Resurface Page 3

  "A problem many people would happily trade with you."

  "I'll admit it's not the worst of the side effects."

  "So where have you been hiding yourself, the last year?"

  "I spent some time in New York and Paris. I did mean to go travelling - Jo and I were always going to do South America: Peru, Bolivia, Argentina - but I haven't got round to it. Mostly I've been in London. Easy to lose yourself in a city if you know your way around. And it was the last place anybody expected me to be."

  "You didn't think to make contact, all that time? Even when you were right here?"

  "I thought we were starting again?"

  She raised an eyebrow. "Just answer my question, Mr Robot."

  "As I said, it's complicated."

  Kate folded her arms. "So why are we meeting?"

  "Because I need your help."

  Kate looked around to check nobody was listening. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Can't you just do anything you like? Given that everything is connected, can't you control everything?"

  "If only." Tom lowered his voice. "I was able to... take over, if you will, the helicopters, because that's what the Interface was designed to do. I was inside the system, equipped with the right tools. Same thing with CERUS Tower: it was based on a shared technology architecture. What I can do elsewhere is more subtle and more variable. Publicly available information, sure that's easy, but then you can do that on your phone. Other bespoke systems, well that quickly becomes exhausting." He rubbed his temples again. "And despite what the media says, there's plenty of stuff that isn't networked at all. Or it's networked in a way that I cannot navigate. You've heard of the dark web. If Google can't find it, I certainly have difficulties."

  "So how can I help?"

  Tom removed a photograph from his pocket and slid it across the table. It showed a woman in her forties. "This is Amelia Faraday. My mother. I want to find out about her."

  Kate's brow creased. "But she's—"

  "Gone, yes, four years now. But she never told me about Bern. She said my father was dead."

  "Perhaps she just wished he was."

  "I'm not saying I blame her. But if she was hiding that from me, was she hiding anything else? I have to know. Last year, Marron told me she was a contact of Bern's. And CERUS had a file about her, but its contents were deleted. I've exhausted every digital avenue I can pursue and I've found nothing. I need someone who can look deeper, and you're a reporter—"

  "Not any more. I'm in PR now, darling."

  Tom folded his arms. "So you've lost all your contacts? Your skills?"

  Kate leaned back in her seat. "You don't want a reporter. You want a private investigator."

  "I want someone with the wit and grit to pursue this: someone I can trust. Bern wasn't just anyone, even twenty-five years ago. Whatever he did must have left a trail. Find it for me."

  She shook her head. "I'm not supposed to have any involvement with matters relating to Bern. It's a corporate edict. We're trying to distance ourselves from him: prove that CERUS has moved beyond its founder."

  "Maybe there's something on the CERUS systems. Old email records. They might be kept on tape, off-site."

  "I don't know. It was such a long time ago. I don't think it's a good idea."

  "So you won't help?" Tom's expression darkened. "I ask you one thing, and you won't do it for me."

  "Maybe there comes a time when you need to stop looking back, trying to find answers in the past. Maybe you should do us all a favour and work out what you're going to do next, Tom."

  He stood up. "Thanks for nothing."

  Something made her reach out and grab his hand. "You said you wouldn't run off—" There was another spark, more intense than the last. With a shriek of surprise, she let go.

  "Don't touch me," he glowered. "I'll manage without your help."

  Kate sighed. "We're never going to get to finish a meal here, are we?"

  He shrugged and walked away.

  Seven

  CARL BRODY GUIDED RATHER THAN steered the Toyota Land Cruiser as it bounced along the rutted icy tracks, its headlights fighting a losing battle with the flurries of snow that had been a constant presence for several days now. But there wasn't much chance of getting lost; high drifts framed the track on either side, and a powerful locator beacon ensured he stayed on course. The beacon was positioned on the top of the only sign of civilisation in this isolated spot. Brody was soon pulling up alongside it.

