by Tony Batton
Tom looked at the firearm. It was a revolver. No electronics. Nothing he could interface with. He had no weapon of his own. But perhaps he didn't need one. He looked at the car next to him. Even cars ten years old had some electronics. Most in this street were much newer than that. And many had alarms.
He reached out and connected, setting one off. The shrill sound bounced around them.
The man with the gun looked about, then back at them. "Your wallets. Quickly!"
Tom closed his eyes and reached out again.
Almost every car in the street erupted in shrill protest. The four men looked around them in confusion. Tom and Mandy sprinted round the corner, back onto the main street.
"What just happened?" shouted Mandy, gasping for breath. "Why did all those alarms go off?"
"Maybe one went, and triggered the next, like dominos."
She didn't look convinced, but from behind them came the shouts of the men, clearly not bothered about following them into a busier area.
"We can't outrun them," Tom said. "Not at this altitude." He swept his eyes left and right, and settled on a relatively modern 4x4, a Subaru Legacy. "We'll borrow this car." He ran over to it.
"You mean steal it?"
"Needs must. And we'll give it back when we're done." He queried the car's control system and popped the locks. "Look! It's open."
She stared at him.
"Get in." He scrambled into the driver's seat and made a show of scrabbling around for a key.
"Know how to hot wire a car, do you?" she asked, climbing into the passenger seat. "Because we've got about twenty seconds before they catch us."
Tom closed his eyes, muttering. The car's ignition system was encrypted.
"Now would be good," Mandy said, her voice rising.
Tom could feel the car's central computer. He opened his mind to it. He told it what he needed. And it broke open. The engine roared into life. Tom's eyes shot open and he forced the car into drive, jamming his foot onto the accelerator. With a scrabble of dirt and stones, they pulled away into the traffic.
Mandy sat, her head in her hands, panting. Tom looked in the mirror. There was no sign of the men. He steered the car smoothly onto the main road to Cuzco. Six hours' drive and they'd be back in civilisation.
Nineteen
YURI WAS NOT HAPPY. HE bounced uncomfortably in the Range Rover as it made its way down the unmade road, the suspension managing to transmit the large majority of its bumps and potholes. He glanced at the satellite-navigation system; at least they were nearly there. The man they sought lived alone at the end of this road, on a small farm, miles from anywhere and anyone. If their information was correct, he could connect them to someone of tremendous importance.
There was one positive to coming out to England again: he had finally been able to get away from Andrei. It was madness that his little cousin now headed the family, inheriting the role without any thought as to whether it was right. He was young and impetuous, with little experience or training. And the two of them had never got along. Now Yuri was being blamed for a lack of progress in the London investigation. And blame was not something you lived with for long in their family's organisation. He had at least managed to get two of his own people out here with him: men who had been with him for years. The car pulled up on a gravel area near a small stone cottage. Behind, the ground dropped away steeply to the Atlantic Ocean. Yuri and the bodyguards stepped out, all wearing dark suits and black overcoats. A man, probably in his fifties, looked up from where he was kneeling, trimming a low hedge. "Can I help you?" He spoke with a clear, educated accent He was slim in build, but physically unremarkable.
"I hope so," Yuri said. "We're looking for a Mr. Porter." Behind him the two bodyguards looked around, making sure the area was secure.
The man put down his clippers and stood up. He was probably less than five foot six. "I'm Porter. Now what do you and," he pointed at the bodyguards, "your two rather serious-looking friends want?"
"We were told you could connect us with Sharp."
Porter blinked. He wiped his hands on a rag, staining it green. "And what exactly do you want this Sharp to do?"
"Deal with some friends of ours."
Porter tipped his head. "I'd hazard a guess that they are no longer your friends. I'm not sure who you are, but you are clearly mistaken as to who I am." He looked at the bodyguards again. "You come here, with two thugs, probably armed, to intimidate an old man. Perhaps I should call the police."
Yuri nodded. "I imagine they would be here within the hour." He raised an eyebrow. "Do you think that would be fast enough?"
Porter folded his arms. "Are you threatening me? Given who you suggest I work with, do you think that is wise?"
"I respect your caution, but I need you to take me seriously." He stood up straight, adjusting his jacket. "My name is Yuri. I'm here on behalf of my cousin, Andrei Leskov."
Porter's eyes narrowed. "I heard about his father. A most unfortunate business." He unfolded his arms. "Although knowing a name hardly verifies your approach."
Yuri pulled a phone from his pocket, pressed a speed dial button, and handed it to Porter. "My cousin."
Porter frowned and held the phone to his ear. "Mr Leskov?" He listened intently then looked at Yuri. "He says you have a list, and an item of equipment, for me."
Yuri removed a document from his pocket and held it out. Porter took it from him. Then Yuri snapped his fingers at one of his men, who produced a small hard case, marked with warning symbols, and set it on the floor.
Porter blinked and flipped open the case, examining the contents, then he read the list. "I see," he said into the phone. "Your terms are acceptable. You are certain about the last part?" Another pause. "I'll be sure to tell him." He clicked the phone off and threw it back.
