by D C Vaughn
‘Since 2012, Neuray has been involved in work for the Ministry of Defence concerning a mixture of battlefield medical advances and neural networking technology.’
‘Neural networking?’ Rebecca asked, feigning a level of ignorance. ‘What’s that?’
Ashton thought for a moment, apparently ordering in his mind a simple explanation of what the programs involved.
‘In essence, an Internet for human minds,’ he said. ‘Neuray is at the forefront of efforts to enable people to communicate in a way that would be considered virtually telepathic, using low–frequency microchips and secure networks connected to satellite and mobile phone technology. Both the hardware and software utilised in these programs come from our earlier work involving bypassing spinal injuries to allow the disabled to walk again.’
‘An Internet for the brain?’ Rebecca said. ‘Sounds creepy.’
‘Not really,’ Ashton replied. ‘You’re aware perhaps of advances in the field of what is now know as trans–humanism?’ When Rebecca frowned and shook her head, Ashton opened his big hands before her in supplication. ‘Humanity has advanced over the past few centuries at a trimetric rate largely because we’re not enslaved to the ponderous path of natural evolution. Imagination, intelligence and technological endeavour have resulted in us becoming somewhat immune to evolution in the classical sense, as we simply adapt our environment to suit ourselves, rather than be beholden to it. Many believe that the next natural step is for humankind and our machines to meld, to become one, and that this process is already underway; medical implants, prosthetics, hearing aids and so on. But more than those, there are thousands of people all over the world already implanting themselves with microchips of one kind or another, to monitor vital signs and such like. Others merely do it for decoration. Look at African tribes, inserting bones beneath the skin or through their noses. Willful human alteration is as much a part of our past as it is our future.’
‘There’s a big leap from bone earings to brain Internets.’
‘Indeed,’ Ashton smiled, ‘but the purpose remains the same. Neuray signed a contract with the MOD to militarise the technology we’d been working on, to find ways in which it could be used to tactical advantage for British Special Forces units working behind enemy lines. Silent, instant communication, that sort of thing. Unfortunately, our work attracted unwanted attention from third parties.’
‘Whom?’ Rebecca asked.
‘Our friends in Russia,’ Ashton replied, his voice lowering even more. ‘Neuray has been under surveillance for some time, and we know that they have been watching our employees too.’
Rebecca felt her guts turn to slime within her. ‘You knew?’
Ashton held his hands up to forestall her.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘But you must understand the stakes, as well as how hard it is for me to tell you about this.’ He sighed, his shoulders slumping. ‘We knew, yes, but we informed everyone; MOD, police, MI5, MI6, everyone. They said that they had it in hand. They were watching the watchers, so to speak. Then, well, you know what happened in Salisbury, just up the road from here…’
Rebecca nodded. It had become international news, the deliberate attempt by Kremlin–sponsored Russian assassins to kill former Russian citizens living in the UK, using a lethal poison known as Novichok. The poison itself was known to be the work of Russian scientists, and CCTV evidence had tracked two Russian intelligence agents travelling into the UK for the attempted murders, and then out the same day back to Russia. An innocent civilian who came into contact with the poison at a later date died as a result.
‘We didn’t know until then just how far the Russians would go to achieve their aims,’ Ashton said. ‘The country is not yet strong enough to challenge the west, but they’re aiming to undermine us from within. Russia is meddling with the democratic campaigns of Prime Ministers and Presidents in multiple countries, promoting nationalism and paranoia using social media and cyber–crime to destabilise our financial institutions, in the hopes that our democracies will crumble and we will become weak enough for them to…’
‘For them to what?’ Rebecca asked.
‘For them to conquer us,’ Ashton said finally. ‘Sooner or later, it’s the end–game of the Kremlin to regain its power by force, but only when victory is all but guaranteed. Europe will be its first target, almost certainly with the backing of China to block any counter–offensive from America through Sibera.’
