Scotty and Sharif were both VPs of Product Software Development in the corporate hierarchy, although the Welshman wasn’t impressed by the title. He disliked the American habit of calling just about everyone a vice president, making middle-range jobs sound more important than they were. His team developed new and improved firmware, the software which was embedded in all Lee-Win processors, and Sharif’s Asian colleagues designed the physical hardware itself, the tiny silicon cards that contained the printed circuits. Lee-Win had been in the processor business for forty years and had earned an international reputation for their products, specifically designed for huge industrial conglomerates, government departments and essential service providers.
At the moment, Scotty and Sharif were both under pressure to deliver their upgrades for Lee-Win’s Mark VII line of products by the end of July, to meet the 1 September launch date in Shanghai; less than six months from now. The launch would feature a new version of ACRE, an innovation that had first been incorporated in the Mark VI models the previous year. The invention had been conceived in Shanghai and developed by a separate team at XPC, managed by Scotty.
The full name of ACRE was Automatic Constant Random Encryption, a revolutionary technology whereby data was automatically and continuously encrypted in a random fashion, while it was stored in computer files, in databases or on smart cards and, vitally, while it was being transmitted, since the programme also took over the data transmission management through the network. ACRE made data hacking valueless unless the culprits had access to the algorithms produced during the encryption process. Even if they succeeded in capturing data, it would be meaningless and impossible to reconfigure into coherent information, because unlike conventional systems, there was no key available to de-encrypt it.
After many years of increasingly addictive and pervasive social media, Internet commerce, online banking, mobile apps and all their apparent advantages, the true cost of sending personal information across the ether was becoming more and more apparent. Hardly a day went by without another high-profile hacking or data theft occurrence making headlines. Global deployment of ACRE would revolutionise the way data was stored and transmitted, creating the security needed by Internet users around the globe and making the world a safer and more secure place. And the financial rewards to Lee-Win would be beyond measure.
Although the software that Scotty’s team had written to control the encryption algorithms was not yet in its perfected stage, many Lee-Win customers had agreed to live-test the new technology when the Mark VI devices were released, and the reception had been overwhelmingly positive. The uproar in the marketplace was such that sales of Mark VI products had exploded, and especially to the large private and public service institutions where Lee-Win’s processor units handled billions of pieces of ultra-confidential information every minute of every day. Governments, banks, energy companies, institutions of every kind, were finding, once and for all, the protection they had long sought against invasions of their valuable data.
Now the market was waiting impatiently to see if they could keep it up with Mark VII, and the pressure to meet their deadline was weighing heavily on the two men. The stakes Lee-Win was playing for were enormous, and Scotty and Sharif were key players in this poker game. With the responsibility of delivering the next level of ACRE technology, Scotty especially knew his head was on the block.
The Welshman pulled on his light cotton slacks and combed his tangled hair. ‘Winner’s choice. Let’s go to the Crystal Lagoon for a Thai salad, it’s too hot for anything else.’
‘Cool. The meal’s on me and the beer’s on you.’ Sharif sat on the bench to tie up his canvas shoes and his sports bag fell to the floor. A small object clattered from the bag as it landed upside down.
‘What’s that?’ Scotty picked up the tube-like device. ‘It’s a memory stick.’ He gave the Pakistani a look. ‘You know we’re not allowed to take them off the premises,’ he said, exercising his seniority over the other man.
‘Oh, that. It’s not really mine. Just some family photos and music my brother sent me from Lahore the other day. We can’t get music like that here. Come round to my place sometime and I’ll play it for you, you’ll love it. Thanks.’ He went to take the device from Scotty’s hand, ignoring his querulous look.
He held on to the stick. ‘I’m not comfortable with this, Sharif. Nothing personal, but we’re doing billion-dollar development work, we’ve got rules and we all have to obey them. I think I’d better look after this until Tom or Shen get back. If they’re OK with it, I’ll give it back and we’ll forget the whole thing. I won’t look at it, so if it’s family stuff, no harm done. OK?’
