Interface: A Techno Thriller Page 5

  ◇ ◇ ◇

  Chatsworth returned to his office on the far side of the clinic, then closed and locked the door. He started-up his computer, logged into an encrypted voice service, pulled on a headset then dialled a contact. "The set-up is complete and the subject should be viable. There appear to be no adverse side effects from the procedure."

  "Excellent," replied a soft, metallic voice. "Any difficult questions?"

  "He seemed to buy into the story."

  "How about the loss of consciousness?"

  "He thinks he just fainted. Of course it was always a possibility with Phase One. But we're beyond that now."

  "Good. I trust you did not run him through an MRI, as agreed."

  "There didn't seem to be any need. What was the concern there?"

  "You don't need to know. Are you ready to proceed?"

  "Yes. The tests will start on his next visit."

  "Keep me advised."

  Chatsworth disconnected the call. Something about that voice gave him chills. He wondered, not for the first time, if he had made a mistake getting involved with this project.

  FOURTEEN

  BERN'S LEVEL 90 PENTHOUSE WORKSPACE had, he liked to think, the finest views in London. When coming up with requirements for his 'statement' office, Bern had asked that the architects 'let go of their inhibitions'. The room was triple aspect and, if you included the luxury private apartment, took up fully half of the floor. His boardroom accounted for most of the other half, with a small reception area that housed his personal assistant and a security guard making up the balance.

  Bern threw his coat on a stand and stretched his neck. He gave a passing glance at the angular steel sculpture his design team had spent weeks sourcing, then walked the not inconsiderable distance to his desk, deviating only slightly to skirt around the Persian rug that had cost fully half as much as his Aston Martin. He took his seat, then suddenly became aware he was not alone: he looked up and saw CERUS' head of HR, clad in his usual plain grey suit.

  "Didn't see you there," Bern said with a frown.

  Marron shrugged. "That would be the preferred title of my autobiography."

  "Planning on writing one?"

  "Writing, maybe. Publishing, no."

  "Are you here for the meeting?"

  "I wasn't invited. As you are well aware."

  "Indeed. In fact I know it was arranged with the utmost secrecy, yet you clearly know all about it. What should I read from that?"

  "That I'm doing my job."

  "What about the work you've had taking place up on the roof? I haven't been able to land there since the party."

  "Also me doing my job."

  "I saw workmen carrying up a large number of metal rods but, when I went and had a look, I couldn't see any change."

  "Exactly my intention."

  "And also a large number of steel drums, which I could see. They look a bit out of place."

  "They won't be there much longer. As you know."

  Bern nodded distractedly. "Was there something we needed to discuss?"

  "There was an incident with an employee earlier who fell in his office."

  "Is it going to be a problem?"

  "I believe I've managed the situation appropriately. He's at a private clinic."

  Bern blinked. "Good. We don't need any complications right now. "

  "I'd better go so your secret meeting can take place. I hope CERUS' most brilliant minds come through for you."

  Bern watched Marron vanish into the shadows. So do I, he thought.

  ◇ ◇ ◇

  Bradley followed Heidn and Holm into Bern's office then locked the door. The CEO nodded to them and gestured towards a conference table across from his desk. They all sat and watched while Bern poured himself a glass of sparkling mineral water.

  "You are familiar with our last set of financial results?" he said. "Those that suggest the company is tracking on target for the year."

  There were nods from around the table.

  "And also the rumours that have been circulating? About how CERUS is about to fail?"

  More nods.

  "The latter are a more accurate representation of our current status. And regrettably it's too late to contain the problem. The whole company will be lost if we don't produce a miracle in the next sixty days." Bern took a deep breath. "Thankfully, this miracle doesn't have to be something new. Two months ago I tasked Neil to trawl the archives for something we could do again, but better."

  "Intelligent nanites?" Holm asked, adjusting his glasses. "That's why Bradley had me looking at those? I may have produced a null batch in the lab, but monetising the project... that's a long way off."

  Bern nodded. "True. And yet nanites may provide a way to transform a much older project."

  Heidn ran his fingers through his long grey hair. "You mean Tantalus?"

  "This is what I was looking at?" Holm said. "I just saw some code. What exactly is it?"

  Heidn cleared his throat. "Tantalus was a Greek demi-god, famous for his eternal punishment in hell. He was made to stand in a pool of water beneath a fruit tree, the fruit eluding his grasp, the water always receding before he could drink. It's where we get the word tantalize." Heidn leaned back in his chair. "The name was a joke but it became a challenge – a call to beat the odds and prove that it could be done."

  Holm waved his hand in irritation. "Thanks for the story, but I don't care about the name. What was the project about?"

  "An interface. A point where two systems would meet and interact. Man and machine."

  Holm gave a snort. "A brain-computer interface? Twenty-five years ago? Did you even have computers then?"

  Bradley sighed. "They had electricity and instant coffee too. Stop being ridiculous."

  "But there are plenty of BCIs now. You can get headsets for game consoles that respond to brain pulses."

  "Not like this one," Bern said. "This is a fully functional bi-directional neural interface. The computer doesn't interpret what you want it to do. It knows. The possibilities for such a system... It would be paradigm shifting."