Rebecca felt somewhat numb, the room cold around her from not just the bitter wind but from Ashton’s explosive claim.
‘You really think that could happen?’ she asked.
‘Well, as yourself this, what else would they have in mind?’ Ashton challenged her. ‘State–sponsored acts of assassination are not performed to exact revenge on wayward former patriots, but to send a message to anybody else thinking of betraying the motherland. Disrupting democracy, by any means, is an effective way of dismantling our civilisation, weakening it at its foundations and promoting nationalism, fear and uncertainty. If people can be convinced, through careful manipulation and the bigotry of greedy leaders, that our institutions are defunct and corrupt, they will enact rebellion: the army will not march, the air force will not fly, the navy will not sail. That, Rebecca, is when a militarily weaker enemy can strike.’
Rebecca’s childhood memories of the fear of a global nuclear–exchange had faded in the wake of Glasnost, the time of Thatcher and Reagan and Gorbachev, when the Berlin wall had come down. Now she wondered whether Ashton was right, or whether the paranoia he spoke of was careening the west into confrontation with the east once again.
‘What does all of that have to do with Sam?’
‘Sam knew as much about all of this as I did,’ Ashton explained. ‘His goal in his work was to complete the production of a viable, Internet–speed means of neural communication between troops and any machines that they controlled. A unified fighting force, mechanical and biological, acting in absolute and instantaneous harmony to overwhelm any enemy. If the Russians, as I suspect, knew of this and the advances we had made at Neuray, they would have sought any means of bringing that work to a halt. Samuel, I’m afraid to say, would have been an ideal target.’
Rebecca thought about the attack on the river, the fact that Sam had vanished and that they had pulled an unknown man from the water, and suddenly she knew what she was looking at.
‘Assassin,’ she whispered, barely able to believe it herself. ‘That’s why they can’t identify him, why he had no papers. He’s not English, he’s Russian.’
Ashton peered at her. ‘The man from the river?’
Rebecca closed her eyes, ordered her thoughts. Ashton was saying nothing about the technology that Colin had showed her, but then he might genuinely not be able to. Such a surveillance tool might be just the thing needed by the west to counter the Russian’s supposed machinations around the world. If they were behind it and could be monitored in real–time, then the threat could be countered.
‘Ashton, you must let the police know about your suspicions. I can’t say a thing right now without risking that evidence becoming inadmissable in court. You don’t have to tell them everything that you’ve told me, only enough to point them in the right direction.’
Ashton bit his lip. ‘To do so could place in jeopardy our entire research and development program.’
‘To not do it could place more of your staff’s lives at risk,’ Rebecca shot back, but then reigned herself in. ‘I know it’s a big ask, but if you’re right then there’s a country–wide assassination program being enacted by Russia. Are you really sure that saying nothing is the right thing to do? At what point does being the good guys become indistinguishable from being the bad guys?’
Ashton sighed softly, nodding as he glanced at his own hands.
‘You know, of course, that Daryl and the board control Neuray now. If they’re up to something behind the scenes then it’s unlikely that I’ll have any control over it. They could literal
ly throw me out of the building and there’s nothing that I could do about it.’
‘Then stand up to them,’ Rebecca urged, ‘show the shareholders and the board that you’re not to be pushed around.’
‘If the media gets hold of this, it’s going to cause a storm of controversy around the company. I don’t know if we’ll survive it. That’s what the board’s afraid of, what the shareholders would blame me for.’
Rebecca reached out and squeezed Ashton’s hand.
‘If you don’t speak out, I might not survive this. Sam’s gone, Ashton. Who’s going to be next?’
Ashton opened his mouth to reply, when the door to the office opened and Daryl Carter stormed in.
‘What on earth is she doing here?’ Daryl’s gaze was filled with righteous outrage as he pointed one arm like a shotgun at Rebecca.
Daryl Carter was a compact man in his early forties, his accent broad American, his skin tanned, his short brown hair receding. He wore thin rimmed spectacles and an expression that told Rebecca that this was a man who had spent his lifetime at the top of corporations and was not somebody who felt that he had to answer to anybody.