‘No problem, Scotty, we’ll talk to Shen next week. Right, let’s take my car and I’ll run you back later to get yours. Come on.’
Driving over to the restaurant, Scotty was turning the matter over in his mind. Why would Sharif have a memory stick containing family material in his sports bag? They had come down to the squash courts directly from the office, there would be no reason to have that stick at work. He said it was sent to him ‘the other day’, so why would he have it with him at all? Their boss, Shen Fu Liáng, who had been parachuted in from Shanghai as Executive VP of Operations, was in San Francisco for an industry trade show all week. Scotty could have called him, but he had little respect for the Chinaman. He habitually sided with Sharif on matters which were in the Welshman’s domain, ignoring his knowledge and experience, sometimes with costly consequences. There was also no point in talking to Daniel Oberhart, since he was involved in operations and not the development group.
He decided to let the matter drop for the moment, their working relationship was too important to be jeopardised by what was probably a trivial event. He would wait to talk with Tom Connor, the company CEO, when he returned from holiday that weekend, and leave him to sort it out with Liáng and Sharif. Tom habitually left the development division pretty much alone, concentrating on his commercial responsibilities in marketing, operations and finance. It was a compliment to the standard of his and Sharif’s work, but now he figured he needed to talk to the big boss on Sunday. He had to keep reminding himself that in the Middle East, the weekend consisted of Friday and Saturday, although many of the staff worked on Saturday. In the meantime, he tried to put it out of his mind; it wasn’t his area of concern after all.
TWO
Dubai, United Arab Emirates
March 2017
‘Hi, guys. You’re in early.’ Daniel Oberhart and Sharif were on their second coffee when the Welshman joined them in the canteen at seven the next morning. They were deep in conversation, talking quietly with their heads close together.
Sharif looked up with a start, ‘Oh, hi, Scotty. We’ve got a full programme of tests today, just making sure Daniel can fit it all in.’ He shifted nervously on his chair and checked the time on his mobile. ‘I’d better get up there and make sure everything’s ready. I’ll catch you later. Don’t forget our revenge match tonight.’ He walked quickly past him and out the door.
The Swiss man said, ‘I was up at five o’clock, it’s too hot to sleep. In Zurich in March, you still need a duvet. That’s what I call normal.’
Scotty wasn’t very keen on Oberhart. He seemed to find something to complain about in everything concerning Dubai and XPC. ‘You won’t be bitching when you go to the beach at the weekend. Sitting on the sand and swimming in the warm sea in March, you can’t do that in Zurich.’
‘I never go to public beaches,’ he replied. ‘See you later.’ He got up and left Scotty sitting alone with his coffee.
What the hell was that all about? he asked himself. Are the Swiss Germans really so hard to get along with?
Sharif won their game that evening hands down. Scotty was still a little preoccupied by the incident with the flash drive, but was waiting until his CEO returned on Sunday.
‘What’s on the menu tonight?’ he asked.
‘It’s a lot cooler and I need my curry. We’re
going to the Karachi House. OK?’
It was just after eleven when Scotty got back to his apartment near Jumeirah Beach. XPC had rented several upmarket residences for their senior people and, although a single man, he was fortunate enough to have one of them. He’d had several beers during and after dinner and was ready to crash out. Throwing his clothes onto the sofa, he fell into bed and was out to the world five minutes later.
At two a.m. he awoke with a headache and stomach cramps. Sitting up, he felt nauseous, dizzy and had difficulty focusing his eyes. Too many beers, he said to himself. He switched on the bedside lamp and unsteadily got out of bed to go to the toilet, where he threw up violently. Shit. I’ve caught something. He stirred an Alka Seltzer and an aspirin into a glass of water, swigged it back, then staggered to bed and fell into a deep sleep.
