The Black Hole

by Hammond, Ray

  Glancing around the communications hut, Floyd scanned every surface for a phone or a communicator. There were none. Everything seemed to be routed through the smart desk.

  Floyd stared down at the virtual keyboard. There was no way he could guess the password without Maria’s help. He put the desk back on standby, ran to the window at the front of the hut and glanced out at the camp. All seemed deserted. Floyd knew there were always guards posted at the perimeter of the camp, but he could see nobody moving.

  At a loss for what else to do, Floyd pulled opened the first of a series of low cupboards built against the back wall of the hut. It was filled with clothing, shoes and other personal belongings. He opened a second door and there, buried behind a brown hold-all, was Gary Tipton’s blue and white back-pack.

  Floyd pulled the back-pack from the cupboard and opened it. On top of Tipton’s civilian clothing lay Floyd’s silver communicator.

  ‘Hey Harry, it’s been a long time,’ said Maria after he turned the power on. Floyd’s heart leapt at the sound of her voice.

  ‘We’ve got no network signal,’ she told him. ‘And I must have missed several upgrades.’

  Floyd forced himself to turn the unit off again.

  Ten minutes later he was a quarter of a mile outside the camp, climbing the steeper gradient of the mountainside. The night was moonless, but in the perfectly clear air the star-encrusted sky threw a bright celestial glow over the wide rocky terrain.

  Finding a small depression, he scrambled inside and turned on his communicator. Steeling himself, he disabled his virtual assistant, selected encryption manually and then dialed the eight digits that would connect him to the priority number via one of the chain of communications satellites orbiting high overhead. It would be just after six a.m. in London.

  Floyd heard the faint echoes of connections being made and he edged his head up over the edge of the gully to scan the mountainside. Nothing moved.

  There were four rings, then a voice. ‘This is Fox.’

  ‘It’s Floyd. L4, B22, H91,’ said the CTU agent, forcing himself to speak slowly and distinctly, delivering his agreed code identification characters. ‘They have a new particle physics weapon. In two day’s time Makowski will make a webcast giving the West another fourteen days to ban all transhuman technologies.’

  ‘Got it,’ said Fox.

  ‘One of the other HFDA volunteers told me his brother was on the technical team that delivered the weapons. They’re inside cargo containers and they’re already in place. In central London, and in Silicon Valley.’

  ‘Understood,’ said Fox with remarkable calmness. Floyd knew that everything coming in on this connection would be automatically recorded, and with multiple back-ups. ‘Do you know where in London?’

  ‘No,’ said Floyd. ‘Just the middle of London. And I don’t know whereabouts in Silicon Valley either. The recruit whose brother delivered the weapons is called Hans Hoogervorst. He’s from Amsterdam, but he has no further information.’

  ‘Spell the name,’ said Fox.

  As Floyd did so, he poked his head up again out of the shallow depression. There was still no sign of movement on the mountainside.

  ‘Also, there’s a man here, probably German-born, who calls himself Colonel Andreas Poliza,’ continued Floyd, spelling out the name once more. ‘He says he’s director of military operations for the direct action wing. He seems to be in charge.’

  ‘Understood,’ said Fox.

  ‘One of the joint FARC and HFDA training camps is here, at my present location,’ Floyd added. ‘Under a dense canopy of cedar trees. But there are at least four others in this region. And there’s no sign of Makowski.’

  ‘Location confirmed,’ said Fox.

  ‘I am to undergo more training here, parachute training, along with about 200 other HFDA volunteers and some FARC mercenaries. Then we are to go on a long journey – I don’t know to where. We have been told we are to provide military support for a large scale mission when Humans First presents their final ultimatum. But I have no more details.’

  ‘I understand,’ said the CTU boss.

  That was all Floyd had to say. There was much more he wanted to say, but his short speech had contained all of the relevant information he had for the present.

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ Floyd said and closed the connection. He lay back in the depression, gazed up at the glittering panoply of stars, and let out a deep breath. The first part of his mission was accomplished. At least London now had some idea of what it was up against.

  Then he glanced at the display screen of his communicator and manually deleted the recording of the call he had just made. Then he launched a data cleanser which would make the file totally unrecoverable.

  When this process was complete he checked the time. It would now be almost 6.15 a.m. in the UK.

  Floyd ached to enable Maria but, concentrating, he activated ‘own number suppression’ on his communicator then scrolled down Gary Tipton’s list of contacts and selected ‘Mother.’

