The Siren Project

by Renneberg, Stephen

  THE SIREN PROJECT

  Stephen Renneberg

  Copyright

  Copyright © Stephen Renneberg 2012

  ISBN: 978-0-9874347-0-8

  All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal use only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy from a licensed eBook distributor. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Cover design by Damonza

  Author's Web Page

  http://www.stephenrenneberg.com/

  ALSO BY STEPHEN RENNEBERG

  The Kremlin Phoenix

  The Mothership

  Dedication

  To my wife Elenor,

  for her enduring love and support.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Author's Web Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 1

  “Twenty minutes until security do their next check,” John Mitchell said as he glanced at his watch in the cramped confines of the van. It was two AM and the Silicon Valley technology estate was locked down for the night. “Ready?”

  Gunter, the blonde heavy set German beside him, lowered his directional mike as he finished his sonic sweep of the building across the street. “Sounds clear.”

  Mitch nodded to the wiry younger man with a sallow complexion at the back of the van. “Go.”

  Mouse gathered up his customized laptop and climbed out, followed by Mitch, who took a moment to confirm the street was deserted before heading towards the research facility.

  Gunter locked himself inside the van, then switched to a radio headset and turned to watch Mouse's second computer monitoring the building's external communications. None of them liked tackling a target when they didn't control security remotely, but this building had resisted their attempts to penetrate its defenses. Gunter watched uncomfortably as the security system sent status updates to an external company every thirty seconds. If the system stopped talking without the proper key, it would trigger a silent alarm that would automatically lock down the building and summon a swarm of guards.

  Gunter thumbed his mike. “Tracking comms. The system is armed.”

  “Understood,” Mitch radioed back as he and Mouse hurried into the shadows of the loading dock. They worked their way toward a poorly placed security camera, carefully avoiding its field of view, then edged through the camera's blind spot to a side door adjacent to the warehouse's loading dock.

  “We're in position,” Mitch radioed.

  Gunter waited until the building's security system sent its regular update, then replied. “Now.”

  Mouse slipped a metal filament into the lock, tweaked the tumblers, then with Mitch tracking the time, eased the door open and stepped into the warehouse manager’s office. They knew the security system would not activate for thirty seconds, giving an authorized person time to enter the access code. If they couldn't get the system disarmed in that time, it would trigger a lockdown, but by a quirk Mouse had discovered in the program code, the alarm activation and half minute updates were on different timers. It meant they'd have about twenty five additional seconds to get out after the silent alarm went off before the external security firm got the alert, then another two minutes before guards arrived.

  Mouse pried off the internal keypad's cover and crocodile clipped his notebook directly to its communications circuit. Holding the notebook in one hand, he launched a program that emulated the security system's own self diagnostics and camouflaged a second nastier program hiding within the first.

  “Searching,” Mouse said at last.

  “Sixteen seconds,” Mitch reported, reading out elapsed time from the stopwatch on his wrist.

  Numbers flashed across Mouse's computer screen making seconds seem like minutes, then suddenly a string of numbers appeared and a green light illuminated on the alarm keypad.

  “Told you I could do it!” Mouse said.

  Mitch glanced at his watch. “Yeah, with three seconds left!”

  “You're never satisfied,” Mouse said shaking his head with mock disappointment.

  He unclipped his computer from the keypad, then removed the network cable from the warehouse manager's desktop computer and waited, ready to run if necessary. Across the room, Mitch held the door ajar, preventing them from being locked in should the deception be discovered.

  The seconds ticked down until the security system sent its update, then Gunter's voice sounded in their ears, “Perimeter system disarmed.”

  Mitch relaxed, releasing the door as Mouse plugged the ethernet cable into his laptop. Hacking the company that had installed the building's computer network had been a simple matter, stealing the backdoor access key even simpler. Soon one of Mouse's more elegant creations was attacking the internal security system from inside its own defenses, a much easier task than trying to break down the front door.

  “Got it! Internal cameras, internal door locks, thermal and motion detectors and under floor pressure sensors. Nice.” He gave Mitch a confident look. “What I don’t have, we don’t need.”

  “What about surveillance?”

  “They’ve got five video screens on automatic rotation from camera to camera. I control the sequence. They’ll only see what I give them.”

  “So, we're good to go?”

  “Is Spock a Vulcan?” Mouse replied, holding up three fingers, then counting down. “Three, two, one, mark.”

  Mitch set his stopwatch as Mouse launched the override program. They left the laptop on the desk, then hurried out to the loading dock, where they waited until the stopwatch had counted twenty seconds.

  “Now!” Mitch whispered as the loading dock’s camera was temporarily locked out of the surveillance center’s display sequence.

  They ran across to a set of heavy double doors, arriving just as the override program remotely unlocked them.

