we don't need the good doctor for Phase Two."

  "Heidn and Holm may get jumpy. Who is supposed to have done this?"

  "Some other disgruntled patient. The Angstrom's client list includes plenty of rich angry people. I'll be sure to drop that into the conversation if the police question me."

  "OK. And Peter, is there anything I need to know?"

  Marron smiled to himself. There was only one answer that Bern ever wanted: "No, William. Nothing that you need to know."

  FIFTY-THREE

  A TIRED SECURITY GUARD WEARING a uniform a size or more too small guided George Croft across the third floor at Business Week News. Croft was wearing a regular suit, but he felt the eyes of the building on him as if they all knew who he was. Journalists, he thought. Much too observant.

  The guard led him to a corner office and knocked loudly just below a brass name plaque that read 'Geraldine Cartwright', Editor in Chief. A square-jawed woman with intense eyes opened the door and beckoned him in. He wove between stacks of folders and took the offered seat, noting that she did not look pleased to see him.

  "I know you're a busy woman," he said, putting as much warmth into his tone as he could, "so thank you for making time for me. I'm sure it will come as no surprise that I want to speak to you about Kate Turner. Do you know where she is?"

  Geraldine gave a sniff. "Is she under investigation?"

  "She was a witness to a double homicide."

  "Along with a roadside gunfight. And I've already given a statement to the police this morning about what I know. What exactly is MI5's interest in this? Don't you trust our boys and girls in blue to do their job?"

  "We just want to speak to her. We're not clear why she fled before we could do that."

  "Kate was nearly shot while under police protection: I think she just wants to stay alive."

  "Where would she go? Is there a friend or relative we could contact?"

  "If she's trying to avoid discovery, do you think she'd do anything so obvious?"

  Croft shrugged. "Was Kate working on a story about CERUS Biotech?"

  "She covered the death of Richard Armstrong – I believe she ran into you when she visited the scene. Although then you were merely a police officer. Congratulations on the promotion."

  Croft blinked. "Ms Turner was with a CERUS employee, Thomas Faraday, when the incident with the police convoy took place. Was he helping with her story?"

  "You'd have to ask her."

  "We'd certainly like to." Croft frowned. "And how about Mr Faraday's location?"

  "How am I meant to know that?"

  He paused, then lowered his voice. "People are being surprisingly resistant to putting the necessary resources into this investigation, even now. I want to do something, but I need your help. And I think Ms Turner and Mr Faraday need mine."

  Geraldine turned away, staring out of the window. She seemed to nod to herself. "Are you sure?"

  "About what?" asked Croft.

  "I wasn't talking to you." Geraldine tapped her ear. She stood up and stared at him. "But now I am. Why don't you follow me?"

  She led him out of her office and down a corridor to what looked like a storage room. Geraldine opened the door with a smug grin. Inside, sitting on a chair and wearing a wireless headset, was a figure that he immediately recognised.

  "Hello, Mr Croft," said Kate Turner. "Good to see you again."

  FIFTY-FOUR

  IT WAS LATE MORNING AND Tom sat on a wooden bench, staring across the Thames at the Embankment. He cradled his hands around a strong cup of tea and let his mind drift. Since the CERUS party, his frame of reference, his whole world, had been coming apart. He didn't know what to do next.

  He wanted to make what had happened 'unhappen'. He wanted to rip those responsible apart as if, by doing so, he could tear space and time asunder and pull Jo back into life. She had tried to save them all, and for her bravery she had died. And there was nothing he could do.

  So if he could not reconfigure the universe, he could at least deliver retribution. But as the urge flashed through his mind, it made him uncomfortable. Was it a natural reaction to the horrific events, or had Jo's death changed him? He could see the moment in perfect detail - it had been replaying over and over in his head like a film shot in high definition, every frame eerily specific. And he realised that since Jo died, he hadn't felt a fog in his head: all his confusion had been replaced with absolute clarity.

  Was this what they called post-traumatic shock? Or was it related to what they had done to him? His mind was full of images, of things that he had seen. He looked to his left and saw the London Eye revolving slowly. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the scene. He could look in detail at any part of it. He blinked and shook his head.

  He thought back to the Italian vocabulary he had helped Jo learn. Then the moment at the restaurant when there had been that confusion over the menus. Perhaps there had not been any confusion. He pulled a notepad out of his bag and wrote without pausing. A minute later he looked down at what he had: an entire page of English and Italian words. He knew it was correct. Every last letter.

  He stood up, threw his paper cup into a bin and started walking, making his way along the footpath. They – whoever they were – seemed to have given him a perfect memory, then made him watch something he wished he could forget. He would find some way to use it against them. But right now, angry and alone, he didn't know how. He walked over to the railing, looking down at the thick grey surface of the Thames, London's first highway. The river knew where it was going. Tom shook his head. He had to go somewhere too. But where?

  FIFTY-FIVE

  DOMINIQUE LENTZ SAT IN THE basement of her barn hideout, ignoring a cold cup of takeaway coffee and staring at her laptop screen. She had been reviewing the documents on Armstrong's high-capacity pen-drive for several hours, but it felt like only a few moments.

  Twenty-five years ago, after she finally got through the layers of security around him, she had confronted Bern about Eastwell. He had sworn that the mistakes that had been made would never be repeated: that all the research would be destroyed. And she had believed him. Had he been deceived too? Or had he lied? It was a question she intended to ask him.

  But first she needed to know more, including why the project was being resurrected now. Was it just that the tech had advanced sufficiently that Tantalus was now viable? The insertion of the chip had always been the major problem: too great a likelihood of rejection, too much radiation and heat created by the chip. Nano implantation was genius – if you could get it right. But she doubted that was the only reason Tantalus was back in operation now. CERUS needed the money – the worst rumours about their financial straits were not even half right. Necessity might be the mother of invention, but desperate men also seized on desperate measures and this smacked too much of the latter.

  They already had a customer lined up, but she hadn't been able to find out any more.

  What she had discovered was that CERUS was already trialling the new Tantalus technology with four subjects. She spotted another file and, frowning, clicked on it.

  Not just four subjects. There was also a Subject Zero, handled completely separately from the others. An employee of CERUS, not referenced in the main project files. If he wasn't in a lab setting like the others, might she be able to reach him? Even if she could, what would she say? What was her endgame? W
as she trying to avenge an old friend or was she unbendingly curious to see if they had done it and how? Or was it just that this was the right thing? Her chance to make a difference. To atone, in a way that twenty-five years fighting Ebola had not. She shook her head, and looked in her bag of tools and spare parts. Whatever the case, it was time to get to work.

  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."