Yuri caught it. "So how long will it take you to contact Sharp?"
"I'll take care of that right now." He reached behind him and pulled an item from his belt. Something about the movement looked too practised, too fluid, for a man of his age. Then Yuri saw what was in his hand.
An automatic pistol.
With unhurried precision Porter fired a single shot into the forehead of each bodyguard, before either of them had managed to unholster their own weapons. They collapsed as the gunshots echoed across the landscape.
Yuri gasped and took a step back. He was not armed. Why would he need to be, when his bodyguards were always with him? And then the realisation hit him. "You are Sharp," he said, trembling.
The assassin checked the gun, then aimed at Yuri's chest.
"You're signing your own death warrant, double-crossing my cousin."
Sharp looked surprised. "I don't double-cross my clients."
Yuri swore. "Andrei told you to do this? But why?"
"He told me that you would say you don't understand. And that I should tell you that you should."
"He thinks I'm plotting to oust him?"
"It doesn't matter what he thinks. It only matters what he tells me."
The pistol fired a third time.
Twenty
NIGHT HAD FALLEN FAST AND hard in the high mountains as Tom drove, the windows up and the climate control on full blast. He took things slowly because the road was unsealed and littered with potholes, plus it was dark here in a way that it was never dark in London. They had passed a handful of other vehicles, but none in the last hour. It was still another three or four hours to Cuzco.
While they were leaving the town, Mandy had made a quick call on her mobile phone and told her group that she was OK, that she had hitched a ride back to Cuzco, and that she would see them back at the hotel there. "How do you know where you're going?" Mandy asked, curled up on the front seat, her arms wrapped around her knees. "I'd be completely lost."
"There aren't too many choices," Tom replied. "Plus there have been a few road signs." He didn't mention that he still had a map in his head or, of course, that he was making the occasional GPS trace.
"
Thanks for what you did back in the village. Saving me and everything."
"I think we just got very lucky."
"I suppose. Where did you learn to hot-wire a car?"
Tom glanced in her direction. "Misspent youth."
"I'm grateful you were with me."
Tom gave a smile, then re-focused on the road ahead. A light appeared, then another: headlights. Something was parked in the middle of the road. He slowed the car.
"What's the matter?" Mandy asked.
"Up ahead." He pointed.
"Perhaps it's just broken down?"
He couldn't say: not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't define it. There was just something wrong. "Maybe, but I don't think we should stop." He pulled wide to the left as they reached the other vehicle – it appeared to be empty. Suddenly, there was a sharp jolt under the car, followed immediately by four tight bangs, like the tyres had hit something: the scream of air told him it was something sharp. They ground to a juddering halt.
Tom spoke low and clear, his eyes flicking around. "We have to move."
"What? Move where?"
"This way. Keep low and—"
"Stay where you are," said a voice from outside, muffled by the vehicle's windows. The accent was not local.
Tom hissed. "I'm sorry, Mandy. I think this is my fault. Just do what they say. It's me they want."
"Yes, it is," said the same voice. "Please step out of the car, Mr Faraday."
Tom barely had time to realise his fears had been confirmed – that he'd been right all along and someone did know where he was – when he felt a sharp sting in his neck. He turned to Mandy, trying to tell her that everything would be OK. She didn't look afraid. That was good, he thought.
Then darkness took him.
Twenty-One
LENTZ DROVE HER CITROEN 2CV into London slowly, partly because she was thinking, partly because the tiny engine wouldn't go much faster, but mostly because of the sheer volume of traffic, even at 10pm. She had received an obtuse message from Felicia Hallstein, her Head of Technology Development: you need to come back here tonight. Dr Hallstein was not one prone to dramatics. In her nine months at CERUS, she had proved to be a steady, effective, pair of hands: someone who could be relied on to do exactly what was asked - something that was, in a scientist, not always the case. Lentz was still trying to process the news of Bern's release, and she wondered if this summons was related. Eventually she drove into the underground car park at CERUS Tower and pulled into her personal space, frowning as she noticed the digital plaque flickering and alternating her name with that of William Bern, CEO. Technicians had been fiddling with it for days but had been unable to identify the fault. It was almost like Bern was taunting her. She stepped out of the car, feeling like taking a hammer to the plaque. A familiar, bespectacled woman stood waiting.
"Evening, boss," Hallstein said. "The system told me you'd arrived."
Lentz nodded. "I just need to swing by my office, then I'm yours."
"Actually your office is where we need to go. Best if I show you why."
Five minutes later, they stood in the private apartment attached to the CEO's penthouse office, amid the detritus left by the workmen refurbishing it.
"I got a call just over an hour ago," Hallstein said. "I was the most senior employee on site. The workmen found something when they removed the wall panels. I had them replace it for effect."
Lentz stifled a yawn. "We scanned these walls."
"If we did, we didn't do it properly." Hallstein adjusted her black-framed glasses, then removed the remaining wall panel with a flourish.
Lentz blinked. Then swore. There was a small, reinforced steel door, with a keypad and a fingerprint scanner. It was a second safe. The original safe in this room, in which she had discovered crucial documents a year back, had been removed. There'd been no indication there was another.