‘I’m helping the police with their enquiries,’ Ashton replied as he stood, frowning.
‘She’s not the police!’ Daryl snapped at Ashton, ignoring her. ‘She’s a suspect in their investigation and she’s been relieved of duty!’
Rebecca stood, primed to flee. For one terrible moment she thought that Daryl would call the police right there and then, but instead he shot her a furious look.
‘Get the hell out of here and don’t come back. Your presence here is bad enough, but with all the trouble you’re causing I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re under arrest by the morning!’
‘That’s enough Daryl!’ Ashton snapped, thumping one fist on his desk. ‘Rebecca is here of her own accord, and as long as I have an office then she has every right to be here.’
Daryl shot Ashton a dirty look. ‘The only reason you have an office here is because I allowed you one. I can change that in an instant.’
Ashton fumed in silence as though preparing a suitable reposte, but Rebecca waved him down before she caused him any more trouble.
‘It’s okay, I’m leaving,’ she said.
***
XXIII
‘Are you kidding me?’
DCI Stone stood in the MIR as Kieran handed him a printed sheet that had been sent to them by none other than MI5.
‘The founder of Neuray Solutions, the company that Sam Lincoln worked for, contacted MI5 an hour ago with information pertaining to the case. Turns out he believes that whoever attacked Sam was in fact either working with the Russians or is Russian themselves. Given what happened in Salisbury, it puts a whole new light on the case, don’t you think?’
Stone stared at the paperwork as he concocted a response to Kieran, who was standing across a desk from him with his arms folded and an expectant look on his features.
‘This doesn’t remove Kyle from the suspect list,’ Stone warned.
‘She shouldn’t ever have been on the list,’ Kieran insisted. ‘She was right. You’re looking everywhere except where you should be.’
‘And Kyle’s everywhere except where she should be, which is right here!’ Stone shot back. ‘People don’t go on the run without a damned good reason, Kieran.’
‘What, you mean like threat to life?’
Stone fought for a response but there was none forthcoming. Kieran didn’t hesitate to jump in on the DCI’s hesitation.
‘Rebecca’s fiance is likely dead somewhere in the River Exe because of Russian intervention in whatever the hell he was working on at Neuray, and here you are chasing the life out of Rebecca. I mean, what do you think this is shaping up to be? Star detective turns murderess for no apparent reason, or Russian assassins strike on UK soil? I’d go for the former if it wasn’t for what’s been happening in this country and others over the past few years.’
Stone grit his teeth but said nothing as he looked down at the statement.
Ashton Kershaw, a prominent surgeon and computer programmer, had founded Neuray in 1991 just as the UK was coming out of the First Gulf War. Kershaw had spied himself a means to profit from the increasingly technologically advanced battlefield, both in the creation of novel surgical treatments and the use of neurosurgery in combination with technology. According to the brief, Neuray was a leading company in biosurgery and enhancement, and had recently been signed up to some kind of hefty military contract, most of which was off–limits to any kind of investigation.
‘National security trumps all,’ he murmured, his spat with Kieran momentarily forgotten.
‘That’s what I’m getting at,’ Kieran pressed. ‘What if Rebecca’s got herself tied up in it while investigating Sam’s shooting? She may not have any control over any of it but could now be used as a scapegoat, a patsy. The MOD could let her take the blame, and take the heat off whoever is behind all of this.’
Stone peered at Kieran. ‘This is Exeter, not a Bond movie.’
‘The MOD isn’t a fiction of our imagination either,’ Kieran replied firmly. ‘We’ve got military training grounds all around here, out on the ranges on Dartmoor, airbases, you name it. That means there might be Russians watching that same stuff. Maybe there’s something to what this Kershaw guy is saying?’
