I checked the ammo count in my Blizzard. “You know it’s going to change everything.”
“What is?” Tam asked.
“Working nanotech, especially cyber-ware. Poet9’s brain box makes him what, twenty times faster than your average console jockey?”
“Devante’s faster than that.”
“Yeah, yeah. But this could make someone a hundred times faster than him. It’s inside the brain, direct processing at synaptic speeds. No more electronics. Grafted hackers like Poet will be dinosaurs. Once Asian Pacific gets their hands on it, they can write their own ticket. They’ll be the mal hombre of their own comic book.”
Tam turned back to me. “If this technology is really in there, and it really works, then yes, it’ll put Tokyo light years ahead of everybody.” He checked his data pad again. “Which is why Tam Song and Associates is getting large money for this run... Speaking of which, you ready to get back to work here? The patrol is supposed to stroll along any minute.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” I threw him a mock salute as we rose to our feet. “Ready to make history, sir.”
“Jerk. You’ll thank me when we’re on the beach in Cancun.” We ran towards one of the brick brown walls and activated the Gecko pads on our suits. It took us all of six seconds to get onto the roof.
The security patrol passed beneath us two minutes later. Tam and I watched the sensor lights blink steadily on the hulking sentry ‘bot as it shuffled by. The guard accompanying it kept his eyes glued on the Cerberus’ displays. He never even glanced up. Tam and I were up and moving as soon as they went around the far corner of the building. In a few quick motions, we levered the panel aside and slid into the interior gloom of the maintenance space.
Tam called on his helmet’s radio. “Poet? We’re in. Give us a few minutes to secure the hall into D-Wing. Once I call, I’ll need you most Rikki Tik to override the doors. Clear?”
“Loud and clear, boss. I’m going to set some mines. Pop goes the weasel on these ‘Glom bastardos if they come running, eh?” Poet’s voice crackled back.
“No, leave the mines. That’s what the Triplets are for, remember? You want to do something, drop back in their net and double-check for surprises. Tam out.”
A grunt and a double click cut the link. Tam looked over at me and shook his head.
“Hey, at least he tries,” I said.
“At least he’s good on the Grid.” Tam tapped his data pad again. “Let’s move.”
We fast-crawled through the narrow space toward D-Wing following ceiling struts laden with cable bundles and vent ducts. My palms were still itching, so I kept switching between the drone feed over the facility and the building blueprints on my visor H.U.D. So far we were still clear.
Poet9’s data hack back in the guard station put two badges at the only junction leading into the Research lab. The third was making rounds checking doors. All we had to do was cross them out, grab this thing, and go.
Hot damn—maybe I’m wrong, I thought. This run really might be dirty easy money.
Light filtered up through the grate into the cramped darkness as we approached the point marked on our displays. A quick drop, then eighteen meters of hallway would bring us into the only entrance to the secure labs. If there was trouble, here’s where it would be waiting.
On cue, Poet9’s voice whispered in our ears. “Problem.”
“What?” Tam hissed back.
“Sorry, boss, I just found it. Security logs here mention a bio-ware link in that zone. A mobile one. I’m guessing the lead guard on each shift is wet wired to the alarm system. Probably linked to his heartbeat, or brainwaves. Maybe coded to his RFID chip. Either way, that’s pretty smart for the ‘Glom.”
“And your point is?” Tam asked acidly.
“My point is that the guy is constantly monitored. He goes offline, as in “dies”, it initiates a total lockdown. Then every drone and clone within fifty klicks will be coming to the party on full auto. You two are gonna have to find him, and keep him alive at all costs.”
“Great. Just. Great,” Tam said.
We lifted the grate and dropped down onto the hall carpet.
-------------
Dawson-Hull Estates – London Metro Sector, England. New European Union. 3:37 a.m.
Avery Hsiang caught himself staring at his reflection in the window across the room. He had what most Westerners called a “Laughing Buddha face”: full, round and sincere, with thick black hair sprinkled with gray—the congenial features of a typecast Asian grandfather. When he was younger, he’d hated his appearance. Now he used it to whatever advantage he could.