  A woman’s voice, filled with sleep, answered.

  ‘It’s me, Gary,’ said Floyd, in Tipton’s voice and Essex accent.

  ‘Gary,’ cried the woman. ‘Gary love–’

  ‘I’m sorry it’s been so long, Mum,’ said Floyd. ‘But I’m doing something very good.’

  ‘Where are you?’ asked Tipton’s mother, now more awake.

  ‘I can’t say,’ her supposed son told her. ‘I just wanted you to know that I haven’t forgotten you.’

  ‘Gary!’ said the female voice. ‘It’s been almost two years!’

  ‘Just watch the news, Mum,’ Floyd had told Tipton’s mother. ‘And remember me.’ Then he had abruptly closed the connection and switched off his communicator.

  Now, fifteen minutes later and after a short, but much needed, emotional exchange with Maria which he had permanently deleted, Floyd glanced to left and right as he arrived at the outskirts of the training camp. There was still no one about.

  Heading for the communications hut again, Floyd moved quietly forward beneath the cedar trees.

  With a loud ‘plop’ a security lamp hidden high within the branches of one of the trees came on and the whole area was bathed in light. Then other lights were triggered all around the camp.

  Floyd froze. Then he saw a figure tumble out of one of the accommodation huts, then other figures were running between the dark trees towards the pool of light.

  The first to reach Floyd was Sergeant Ramon Resigo.

  ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep,’ said Floyd with what he hoped was an open grin and an apologetic shrug.

  Two of the FARC camp guards now sprinted into the light, their weapons gripped ready for action.

  Resigo stepped forward and frisked Floyd expertly. Withdrawing the communicator from the British recruit’s tunic pocket, Resigo glanced at the screen display and thumbed up the call records. ‘Take him to the comms centre,’ he ordered.

  *

  Ray Fox and Sue were in the CTU control room before seven a.m. Also scrambled for this early morning meeting was the CTU’s deputy director David Evans. The two men were standing in front of a laser screen on which was displayed a huge image of the Venezuelan Andes.

  ‘Look, there’s nothing at all to be seen from the air,’ Fox said as he zoomed the image in on the co-ordinates that had been transmitted from Floyd’s communicator. ‘It looks just like any other valley in the mountains.’

  ‘Go in closer,’ said Evans. ‘Let’s run a GFA.’

  Fox nodded, zoomed in still closer and ordered Sue to run a Ground Features Analysis program, software which would search for any topographic features that might display man-made characteristics.

  ‘What at you going to tell the Yanks?’ Evans asked his boss. The CTU director looked exhausted, but then everyone in the unit was under intense pressure.

  Fox glanced at his watch, even though Sue was always ready with the time – it was a habit from the old days when information
systems were still external. It would now be two a.m. in Washington.

  ‘I’m going to tell them we’re sure Silicon Valley is the target.’

  ‘When they ask why you think that, what’ll you say?’ asked Evans.

  ‘We can’t say we’ve got a man inside,’ Floyd said with a shake of his head. ‘The cruise missiles would be flying as soon as they knew the co-ordinates.’

  ‘Which would achieve nothing at all,’ said Evans. ‘Other than killing Floyd.’

  ‘Quite. I will have to tell them that the information is from a reliable source and leave it at that.’

  ‘And what do the analysts think is the most likely target the HFDA will go for in central London?’

  ‘Sue’s had an idea about that,’ said Fox. ‘I’ve called a meeting of the National Security Committee for this afternoon.’

  *

  Stripped of his fatigue jacket and T-shirt and bound to an upright chair, ‘Gary Tipton’ had been punched and beaten repeatedly. Floyd had heard his nose crack under the first blow, then the FARC combat trainer had blacked both of the HFDA volunteer’s eyes before splitting his lips and battering them into his teeth.

  The door flew open and in strode Colonel Andreas Poliza in full uniform.

  ‘Stop!’ he ordered immediately. ‘STOP!’

  ‘This man Tipton has been outside, making phone calls,’ said Resigo, still breathing heavily from the labour of battering Floyd’s face.

  ‘I just wanted to speak to my mother,’ Floyd told Poliza, through his bloodied lips. ‘We haven’t talked much recently.’

  Gary Tipton’s story was plausible: an excited, homesick volunteer, just selected for active service, wanting to phone home to say his goodbyes.