Stone glanced down again at the image of the Neuray founder. The contact with MI5 remained out of the public eye for now but it wouldn’t take long for someone to spill the beans. Like all security services, MI5 leaked like a sieve for people who knew where to look and was only as secure as its most insecure member of staff. Neuray would be all over the news within weeks, perhaps days, if there was deemed to be a certain level of public interest. Given what had happened in Salisbury recently, the Attorney General was unlikely to prevent that from happening.
‘We need to turn this to our advantage,’ Stone said. ‘Do we have anything on the unknown victim yet?’
Hannah had joined them in the room and had watched the entire exchange. She shook her head.
‘Still a blank page.’
‘Okay,’ Stone said. ‘Let’s get ourselves ahead of this. I want a public request for information on the unknown male. Let’s see if anyone out there recognises this guy and gives us a lead we can follow. What about the other one, Greaves?’
‘Mintram,’ Kieran corrected him. ‘Former soldier, Rifles, hit a hard time after leaving the Army, discharged on medical grounds.’
‘Right, of course. Nothing on the DNA or fingerprint database?’ Stone asked, surprised – most homeless people were known to the police in one way or another, although not often for violent crime.
‘Nothing,’ Hannah confirmed with more than a little army pride. ‘Mintram was clean as a whistle. He might have lost his home, but he didn’t lose his morals.’
Stone glanced at a picture of Rebecca Kyle that had been hastily stuck to a notice board in the MIR.
‘What about the man she was with, in the silver car?’
‘ANPR data didn’t ping anything so they didn’t take any major highways,’ Hannah said. ‘Chances are, they’re still in the area. There’s an APB out, but one small silver car out of thousands isn’t going to be easy for uniforms to spot.’
Stone did not want to go public with the search for Rebecca Kyle, simply because to do so would forever taint her with the investigation. Already the media had smelled blood with the police teams making their way into her apartment block; they knew where the police were searching, but not which apartment. Rebecca could be innocent, and he was reluctant to go after her in such a way when the evidence connecting her to the crimes was entirely circumstancial. Yes, there was a lot of it, but not enough for Stone to wreck her life when it was possible that Kieran was right and this was some kind of Russian–sponsored attack on a defence contractors’ employees.
The sun was low over the horizon outside, streetlights coming on. Another night with no progress wa
sn’t going to be easy to sell to the Assistant Comissioner.
‘Hannah, CCTV, see if you can track the silver car’s movements from when it left the vicinity of Kyle’s home. The main road isn’t far and they must have left the area one way or the other.’
‘On it.’
Stone glanced again at the image of Kyle. If she was guilty of the murder of her fiance and perhaps Mintram, then he knew that he was running out of time to track her down. The longer this ran, the greater the chance the media would figure out what was happening and then all hell would break loose.
*
Rebecca Kyle knew that she had to stay off the main roads.
The thing about Exeter was that it was a warren of backroads, passages, lanes and even tunnels. The settlement dated back to the Roman era, its City Walls built to surround the centre and the Gothic Exeter Cathedral, a towering monument to medieval architecture.
Rebecca directed Colin from the passenger seat of his car, and the route she chose used roads that lacked the ANPR cameras that could track his vehicle. She knew that using the M5 or the A30 would give Stone the chance to follow her movements.
Colin had spent much of the short journey informing her that she could not afford to be picked up by the police.
‘They’ll take it and they’ll hide it away,’ he had warned. ‘Once it’s gone, it’ll be like it never existed. The MOD won’t care about the investigation, and they’ll cheerfully let you rot in a cell for a double murder sooner than reveal the technology they now possess.’
‘I spoke to Ashton Kershaw,’ she replied.
Colin almost crashed the car as he stared at her, and another vehicle coming the other way blared its horn at them as they flashed past in the growing darkness.
‘You did what?’
‘There was no other way to get into Neuray,’ she said. ‘I had to know if Ashton might know anything about why Sam was attacked. He didn’t reveal anything about the surveillance program, but he did tell me that he was certain that Russia was involved somehow.’