He realized the man across the table had stopped speaking. Avery looked up, leaned forward slightly and put a wan smile on that face. “We’ve come full circle, again, Mr. MacKinnon.” He shook his head slowly. “I flew here because you demanded an emergency meeting in the middle of the night. You invoked confidential protocols and the communiqué stated this crisis affected both our companies. Now all you do is stand there and vent preposterous accusations. How many times must I repeat myself? Asian Pacific Consortium denies any complicity in tonight’s intrusion into your London facility. It’s quite simple.”
Jackson MacKinnon was Avery Hsiang’s opposite: a trim, almost lean, elderly man with a fine featured face and pale ice blue eyes. He was Dawson-Hull’s UK District Manager, as well as their Assistant Secretary of the Exchequer, and although his voice was low and even, his ears were red beneath his impeccable white hair. “Our sources indicate those mercenaries were associated with your company. As I understand it, they have previously been in your employ on several occasions. It is obvious—”
“It is obvious,” Avery interrupted, “that your sources confirm what you wish to hear. I suggest your security division is anxious to shift scrutiny away from a serious lapse in vigilance.” He leaned back, adopting his most reasonable tone. “Why accuse Asian Pacific? Our companies have shared several profitable ventures in the past. What of the Americans? Your successes in their Argentinean markets must offend them. You know how territorial they are. Perhaps this clumsy burgling is their way of lashing out.” Avery smoothed down the puckered silk of his jacket sleeve. “From your description, the attempt seems rather amateur. Your security services aren’t even sure of the extent of the systems breech.” Avery let his gaze travel over the rich wood paneled walls of the conference room, and he conjured a mildly irritated look on his face.
“The attempt,” Jackson MacKinnon bit off the word, “was carried out by a highly skilled freelance outfit, Mr. Hsiang. Their equipment was far too sophisticated for simple shoplifters. Most damning of all, their ability to penetrate that far inside our facility so rapidly betrays an uncomfortable level of privileged intelligence.”
Avery raised his thick hands toward his rival.”Betrayal might well be the issue here. But I suggest you look to your own house before casting aspersions on the Consortium.” He paused. “You haven’t even told me what type of data was compromised. Is there something that directly concerned Asian Pacific? If so, do you require our assistance? These thieves, these spies… whatever they were... you stated they’d all been killed, am I correct?”
Avery knew full well the first mercenary team had been killed. His secretary had confirmed it. He’d demanded a totally sterile operation, and Avery was assured not one shred of tissue or scrap of equipment could implicate his office. Jackson MacKinnon and the Dawson-Hull Conglomerate had nothing but a ransacked database, four dead mercenary contractors, and empty allegations.
Outwardly, Avery looked patiently at his frayed counterpart, who could only glare back. Inwardly his mind leapt. His agent had been telling the truth: the prototype must be real. Otherwise, why would Dawson-Hull react so swiftly?
He is scared, Avery thought. Jackson is scared someone is after the Nanotech Neural Network. He glanced down at the stark face of his Movado. In fact, someone is. The second phase of the operation should be underway right now.
Jack
son MacKinnon made a noncommittal noise in his throat. Avery responded with smile and continued. “Well then, if there is no direct threat, then perhaps this may be of some consolation: I promise, first thing in the morning, to relay news of this incident to the appropriate departments at Tokyo Head Office. I’m confident our directors stand ready to render all possible assistance.”
Jackson rose to his feet, signaling the meeting was at an end. “Mr. Hsiang, our investigators are going to sift through every speck of evidence. Forensics experts arrive from Brussels tomorrow, and the London Board has granted me full authority in this case.” He snapped his briefcase shut. “When we find the perpetrators, Avery, reprisals will be severe.” He let that hang in the air over the polished table.