  “What’d I tell you?” Mouse demanded with a triumphant grin.

  “Congratulate yourself when we’re out of here,” Mitch said as he opened the door and slipped inside.

  He watched the stopwatch click around to forty seconds then exactly on schedule, they walked the next leg past another blind camera. At the stairs, they paused, then on cue climbed two flights quickly, Mitch bounding easily ahead while Mouse struggled to catch up. At the landing, the door there unlocked just as Mitch arrived. He pushed the door open and waited for Mouse.

  “You got to work out more,” Mitch said as Mouse arrived.

  Mouse made a sour face. “You know exercise and me don’t m
ix!”

  They hurried down a hall, with widely spaced white doors either side of an antiseptically clean polished floor. As they arrived at the third door on the left, the electronic lock clicked open, letting them slip inside. A few seconds later the hall’s security camera came back online, merging back into the endless loop of images flashing on the security screens below.

  The microprocessor lab was laid out in several rows of graphics workstations, connected to a super computer at one end of the room. The super computer, one of the world’s most powerful, was shielded in a temperature controlled environment behind a wall of glass.

  “Five minutes,” Mitch whispered, then into the radio, “G, how’s it look?”

  Gunter’s voice came through clearly, “All quiet out here, Mitch.”

  Mouse seated himself at the first terminal with the look of an art lover admiring a Da Vinci. “Do you know how much one of these babies cost?”

  “Do you know how many years in the Pen we get, if we’re caught?”

  “No. Want me to find out? I can hack into the FBI central computer in no time flat with this baby.”

  “Just get the stuff.”

  Mouse looked disappointed, then produced a folded piece of paper with handwritten words and numbers on it. “This password better be the real deal, or we’ve gone to a lot of trouble for nothing.”

  “And our client is out a million bucks,” Mitch said, as Mouse entered the password. “I don’t give refunds.”

  The wide screen in front of Mouse flashed to a multilayered three dimensional diagram. He peered at it, amused and relieved. “Thank you, mama!” Mouse slid the first disk into the drive. “Engage warp drive,” he muttered as data started being copied.

  Mitch kept his eye on the stopwatch as Mouse fed in two more disks. When he retrieved the last disk, they hurried back out to the fire stairs and waited for the last ten seconds to countdown. Mitch placed his hand expectantly on the stairway door, as the stopwatch’s second hand ticked up to the twelve, then passed it, with no sound of the lock unbolting. He tried the door uncertainly.

  “Am I missing something here?”

  Mouse glanced at the stopwatch and swallowed. “Uh-ho.”

  “What do you mean, uh-ho?” Mitch tried pushing the door but it wouldn’t budge. He held his right hand to his ear piece. “G, you reading me?”

  Silence.

  “Gunter? Acknowledge.” Mitch hardly gave him time to respond, he already knew he was gone. He smashed the door with his shoulder, but it held firm. “Any chance your computer program is late?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Guess we’ll have to do this the old fashioned way.” Mitch produced his gun, complete with silencer, and fired three shots into the lock. He slammed the door with his shoulder again, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “We’re screwed.”

  “Totally.” Mitch agreed, then he tested several other doors. All were locked, even the lab they had just left. From the far end, the sound of a door unlocking broke the silence. “Here it comes.”

  The door burst open and ten black clad security men ran into the hall, each holding a light weight automatic weapon at eye height for precision aiming.

  Mouse raised his hands, “I surrender, don’t shoot. I give up!”

  “Mitchell, put the gun down! Now!” The lead security man yelled.

  Oh crap, he knows my name! Mitch knew what that meant. He made a show of placing his weapon on the floor and raising his hands in the air.

  The security men surrounded them, then the leader ordered, “On your knees! Hands on your heads! Face the wall!”

  Mouse fell to his knees instantly. Mitch obeyed more slowly, nodding with bored acceptance. One of the security men snatched the disks from Mouse’s raised hand.

  “How did they know?” Mouse whispered.

  “Say nothing!”

  Before Mouse could reply, one of the security men crashed the butt of his gun into the back of Mouse’s head. He slumped to the floor, out cold. Mitch looked down surprised. He started to complain, but another guard slammed the butt of his weapon into Mitch’s head, knocking him unconscious.

  * * * *

  Mitch came to in total darkness, handcuffed, a black canvas hood over his head. He lay on the cold metal floor of a vehicle which vibrated as it sped along. Feigning unconsciousness, he listened to the traffic sounds outside, and the occasional movement of a man shifting his position close by.

  A guard?

  When the vehicle cornered, he let himself roll naturally through the turns, finding there were motionless bodies either side of him. He thought he heard muffled breathing coming from both of them.