At five-thirty, Scotty awoke again feeling terrible. He was aching in his shoulders and back, as if he’d been carrying a huge weight, and his muscles were sore and tired. The lamp was still on, but he had to force his eyes open, then could hardly see across the room. His vision was blurred and when he tried to concentrate he saw double. He still felt nauseous and wanted to get up again to go to the toilet, but his body wouldn’t respond. His mouth and throat were dry and his head was throbbing. He tried to swallow but for some reason his throat wouldn’t work, and he realised he couldn’t move his lips. Just trying to raise his right hand to his mouth he was unable to lift his arm up from the bed.
Scotty had a vision of himself lying helpless on the bed, as if he was looking down on the scene from above. With a rising sense of panic, he attempted to move every part of his body; his arms, his head, his shoulders, his legs, but nothing would work. His left arm was lying across his chest with his hand in front of his face and he tried to move the fingers. Nothing. His mind filled with terror when he realised that he couldn’t even feel the hand, it could have belonged to someone else, so detached from him did it seem. Now he noticed his breath was coming in short gasps. His brain was still trying to process his condition; he knew he had to breathe to stay alive. He tried to force it to tell his body to take a deep breath, but his lungs wouldn’t respond. His breathing became shallower and shallower until he felt he would asphyxiate. Now he knew he would die if he didn’t get help. He made a desperate last attempt to open his mouth to scream for help, but all that came out was a mumbled gurgle. Scotty was in an almost complete state of paralysis.
At ten the next morning, Friday, the Filipino cleaning lady employed by XPC entered his apartment for the twice-weekly service. Mr Fitzgerald was a particularly tidy person and she was surprised to find some of his clothes on the living room sofa. She collected them and went through to the bedroom, where she found Scotty lying motionless on the bed. After trying unsuccessfully to wake him, she panicked and ran out of the apartment to find the building manager. When he saw Scotty’s condition his first reaction was to think about the effect it would have on the other tenants and his reputation. He sent the crying woman away and tried to resuscitate him, in vain. Finally, he called the emergency service for an ambulance. Scotty was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital, and the next morning his corpse was transferred to the police mortuary in Al Twar.
The autopsy was carried out that morning, Saturday, at eight o’clock. Shen Fu Liáng, his immediate boss, was stuck in San Francisco, but Tom Connor, the CEO, had learned the news when he returned on Friday evening. He’d immediately contacted Scotty’s parents in Fort Lauderdale, where they were now living in retirement. The distraught couple couldn’t get to Dubai until Monday and he agreed to attend the autopsy on their behalf. He was now sitting with Dr Alzahabi, a young, voluble pathologist who was explaining the cause of death to him.
‘I’m still awaiting some analysis of food and tissue samples, but I can already inform you that Mr Fitzgerald died from an abnormally aggressive form of botulism. It’s a neurotoxin, a very virulent type of food poisoning. Analysis of his stomach contents shows that he ate a meal of curried lamb the previous evening, and that could be the source of the attack.’
‘That’s right. He had a curry supper with a colleague, after a game of squash.’ Tom had already quizzed Sharif on their Thursday evening activity. ‘But I’ve never heard of anyone dying from food poisoning. I’ve had it myself and you feel like you’re dying, but you don’t. At least not that I’ve ever heard.’
‘There are several types of food poisoning. Botulism is by far the most dangerous, but I agree it’s seldom fatal. His blood alcohol level was also high, he must have had a lot to drink.’
‘I didn’t know that. Maybe the alcohol increased the likelihood of his death by poison?’
‘Well, it wouldn’t have helped. Alcohol always exacerbates any other harmful condition.’
‘Would it be very painful?’ Tom grimaced. He had personally hired Scotty away from San Francisco, and now he would have to explain to his parents what had happened to their only son. What a way to die, he said to himself. How am I going to tell them? He wasn’t looking forward to it.
‘It would be disagreeable and distressing for the first few hours, but then he would gradually lose all feeling until he was unable to breathe. Botulinum toxin causes flaccid paralysis by blocking motor nerve terminals. It’s used a lot in medicine to temporarily paralyse muscles, so they don’t cause damage. That’s why Botox is very effective in creating temporary improvements in the facial appearance. It’s the same basic material, just a tiny dose that paralyses the facial muscles so that you look more relaxed and youthful.’