  The building was more than two hundred metres in diameter, with a high arching dome of silver and grey-white, geodesic in form, the coating rendering it almost invisible from the air. It housed a substantial facility, although much of the volume of the structure was in the many sub-ground levels. The whole thing had been constructed and outfitted in considerable secrecy a decade previously, but had only been brought on-line in the last two years. At full capacity, with all the surrounding accommodation blocks, the facility could house over five thousand, although it was currently running at a mere six-percent occupancy. Yet, Brody had noted in his regular reports, they were a very productive six percent. The isolation was motivational: all they had to think about out here was their work and the triple pay they were earning. Away from prying eyes and distractions, they had excelled. A couple of key matters, however, remained stubbornly unresolved.

  He pulled the flight case from the passenger seat then moved quickly from the vehicle to the nearby entrance, the first of the pairs of heavy sealed doors hissing apart to welcome him. A minute later he emerged from the airlock, kicked the snow from his boots and removed his gloves and coat. The interior was maintained at a balmy twenty-two degrees centigrade, but he knew it would take many minutes for the biting cold to leave his bones. He made his way around the perimeter corridor and then took a lift down three storeys to the control level and his office. Five minutes later Brody was sipping a cup of mint tea and starting to feel a little warmer inside.

  He put the flight case on his desk and ran his fingers over the metal exterior. It was dented and scratched from regular use. Brody placed his thumb on the keypad; there was a soft beep and the lock clicked open. Inside were documents, a secure hard drive, and, within foam padding, a small metal box. All bore the logo of CERUS Biotech.

  He flicked through the paperwork. It was a detailed set of specifications, including a system breakdown, along with a proposed testing regime. It covered responses and suggestions to his last report, and further access codes. The hard drive held operating-system updates and detailed simulation data. He turned to the metal box and flipped open the clasps. Inside, held in a further protective layer of padding, were five slender crystal tubes, a dark black liquid glistening within.

  His phone rang. He looked at it with a start: it did not ring often. Staff at the Dome sent internal messages or came in person. Nobody from the outside rang in: nobody except the woman he knew only by the name of Fox. He swallowed and slipped on his headset. "You're watching me, aren't you?"

  "It's a security measure, Mr Brody," Fox replied, with her soft French accent. "It applies to everyone, even you as General Manager. And I'm pleased to see the case has arrived. I need you to validate those samples immediately."

  "What about the suits? I haven't made any progress there."

  "It's not unexpected. Fortunately for you, we have an alternative plan, so you are free to focus on those samples. I'll be there in person in a few days."

  "I presume that's related to the other item. It arrived yesterday."

  "You kept its arrival on a need-to-know basis?"

  "Of course. But I'm uncomfortable having it here, in the facility."

  "It's quite safe if you don't poke it."

  "Yet I'm sure that's exactly what you're about to ask me to do."

  "None of us ever thought this would be a hazard-free venture. I'll see you soon."

  The call cut off abruptly, and Brody slipped off his headset. He knew, when he took on this role, that he would have to accept unu
sual ways of working, odd procedures and protocols, along with risk. For the chance to work with the kind of cutting-edge science he was getting to experience, with an almost unlimited budget, he was willing to put up with that.

  Eight

  TOM EMERGED FROM THE RESTAURANT, glancing at his watch, then he flicked his eyes left and right. Nobody seemed to be watching. To be sure, he needed a better view.

  He closed his eyes.

  The buzz was there, as it always was, the networks around him, humming with data, with energy. He opened his mind to them and, this deep inside a megacity, it was a cacophony: electromagnetic radiation saturating the air, cables running beneath his feet and up into every building around him – too much for him to grasp properly. Yet within the masses he could feel patterns and concentrations. Many lines of data were encrypted, but if communications were localising on this particular spot in an organised manner, it might mean someone was moving against him.

  There was nothing.

  He didn't need to hurry away; instead he could walk and think. With no specific plan, he ducked into the nearest Tube station. He would see where the flow took him.