Avery Hsiang nodded sagely and proffered another sad smile. “I trust your forensics teams are a bit more accurate than your sources, Jackson. Again, speaking on behalf of the Consortium, I would remind you Asian Pacific prides itself on the skill and dedication that render such dishonorable practices unnecessary. However, we sympathize with your dilemma and fully support you in apprehending these criminals. The problem of illegals is a concern for every corporation.”
Avery stood up as well. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. It’s been a long night.” He picked his briefcase up from the floor. After another angry glare from the Dawson-Hull manager, he left the conference room.
Only when Regional Manager Avery Hsiang was back in his Lear shuttle feeling the steady thrum of twin engines through the back of his chair did he permit himself another smile. But this was a different smile. He leaned forward and hit one of the buttons on the armrest.
“Have the second team of mercenaries reported in yet?”
“Negative, Mr. Hsiang.” The reply came from the tiny speaker near his hand. “The flier’s transponder is inactive. They must still be inside the compound.”
“I want to know the instant they’re airborne. Remind Colonel Otsu he is to personally attend the rendezvous and confirm delivery.” Avery paused, his eyes tightening, “Once he’s in receipt of the item, he is to settle the contract with them. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. Absolutely.”
Avery cut the secure channel without another word and closed his eye, freezing the moments. Whoever said ambition was the last infirmity of noble minds was a fool. He savored it on the tip of his tongue. This was like fine wine, like voltage, like sex. This would change everything.
Nine months before, one of his intelligence agents had come to him with rumors about the N3, mere hints sifted from snooping in the Dawson-Hull data stream. Avery was incredulous at first. Complex nanotech applications were fatal to human beings. Yet, as implausible as such technology was, clues about the prototype persisted. The English were trying to conceal something and the information remained so credibly elusive, so tantalizingly plausible, Avery was intrigued.
Weeks went by, and Avery’s informants inside Dawson-Hull insisted something huge was indeed moving in the undercurrents of the British multinational. Evidence kept trickling in. So Avery watched, and waited, and began compiling all the data into a personal file. Then, after the third agent confirmed Dawson-Hull’s activity at a Toulouse biotech facility, a plan brushed against his mind—barely tangible strands as delicate and intricate as a spider web.
The annual Directors’ Assembly had been scheduled the following month in Tokyo.
On the agenda was a discussion of potential new Board members.
Initial candidates were selected from high performing regional management.
Operational neural nanotechnology would be worth billions, if not trillions of dollars.
The next day, Regional Manager Avery Hsiang made a dangerous decision. He withheld the intelligence regarding the device from Tokyo Head Office, encrypted his files, and contracted the finest freelance operatives available. He would acquire the prototype on his own.
From that day forward, he began siphoning off funds from his office accounts as well as his personal fortune to set things in motion. An operation like this jeopardized his career and brought him to the brink of personal financial ruin, but he kept reminding himself that crisis and opportunity were the same word. And this opportunity demanded to be seized.
The plan was all his own: its risks, and its rewards. And right now, in this moment, it was coming together. He was on the cusp of the greatest corporate espionage coup in a century, and the rewards would be his alone. Avery watched the landscape slide by in the early morning darkness.
-------------------
Jackson MacKinnon stood at the window as Avery Hsiang’s shuttle rose into the air on tiny daggers of hot blue flame. No sound carried through the thick insulated glass, and its sleek form paused above the trees like a dark specter. Then the thrusters swiveled, the main engines flared, and it darted off into the sky. Jackson considered the receding glow of the Lear’s engines until the night swallowed them up. For several moments, everything was still and silent. Then he spoke over his shoulder to the blue-suited security officer. “I’m ordering a full lockdown: offices, factories, all corporate properties. Everything. I’ll notify the Board, of course, but I want all our security forces on high alert. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. Immediately.” The man turned to leave.
“Sergeant…” The man stopped. “Order two Rapid Response units to the ECI facility in Toulouse. Bureau Three, S.D. platoons.”
“Sir?”
Jackson turned to face the man and repeated his orders tersely. “I said I want two Rapid Response units. At the ECI Labs. In Toulouse. Now. I want Major Jessa Eames to lead them personally. Tell her they’re to seal the facility, but I’ll brief her en route with the particulars.”
