Interface: A Techno Thriller Page 15

  "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 Be
rn'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."

  Tom heard a click then there was just static on the line. He wanted to believe her, but he could not bring himself to do so. There could be more than one group that meant him harm. He glanced at the woman waiting near the entrance, tapping on her phone. She was too alert, too coiled. He put the phone down, then beckoned to the waiter and asked where the bathrooms were. The man pointed directly behind him. Tom nodded and walked that way. Quietly, he opened the fire exit. No alarm sounded.

  He stepped through and ran.

  ◇ ◇ ◇

  Lentz switched off the jamming device, the whining noise fading away. Too long active and they would trace her. Her scanner flickered back into life and she cursed as she saw the dot: it was in the wrong place. He wasn't running towards her but away. In his position she might have done the same. She could try to pick him up immediately but perhaps it was better to make sure he got away safely.

  For that she needed a distraction.

  ◇ ◇ ◇

  In the café the fire alarm started ringing. The woman standing at the entrance ran over to the bathrooms, but was chased away by the café manager.

  "My boyfriend is in there!" she protested.

  "It's empty. You must have missed him go outside."

  Cursing, she ran out, looking around, but Tom was nowhere to be seen. A second later and a figure was at her side.

  "What happened?" asked Alex.

  "He got out. I thought he was in the bathroom."

  "The scanners went dark for thirty seconds. We assumed it was a glitch. And that you had a visual."

  "I watched him go in. There was no other way out. The fire door was alarmed: we checked."

  "It must have been deactivated."

  "Then he had help. Who was the phone call from?"

  "What phone call?" asked Alex. "Why didn't you flag it?"

  "You were tapping all the lines. I assumed you were listening in."

  Alex cursed. "Lentz is messing with us." She touched her earpiece. "Recalibrate the scan for a broader area. Assume he's at least 500 metres away. Find him. Fast."

  SIXTY

  THE GUESTHOUSE WAS LOCATED IN a shabby, run-down block half a mile east of Liverpool Street. It was not mentioned in any tourist handbook, not rated in any official hotel or accommodation guide, nor did it have a website. Tom had never been there; he had found it by randomly selecting a page from an old London A-to-Z, then strolling until he found something suitable. Its only sign had fallen from the wall, so it was a miracle that he located it at all. Less surprisingly, they had a vacancy. He signed in under a false name and paid with cash.

  He couldn't be any more anonymous: he couldn't vanish any more completely.

  And still they found him.

  ◇ ◇ ◇

  He woke in the middle of the night, his head throbbing, knowing something was wrong. Instinctively, he grabbed for his backpack, pleased that he had chosen to stay fully dressed. He moved to the door and listened. From three floors below there was the faint sound of footsteps in the entrance hall. Looking at his watch he saw it was 3am. He eased the door open a crack. Four figures were quietly climbing the central staircase. One was holding out something like a large smartphone. Tom eased the door closed again. He had prepared before he went to sleep and now, shouldering his pack, he moved over to the only window. With a sharp tug, he opened it and stepped out onto a metal fire escape. The air was cold and the fire escape wobbled disconcertingly, but he did not hesitate and began clambering down.

  As he reached the ground, he heard a shout from above. He had been spotted. Throwing caution aside, he sprinted down the street. He was only twenty metres from the comparative safety of the busy main
road when a van door suddenly opened in front of him. Tom froze as a figure emerged from the shadows: a woman he recognised.

  The woman who had used the taser.

  "Tom, you need to trust me."

  He took a step back. "Who the hell are you? And how did you know I was here?"

  "My name is Dominique Lentz. And I know a great deal more than simply how to find you, Thomas Faraday."

  Behind Tom people were rushing down the fire escape.

  The woman brought out a calculator-sized device from her pocket and pressed a button. Tom felt the faintest buzzing in the air. Behind him he heard a muffled shout of "I've lost him."

  Lentz raised her eyebrows. "I've just jammed their signal, but I can only do it for about sixty seconds so we should get going."

  "Where?"

  She held the door open for him. "Somewhere safe."

  He jumped in as she ran round to the driver's side.

  "How are they tracing me?" he asked, as she started the vehicle and pulled away.

  "It's what is in your head. The interface." She looked at him. "From your expression, that's not a total surprise."

  "It's been a strange week. How do you know about it?"

  She reached the main road and merged into the traffic. "I know about it," replied Lentz, "because I designed it."

  SIXTY-ONE

  BERN BURST INTO THE LEVEL 64 lab, his heart pounding. The room was lit with pulses of red light, beating in time with a low-frequency siren. Waiting for him were a very serious-looking Heidn, Holm and Bradley. "What is going on?" he asked. "Who activated the alarm?"

  "We have a problem," Holm said. "With the nanites."

  "In the lab? A containment issue?"