  A half hour later he was moving through unfamiliar East London streets, weaving between traffic, feeling pangs for his missed dinner, but more in need of answers than sustenance. What had made him come here?

  And then he smelled the salt water in the air, and he knew. He put his hands in his pockets and walked towards London's first highway: the Thames was wide and slow east of the City, preparing for its final few miles before the open sea. He came to a boardwalk, bounded by a metal railing, ten metres above the river's rippling surface. He stared out, inhaling the salt and fumes, hearing the strangled choke of seagulls. South across the water was London's Docklands. And CERUS Tower.

  He had wanted to meet up with Kate many times over the last twelve months, but had not followed through until now. Something had kept him back. A year ago he had felt the kindling of... something... between them. But everything had got crazy, and Project Tantalus had changed him forever. So he had stayed away, avoided her, until he needed her. From her perspective it must have seemed inconsiderate, rude even. It wasn't a mistake he would have made before all this happened.

  Was he a little less human? Or a little more? He could connect to computers, to networks: he could often make them do what he wanted. But, as the meeting with Kate had just proven, with people, he seemed to be losing the ability to interface.

  When he was just a lawyer, he could always go home and be somebody else at the end of a bad day. But now he was always 'Tom, the subject of the Interface'. Either people wanted to study him, or they were scared of him. Nobody took any kind of middle ground. Well, almost nobody.

  He felt the watch on his wrist, the keepsake his mother had given him just a month before she had died. If she was still here, she would have offered counsel, even in these most unforeseeable of circumstances. But she was not.

  There was one other person he could speak to: one who might actually have the capability to help. He pulled out a disposable mobile and sent a short text-message.

  Slipping the phone back into his pocket, Tom looked back across the Thames, at the rise of office buildings, and the foreboding form of CERUS Tower. It was a constant reminder, as if he needed one, of everything that had happened: of the death of his career, of his old life. And yet the events leading to it had been preordained almost from the moment of his birth.

  There was a soft ringing in his pocket. He tapped the earpiece in his ear to answer the call.

  "Tom," Lentz said. "I'm so glad you messaged me. I just came back from a late meeting. With Reems."

  "Wonderful. How is Stephanie?"

  "Same as always. But I was introduced to Connor Truman. You know who he is?"

  Tom closed his eyes momentarily, his mind making a connection, pulling the answer from a search. "I do now. What did he want?"

  "To talk to you. My first thought was to tell him to join the queue. But I settled for explaining that I had no idea where you were. And that I had no way of contacting you."

  "You think it's wise to lie to the Deputy Director of the CIA?"

  "I'm sure he was lying to me. And I've lied to more important people for less important reasons. Besides, technically you have to ping me first."

  "And I thought I was the lawyer," he laughed.

  "Try being a CEO: everything I do is mired in protocol. Sometimes I'd trade places with you in a second."

  "You're the scientist. Find a way to make that happen and I'm on board."

  "For now, you might want to take extra care. Truman made a special trip over here so I'm thinking there's a good reason behind it. He also wanted to speak to Bern and Marron. Marron's obviously out of the question, but... look I'm sorry to be the one telling you this, but you'll hear it soon enough: Bern has been released on bail."

  "What? After what he did?" Tom felt an itch in the back of his neck. "How is that possible?"

  "His lawyers persuaded the judge. Get hold of the papers, I'm sure you'll understand it better than I will."

  "This is ridiculous. I thought we'd closed that chapter." Tom swallowed. "Perhaps I should go see him?"

  "At his home? With a special forces team of a hundred stationed outside, I wouldn't recommend it. In fact, with the CIA involved I hope you are far, far away on some beach in a country without an extradition treaty."

  Tom looked up at CERUS Tower. "You wouldn't believe how far away."

  "So why did you call me? We haven't spoken in months."