‘But this dose was so large that the paralysis spread through his body?’
‘I believe so. The paralysis usually starts with the eyes and face then progresses downward, to the throat, chest and extremities. When the diaphragm and chest muscles become affected, respiration is inhibited and death from asphyxia can result. I think that’s what happened.’
‘You mean he suffocated? But why didn’t he call for help? He’s got all the emergency numbers in his mobile: ambulance, police, hospital, everything. We’ve all got the contact details, it’s company procedure.’
‘If he fell into an alcohol-induced sleep, he may have slept through the first symptoms until it was too late for him to react. But that wouldn’t explain why the attack was so virulent, Mr Connor. I’ll call you as soon as I get the final results from the lab. Now, I have a lot of further work to perform, so I have to leave you.’
When Tom got back to XPC, Nora, his PA, was waiting in reception for him. He had called her to come in and help out with the crisis. She took him to one side. ‘The police are waiting in your office,’ she whispered, eyes wide with concern.
‘What do they want?’
‘They just said it was in connection with Scotty’s death.’
Tom’s face turned pale. ‘Shit, that’s all we need. As if we haven’t got enough to do, sorting things out here. And his parents arrive on Monday.’ He sighed. ‘Call Hatim and tell him what’s happened so he’s up to speed.’ Hatim Ackerman was the local attorney for the company. ‘If it’s like everything else here, we’re bound to need a lawyer.
‘Right. Time to face the music, I’m going up. There’s nothing I can tell them that’ll change anything, but they’ve got to conduct a proper enquiry – for everybody’s sake, especially poor Scotty’s.’ The two police officers had just left his office when Tom received the call from Dr Alzahabi. ‘Good afternoon, Doctor, I hope you’ve got some good news for me.’ He listened for a few minutes. ‘So what does that mean exactly?’
Tom put the phone down and called Nora into his office. ‘Tell Hatim to drop everything and get over here asap. Apparently the amount of toxin in Scotty’s stomach couldn’t have occurred naturally. It was enough to paralyse a horse. There’s going to be a full police enquiry and I want us to be ready for whatever happens.’
By now, the whole building was awash with rumours and counter-rumours. Tom called a staff meeting in the gym to officially announce that Scotty had su
ccumbed to a severe bout of food poisoning and the matter was being investigated. ‘He was a brilliant guy and a great team leader, we’re going to miss him a lot, as both a friend and a colleague.’ He asked everyone to join him in one minute of silence, then finished by saying, ‘I want everyone to cooperate fully with the police investigation. It’s vital that we find out how Scotty was exposed to the poison, so if you know anything that could help in any way, please talk to me or to Shen. He’ll be taking over Scotty’s functions until other arrangements can be made. In the meanwhile, I’ll keep everyone informed whenever there’s any information to share.’
He fielded the various questions as best he could, then exhorted everyone to get back to work. ‘Sales of the Mark VI range are going through the roof, and the marketing people are already screaming for Mark VII and the new ACRE upgrade. We need to keep focused. Thank you, guys. Let’s get it done for Scotty. That’s what he would have wanted.’
At midday, the Karachi House restaurant was closed down and cordoned off. Under Dr Alzahabi’s watchful eye, two laboratory workers were taking samples of all the food in the kitchen for analysis. The police were back in the office, interviewing everyone who had worked with Scotty, and especially those who had been with him on Friday.
Sharif was subjected to a thirty-minute interrogation, emerging in a state of panic. ‘They think I killed him, I know they do,’ he said, fighting back tears. ‘He wasn’t just a colleague, he was my friend as well.’
‘Don’t worry. They’re just doing their job, you were the last person to see him. The staff from the restaurant are being questioned as well. They have to talk to everyone until they find out what happened.’ Hatim, the lawyer, had been present during the interview.
The Dark Web: The stunning new thriller from the author of The Angolan Clan (African Diamonds Book 3) Page 2