  "If it was so revolutionary – and I grant you it would have been twenty-five years ago – why did you stop work on it?"

  Bern scratched his ear. "The client pulled their funding. Plus we lost one of the lead scientists. Tragic accident."

  "What was so special about this old BCI headset over all those we have now?" asked Holm.

  "It's not a headset," Bradley said. He slid a file across the table.

  Holm flipped it open and whistled. "A computer chip implanted into a person's brain? Jesus."

  "It was the only way back then." Bern paused. "It's not how we plan to do it this time."

  "Wait," Holm said, "I thought we were just bouncing ideas around. You're saying we're actually talking about doing this?"

  Bradley stood up and tapped a nearby section of wall. It slid back to reveal a display panel showing the CERUS logo. "A little while ago Mr Bern tasked me with looking at how old projects and new customers might interface, so to speak. One came up." He tapped the display and a wire-frame image appeared and rotated. "We have to make the interface talk to this."

  "A helicopter?" Heidn asked. "You want us to make some type of auto-pilot system?"

  The image moved to one side and a stream of specifications began scrolling down.

  "Not just any helicopter," Holm said. "This is an airborne command centre." He paused. "Russian?"

  "Yes," said Bern, "but not military. It's being developed by a private enterprise. For private customers."

  "Look at the sensor array," Holm muttered. "That is quite a piece of hardware."

  "I'm glad you approve, because we need you two geniuses to programme and implement it with a test subject."

  "Hang on a sec. We've gone from hypotheticals to concrete plans to testing this on actual people in the last five minutes!"

  "It's a requirement of a deliverable we've committed to," Bern said.

  Holm whist
led again.

  Bradley nodded. "This time the process will be surgery free. The nanites will build the 'chip', which won't actually be a chip in any case. Let's call it a node. Anyway, it's not key-hole surgery. We're just talking an injection; the risks are minimal."

  Heidn stood up. "We are supposed to be changing the world, William, not helping some rich man fly his helicopter. Tantalus was always about changing the way people interact with computers: getting rid of keyboards, touch-screens, even speech recognition and replacing it with something that works at the speed of thought."

  Bern inclined his head. "I want what you want, I assure you. Occasionally necessity dictates that there are some intermediary steps. And this one is necessary to secure the financial future of CERUS so that we can achieve our loftier goals."

  "We'd have to go through years of preliminary tests," Holm said. "And who'd agree to be a guinea pig?"

  "You just do your part and let the rest of us worry about those things. All I'm asking is can it be done?"

  "Do we have your word that you intend to take this further?" Heidn asked. "That this isn't just a cash grab to prop up your retirement fund?"

  Bern stood up. "I plan to take this much further." He looked around the room. "We have an opportunity to turn CERUS' problems into a defining moment. And those who come on board will be rewarded handsomely."

  "I don't care about the money," Heidn said. "I want my work to happen."

  "Hold on there," Holm said. "Some of us aren't indifferent to financial rewards."

  "They will be success-based and most generous," Bradley said. "You won't be disappointed. In return, we require your complete attention and discretion: this project is not to be discussed outside those in this room."

  "So you know the plan, you know the stakes, you know the rewards," said Bern. "Go make it happen."

  FIFTEEN

  DANIELLA LAWRENCE HEARD THE RASP as the ancient and overworked air-conditioner struggled against the midday heat. Outside the grimy window a huge cotton tree loomed over the open-air cafeteria, offering only the suggestion of shade. She stared at it for a moment, thinking she really ought to get some lunch, and then that she ought to try to service the air-conditioner. But there was too much other work to be done.

  She leaned forward and focused through glasses that had been fashionable twenty years ago. In front of her were six test tubes, racked and housed inside a vacuum-sealed chamber. Six control strains of the Ebola variant that had arisen in central Sierra Leone. Various Big Pharma companies had provided test batches of candidate anti-virals and though Daniella didn't have much love for big business, in this situation she would take all the help she could get. So far it hadn't proven enough. She needed to add some variations of her own and find the one small change that would make all the difference.

  Behind her, a man cleared his throat.

  Lawrence turned and saw the director of the clinic standing in the doorway. By his standards, Dr Kimoto's smile was less than broad.

  "Dr Lawrence," he said, "do you have a moment?"

  "I'm just writing up this batch." She nodded to the test tubes.

  "I'll keep it brief. If you please." And he walked away without waiting for a further response. She shrugged, following him down a corridor stacked with boxes of supplies, and into his office. He closed the door firmly and indicated the seat opposite his desk. "Your work here has been exemplary, if a little unorthodox." Kimoto took his own seat. "You bring a perspective I've not seen before in a virologist."

  "I'm just trying to make a difference. Like everyone else here."

  "And nobody appreciates that more than I. Of course the challenges we face are many, but we do still have procedures and processes. We are accountable. And that means I have to maintain oversight." He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

  "Has there been a complaint about my work?"

  "In the three months that you've been here? Not one. It takes a rare talent to come into a new research environment, shake up all the systems, and not put anyone's nose out of joint." He paused. "Quite frankly I'm amazed you haven't risen to a higher station in your field."