  "I was going to ask you about my mother. I want to know why she and Bern got together. And then why they split up. I feel there's a story there that I don't know. Even if I could get to Bern without flagging who I am, I couldn't trust anything he told me. I need a more reliable source. And I haven't found anything electronic. But someone like Bern always leaves ripples."

  "More like horrible waves that sink those around him. It might be best to leave this all alone."

  "Maybe you met her? Or saw her, when they were together?"

  "I didn't really move in Bern's social circles. Look, making waves, trying to delve into old records, you're only going to draw attention to yourself. Right now's really not the time for that."

  "You're right. Actually there's a trip I've been meaning to make; somewhere I can really unplug, so I'll be out of touch for a bit. You just make sure you stay out of trouble. I'd hate to lose the only person I can be candid with. Presuming that's still true."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Can you track me? Don't lie to me, Dominique. I have to know I can trust you – I'll know if you're lying."

  She laughed. "I have no location data. All I can do is poll your Interface, and see if it responds. It confirms if you are alive, but I can't initiate any type of comms."

  "Thank you. Take care, Dominique."

  The call ended. Tom closed his eyes, connected to the net, and booked an airline ticket.

  The woman emerged from the lift on Level 33 of CERUS Tower and adjusted her black-framed glasses. It was nearly 11pm and there were few people still in the office – which was exactly why she worked this late.

  The phone in her pocket vibrated angrily for the third time: her contractor was certainly keen, although he was usually keen simply because it meant he could justify billing another few hours; as yet his efforts had proved fruitless. She made her way to a rarely used conference room near the middle of the floor – it was cramped and obviously had no external window – slotted into a small section of the floor plan that might have been better used as a storage room. Tonight it was perfect for her purpose.

  She opened up the special app on her phone and connected. "This is Fox."

  A man's voice, heavily digitised, replied: "You took your time. I said it was urgent."

  "I have to take precautions. What's happened?"

  "There's been a development. I followed the girl. She went back to that Italian restaurant, Brocca."

&
nbsp; "Remind me."

  "They were both there a year ago: it was in my original report. Look, my point is that it felt like too much of a coincidence. And I was right. Guess who was waiting for her?"

  "Just tell me."

  "Tom Faraday."

  Fox hesitated. "Are you absolutely certain?"

  "He didn't look in the best health, but it was him."

  "Did he spot you?"

  "I don't believe so. Obviously I used no tech whatsoever. I followed him after he left. He drifted all over the place. Made a stop in East London, then took a taxi out to Heathrow. Terminal Five."

  "Did you go inside?"

  "I watched him check-in with British Airways. Then I followed him as far as security. A contact I have there confirmed he boarded a BA flight to Lima, Peru. In South America."

  "I know where it is. Peru was actually one of our priority targets. We know he'd planned a trip there, so we have third-party teams in place."

  "You have teams in Peru? Just how extensive is your set-up? Look, I don't care: that's your business. But he lands in about twelve hours."

  "You've done well."

  "I know. So I'd like to talk about−"

  She disconnected the call. After so much preparation, after so much waiting, things were finally starting to happen. And that meant she had a great deal to do.

  Nine

  THE FACILITY WAS NOT MARKED on any public map, and satellite images just showed a fuzzy grey building. The fading sign read 'GB Logistics, Northwell A Site, PRIVATE PROPERTY' but gave no further clues. There was a phone number, although it went straight to an automated message-service.

  Nothing suggested there was anything of interest within. The worn metal gates were secured with a heavy locking mechanism. Beyond, a dusty road led down a steep hedged gully and round a corner, to a much larger, much heavier gate. From here there was a succession of three further gates, interspersed with short stretches of dusty road. At the end was a large warehouse, out of sight from any prying eyes. Hidden under the high, wide warehouse roof was a cluster of buildings surrounded by a six-metre high, hardened-glass wall that enclosed a space as large as four football pitches. The glass was a recently-developed material. Harder than stone, it provided perfect visibility for guards monitoring the exterior of the compound. Nobody could sneak up unseen.