“Yes, sir. Immediately, sir.”
MacKinnon turned back to his reflection in the huge glass window and stood perfectly still.
CHAPTER FIVE: LIVE WIRED
Euro-Cybernetics Integrated Facility, Toulouse, France. 3:43 a.m. Same night.
The clock was ticking, so Tam and I moved fast down the halls with our Mitsu suits humming at full power. Drifts of static, we ghosted under camera domes, over laser tripwires, until we hit the entrance to the D-Wing lab. No alarms sounded.
Coming around the last corner, the hall opened up into a reception room with a huge desk and tastefully sterile waiting area. Two big interlocking steel doors set in the far wall led to the lab itself. Poet9 had radioed that the bio-ware would show up as a hot spot in the human body, so we’d switched our visors to thermal view. We needed to ID the wet-wired guard as fast as possible. The two soldiers in the lobby read negative. Silenced headshots left them slumped in their chairs, cooling to room temperature. Tam and I then switched our visors back to normal view and went prowling for our live-wired friend.
We found him in the bathroom of all places. Tam kicked in the stall door and dragged him out zip-cuffed and gagged. Another vet, his face had old splash scarring from an acid burst, but it is kind of hard to look intimidating with your pants around your ankles. He thrashed around and growled, trying to play hard core and break free. After a couple of attempted headbutts, I chopped him on the shoulders and yanked his head close to my helmet. “You play nice, you’ll be alive when this is over…” He could finish the sentence on his own. Not that it was much comfort: our run was definitely not good for his long-term career plans, but he quieted down. At least until he spotted his two friends in the lobby. He threw himself toward the desk panel trying to trip the alarm. I kicked his legs out and sat on him while Tam called Poet9 on the radio.
“OK, now we got the wired guy, but he wants to be a hero. You sure we have to keep him alive?”
I looked down and saw him biting on the gag, so I bounced his head off the floor. He stopped.
“Just until we’re on our way,” Poet9’s voice came back.
Seven minutes later, the little Mexican dropped in from the ceiling vent and went to work on their intranet. Another fifty-eight seconds and he’d burned through the
security grid like a plasma torch. He grunted when the vault-like doors hissed open. “Stupid executives—always six months behind.”
We all went in. Poet9 ran point, the big black Walther bobbing in an outstretched two-hand grip, while Tam and I frog-marched the guard between us. Private Ugly started sweating the moment we crossed the threshold, his eyes wide above the gag. I saw the dim notion of bolting or going limp flit behind them, but apparently, he still had enough functioning brain cells to realize we weren’t in the mood for more half-assed escape attempts or stall tactics.
Twenty meters down the hall, we entered a large room with sharp white walls, lights, glass and chrome, alive with the purr of dozing electronics. It was the main lab. Even through the helmet filters, I tasted fuzzy ozone on my tongue and the backwash of bouncing signals.
“This must be the place, right?” I asked.
Poet9 approached one of the computer terminals and unzipped his cables. “Ho, nothing gets by you.”
“Well I’m clever like that.”
“Head of the class, I bet. Here, take this.” He slung a black nylon pack off his back and tossed it toward Tam. “You’re looking for a cold safe, a minivault, even a stasis canister. Nanotech can’t be that big, right? I’ll sift their daily logs and see if I can find something.” He stopped, his long skinny fingers poised over the workstation.”But when you find it, let me at it first. Don’t go fondling it until I’ve looked it over, que?”
He didn’t wait for us to answer, just plugged in his leads and sent his fingers staccato on the keyboard. As his eyes glazed over, Tam and I started combing the main room, checking every desk, locker, closet and container we could find. I dragged the guard with me, hoping for some kind of reaction as we made a circuit around the room, but just he seethed, all surly and tight. When we came back around to Poet9, I plopped him in a stray chair and stood behind him with my hand on his shoulder. “Stay.”
Running Black (Eshu International Book 1) Page 3