  "I like to stay in the lab."

  He shrugged. "Still, I was curious about your previous work. You've moved around a great deal."

  "I've always gone wherever the need is greatest."

  "And why did you come here to our humble facility?" He spread his hands. "To help others?" He paused. "I placed a call to a former colleague of mine at University College London. He read medicine at the same time as you at Edinburgh. Roxburgh was his name; I'm sure you remember him?"

  Lawrence shifted in her chair. "I can't say it rings a bell."

  "He remembered someone by your name. Someone who looked quite different."

  Daniella shrugged. "Perhaps his memory is as bad as mine."

  "The Daniella Lawrence my colleague knew at Edinburgh had only three fingers on her left hand. Now, either you grew them back or you aren't who you say you are." He patted his palm on his desk. "Shall I keep digging? It's confusing, because your knowledge and skill are no fraud, even if your papers are."

  Daniella let out a slow breath. "Do you know how many hospitals and missions I've worked in over the last twenty years? None of them have asked these questions. None of them cared when I was so good at my job." She sighed. "I'll leave tomorrow if you want, though I'd rather stay a few more days: then I can put the project in shape to be handed over."

  "What I'm worried about is whether the trouble in your past is likely to follow you here."

  Daniella let out a long breath and smiled. "They don't even know to look for me."

  He blinked several times. "Then, Dr Lawrence, keep on doing what you do. And I will say nothing further about this. To anyone."

  "I appreciate your discretion."

  "And we appreciate your hard work." Kimoto lowered his voice. "But perhaps it would be wise to appear a little less brilliant so that you don't arouse anyone else's suspicions."

  "I'll keep that in mind." She stood and turned to leave.

  "Before you go, your mail arrived." He handed her two medical journals wrapped in clear plastic and a copy of the Financial Times. "Do I need to know why you pay a small fortune to get the FT delivered every day?"

  She grinned. "I like to keep abreast of current affairs back home. Let's just say that no one knows to look for me, but that doesn't mean I don't intend to watch them."

  SIXTEEN

  KATE EASED BACK IN HER chair, staring at the finished copy of her report spread out across the dining room table. Her eyes stung from a lack of sleep and too much coffee. In the day and a half since meeting with Armstrong, she had called in favours, accessed internet databases that were not readily accessible, and reviewed hundreds upon hundreds of pages of information. From all of this she had begun to draw a picture as startling as it was alarming. Now, she just needed approval to publish.

  A bell in the hall clanged loudly. Kate padded down the corridor and pulled open the front door. Geraldine stood there holding two bottles of red wine, her expression weary.

  "I've come to see if you've really been working or just painting your nails and watching soap operas."

  "If only." Kate frowned. "You brought two bottles?"

  Geraldine pushed past her. "I wasn't sure how tedious this was going to get. Maybe two won't be enough."

  Kate closed the door and grabbed one of the bottles. "Your enthusiasm is so motivational."

  "It's been a difficult week." She sniffed the air. "Did you order food? Or is there a chef next door?"

  "Thai. It's in the kitchen."

  "Then why are we standing here?"

  Five minutes later they had assaulted the various dishes and Geraldine was on her second glass of wine. Kate sipped hers slowly and tapped the folder in the middle of the table. "When you're ready, boss."

  Geraldine folded a crispy duck pancake together. She made a gesture for Kate to carry on.

  "It's finished. Just needs your a
pproval." Kate put down her glass. "But it turns out the real story's not CERUS's financial troubles."

  Geraldine let out a sigh. "Oh great. Another disgruntled employee trying to push an exposé on Bern's personal life. Nobody cares, Kate."

  "If it was that, I would have told you over the phone. Look, Richard Armstrong has been there from the start. He knows things. CERUS is in financial trouble, but the real story is what they're going to do to avoid it." Kate leaned closer. "Armstrong said they're looking to old research: projects that were shut down."

  "The story people will want to read," Geraldine said, "is a thirty billion company failing."

  "Not when they hear why the old research was shut down. People died."

  "How? When?"

  "He hasn't told me yet," Kate said. "I don't think it was recent."

  "You don't think?" Geraldine slapped the folder. "What the hell is this if you don't know?"

  "I've searched through every story relating to CERUS: everything from the last twenty-eight years." She paused. "And I found nothing."

  "So Armstrong is lying." Geraldine took a long drink of wine. "Wonderful."

  "I don't think so. The one thing I did find was a lot of rumours about their earlier work involving bio modification and bio compatibility: about synthesising materials that work harmoniously with the human body."

  "Like a hip replacement? Crazy and boring."

  "That's one example. Or a pacemaker. The important thing is that Armstrong's a career scientist, not a lawyer or a marketer. He could know about something that was hushed up. And there is one relevant death on record: one of the scientists on a nanotech project. Dr Dominique Lentz. Given her areas of expertise I think she might have worked with Armstrong."

  "Kate, those are some interesting bits and pieces, but it isn't a story. You haven't give me a single hard fact about any of these things being connected. Sure, people in suits going to prison always sells." Geraldine shrugged. "But this is still all conjecture."