  At least they’re not dead.

  A sharp sound of metal scraping metal broke the silence, the clatter of a guard moving his assault rifle, followed by a sigh as the guard stretched.

  No conversation? He thought curiously. Not giving anything away.

  Beside him, the large form moved, followed by a groan. Gunter coming to. Mitch felt Gunter tense, as he realized they were prisoners, then relax again as he registered what was happening with hearing alone.

  The guards must have seen Gunter come to. Still no talking, Mitch thought with a sinking feeling.

  Gradually, the sounds of traffic died away, and the cornering ceased as the vehicle moved onto a long straight road. Occasionally, he heard the hum of a vehicle passing them at high speed.

  A highway?

  In all that time, not a single word was uttered by any of the guards, and not a sound came from Mouse, signaling he'd woken.

  Maybe he came to first, and is listening?

  They drove for a long time on the highway, then eventually, the vehicle lurched off onto a side road. Mitch heard the crunching of tires on gravel for several minutes before they stopped. A metal door slid open, men scrambled out, rocking the vehicle as their weight left, then Gunter’s large body was dragged out. There was no sound of Gunter hitting the ground, so Mitch guessed he was walking, not feigning unconsciousness. Strong hands then pulled him roughly from the vehicle. He slipped and hit the ground hard, landing on a gravely surface, before being dragged to his feet, and forced to walk on stiff and clumsy legs. They were hustled into a building, down a flight of stairs, and while they heard doors open and close, not a single word was uttered by their captors.

  Very disciplined. These people know security.

  He was thrown onto a cold concrete floor where he was kicked in the stomach by a guard, knocking the wind from his lungs. Mitch coughed as another guard pushed him onto his chest and unlocked the handcuffs. A few moments later, the door clanged shut and footsteps echoed away. He felt for the knot securing the canvas hood, spent a few minutes working it loose, then tore the hood off gasping, thankful for clean air. He found himself in a small bare cell, no furniture, no windows, just a wide glass mirror on one wall. A single bare light bulb hung from the ceiling by a black wire.

  Observation room, barren, designed to break my spirit. And a one way mirror!

  Slowly, Mitch sat up, taking in his surroundings with a practiced eye, recognizing the psychological trick of the place. Even the bulb hanging from the roof was part of the design.

  Anyone that can afford a specialized interrogation facility, can afford decent light fittings.

  Mitch stood up and stretched, then strolled over to the mirror and tapped the glass. He motioned for them to come in and talk.

  “I don’t talk in my sleep, and I’m not afraid of confined spaces,” he said, expecting the room to be bugged, “So cut the crap. If you want to make a deal, bring a chair. I’m not sitting on the floor.”

  He ambled across the room, folded his arms and leant against the wall with a relaxed patience indicating he was settling down for the long haul. In less than a minute, two solid, armed men entered carrying chairs, followed by a well-dressed older man who had the look of a bearded university professor. The two chairs were placed facing each other in the center of the room, then the olde
r man nodded for the others to leave.

  Once they had locked the door behind them, his interrogator began, “Your chair, Mitchell, as requested.”

  Mitch looked at the bare wooden chair with disdain. “Got one with a cushion? I got a sensitive ass.”

  The man smiled and sat down. “Bravado. I like that.”

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Mitch said, as he took his seat.

  “You’re in a lot of trouble, Mitchell. That facility you broke into tonight does a lot of sensitive defense work. Very high security stuff.”

  Mitch shrugged. “Their security wasn’t that high.”

  “We caught you.”

  “Bullshit. You were tipped off. Those special forces pussies were waiting for us. What were they hiding in? A sound proof room? Had to be something like that, or we’d have heard them breathing.”

  “You draw rapid conclusions from minimal facts. A useful skill, if practiced in moderation.”

  “The only thing I can’t figure is who’d be dumb enough to sell me out, and make an enemy of me.”

  The interrogator stroked his gray flecked beard thoughtfully. “Let me introduce myself, Mitchell. My name is Gus Knightly. I'm your controller.”

  Mitch looked thoughtful. “Don’t you mean jailer?”

  “I have two PhDs. Believe me when I say I never choose the wrong word.”

  “God help me, you’re an egghead,” Mitch sighed. “At least you’re not going to kill us.”

  “Correct, providing you are cooperative.”

  “If you think I’ll tell you who put me up to the job tonight, you can forget it. The contract came through an intermediary. We never met the principal.”

  Knightly smiled, amused. “Do you really think I want information from you?”

  Mitch’s eyes narrowed, sensing he'd missed something.

  “You received your contract from Gilbert Mobious, a patent lawyer who pimps for industrial espionage experts like yourself. He’s a pathetic little rodent of a man who’d sell out his own mother.”