"I said you had to come in."
"I suppose you also found a note giving the combination?"
Hallstein put her hands on her hips. "It's the same model as the first one. Maybe it has the same combination?"
"That was overridden by Tom. I don't think even he knew about this one."
"Maybe what he did affected all safes in the building? Look, we can always get a security systems expert in, but why don't you try it?"
Lentz shrugged and typed in the twelve-digit sequence. She still remembered it by heart, but then she'd always been good at remembering important numbers. There was a soft beep.
"Is that good?" Hallstein asked.
"Half-good. Now for part two." Lentz placed her thumb on the scanner. There was a second beep, then a click.
"Almost too easy."
"I agree." Lentz reached out to turn the chrome handle.
"Wait," Hallstein said, adjusting her glasses again. "What if it has some sort of anti-tamper device?"
Lentz raised an eyebrow then pulled the handle firmly. The door swung smoothly backwards and they both peered inside. There was a single slim book in the safe, and next to it three plastic capsules, each the size of a large drink can. Lentz removed the book and looked at the cover. Sharply printed typescript read PROJECT RESURFACE. She carefully opened the book and skimmed the first few pages. Slotted into the back was a high-capacity data card.
"What have we found?" Hallstein asked.
Lentz shook her head and removed one of the plastic capsules. Embossed lettering read 'SUIT'. "I think the question should be: what have we missed?"
Twenty-Two
THE WALL WAS THREE METRES high at its lowest point, clad in brick but with a core of concrete and iron. There was no way to go through it, not without an unacceptable amount of disturbance. Along its top was a continuous line of razor wire and, every fifty metres, cameras, constantly rotating.
The senior operative was not deterred. Heavily armed, like all his team, he stood under the cover of a nearby tree, checking his scanner. The cameras now neatly missed this spot: the programming would be reversed once they had departed, which, if the mission went to plan, would be in less than fifteen minutes. That left only the physical barrier to deal with. He sent a message on his encrypted link: a moment later, he received confirmation that they had a green light. He huffed a laugh; with his night vision goggles on, everything looked green. He turned to his team of five and gave a hand signal.
They sprinted at the wall, threw up micro-fibre rope ladders and, in seconds, were scaling the bricks. Suddenly three metres did not look such a barrier. A deft hop over the razor wire, a tumble-roll to break their fall, and they were on the other side.
As a group they moved amongst the bushes, past a small outbuilding and in sight of the main house. At three in the morning it was almost completely in darkness, as expected. The leader paused to run a scan. The signal was immediately detected, on the first floor, confirming its location to within a few metres.
They moved quickly and efficiently, reaching the back door in less than a minute. A female operative stepped forward with a high-powered jamming device. The house was expensive, but it only had a domestic security system. In less than thirty seconds the female operative gave a nod and pushed the door open.
They were in.
The senior operative stepped inside and signalled for his team to fan out and secure the ground floor. Low wattage night lights caused their night vision goggles to flare and distort, but there were no pets, which made things considerably simpler. The bigger risk was that someone – perhaps MI5 – had bugged the place, but nothing had shown, even on a deep scan. His five team-members quickly signalled back that all was in order. They moved upstairs.
The master bedroom was to the left. The tech operative raised her scanner and showed it to the leader, whispering, "Signal is off. It's reading as five metres to the right, which is not in the bedroom. And it's too faint."
"Fault in the scanner?"
Before she could answer, the main lights came on, briefly blinding the entire team.
"Wh
o the hell are you?" A man stood in the doorway of a room behind them, looking shocked and angry. He was not their target.
One of the operatives began to raise his weapon, but the leader shook his head.
"Abort." He turned to the man. "We'll be leaving now, Sir. No need for anybody to do anything stupid."
The man glared back. "My name is Eli Quinn, Mr Bern's estate manager, and nobody is going anywhere until I find out who the hell you are." And he planted his hand on a red button on the wall.
Then all hell broke loose.
William Bern's mansion had an elaborate panic alarm. When the red button was pressed a broad-frequency siren sounded across the estate. Lights came on everywhere and a distress flare fired into the night sky.
There was no question that people would notice something was amiss, even if they might normally leave the often reclusive billionaire to his own devices. The police delegation stationed outside did not hesitate for a moment. They forced open the front gates and, within a minute, a team of twenty armed officers were surrounding the house. They found all doors and windows locked down. It took several more minutes to override them, by which time another twenty officers had arrived.
Twenty minutes later Stephanie Reems marched into the hall, where the tactical team had been rounded up. "There had better be a bloody good explanation for this."
The six operatives stood quietly, looking somewhere between stoic and embarrassed.
"Lost your tongues?" she said, walking right up to them.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am," said the team leader. "We're not authorised to speak to you."
She swore. "I'm going to place a call to Connor Truman. If anyone here thinks I should call somebody else, then please cough."
Nobody coughed.
"That's what I thought." She turned to a police sergeant. "Nobody leaves until I say so." She looked around. "Now where is Bern?"