  But Floyd had known what to expect if he were caught – it was the way FARC imposed discipline in a lawless country. He would be beaten and interrogated.

  Poliza stepped in as the sergeant massaged his sore knuckles. Extending a finger, the colonel placed it under Floyd’s chin and raised the suspect’s bloodied and bruised face for examination.

  ‘Where is this phone?’ he asked as he gazed inquiringly into Floyd’s eyes.

  Resigo handed over the slim silver unit. The colonel switched it on and then scanned the call records. He walked across to one of the hut windows and pressed a button.

  ‘Is that Mrs Tipton?’ he asked. ‘Sorry to have disturbed you, but we were just checking that you spoke to your son a little while ago.’

  After a few moments Poliza nodded and ended the call. Then he walked back to stand in front of the prisoner.

  ‘One of our volunteers in the UK will check that Mrs Tipton really is who she says she is tomorrow,’ he told Floyd. They he glanced up at Resigo. ‘In the meantime, keep him under guard. But no more beating.’

  Fourteen

  Under normal circumstances, the British National Security Committee met only twice a year. But Ray Fox had called a short-notice emergency meeting and had even requested the presence of the Home Secretary himself.

  ‘I have called this emergency meeting because we believe that Britain faces an immediate and very terrible threat,’ said Fox gravely as he opened the meeting deep inside CTU headquarters. Security was so tight that no aides had been admitted and all present were expected to record their own notes and carry their own files. All VAs were muted.

  The Director of the U.K. Counter Terrorism Unit sat at the head of the large meeting table, the Home Secretary at his right hand.

  ‘One of my agents has infiltrated the Humans First and its direct action wing ,’ Fox began, the adrenaline overcoming his weariness. ‘He has learned that the HFDA intends to detonate a new type of radiation-free nuclear device somewhere in central London, two weeks from tomorrow, on July 29th. We don’t have a precise location. Alexander Makowski is expected to make a public statement to this effect in the next few days, although he certainly won’t specify his targets. But we know that their other target will be Silicon Valley although, again, we don’t know precisely where. However, given Makowski’s personal history, it is likely that once again he will be target one of the Mondo Coporation’s campuses.’

  Nobody spoke. Fox’s eyes met the highly alarmed stares of the men and women around the table. His news had caught them across the face like a blow.

  General Sir Michael Bowes-Parfit – Britain’s most senior soldier – was the first to find his voice

  ‘The centre of London?’ he repeated, incredulity filling his gravel voice. ‘Can you be sure? I mean, do you have any reason to believe that this is anything more than an idle boast?’

  ‘Unfortunately we do,’ Fox confirmed. ‘The Americans tell us that Makowski has somehow got hold of the technology behind a secret nuclear-scale particle weapon system that the Pentagon developed and then abandoned over twenty years ago. And remember, Makowski is a highly advanced particle physicist himself.’

  Once again there was a silence as the committee members digested what they were being told.

  Sir Reginald Warren, Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, made a quick note on his text pad, then looked up. ‘And do we know how the HFDA intends to deliver this weapon?’ he asked.

  ‘The device is reportedly stored in a cargo container,’ said Fox. ‘It is probably already in place.’

  There was another short silence. Then the Home Secretary spoke.

  ‘Thank you director,’ he said assuming control of the meeting. ‘The question before us this afternoon is how to respond to this threat.’

  Nods of agreement came from all around the table.

  ‘The first issue is whether we should order the evacuation of central London?’ he continued in a businesslike tone. ‘I presume all of your emergency plans are fully up to date, Commissioner?’

  Britain’s most senior police officer nodded. ‘If we’ve got two weeks, we could follow the Henlow Hill plan, sir. We send ministers, Whitehall departments, military high command and the intelligence services to the emergency bunkers in Henlow Hill in Somerset and we disperse the royals around their various country palaces and homes. After that we get the main financial institutions and the foreign diplomats out of the city, then the judiciary. Then we evacuate the people.’

  ‘But we must also be proactive in trying to stop these bombers,’ interjected General Bowes-Parfit. ‘We must search every container we can find in central London.’

  There were several nods around the table.

  ‘We must certainly do that,’ agreed the Home Secretary. ‘Do you have the resources necessary carry out such a search Commissioner?’

  The police chief shook his head. ‘Not if we’re putting the Henlow Hill evacuation plan into operation at the same time. We’d need help from the military.’

  ‘I’ll arrange that,’ said Bowes-Parfit, making a note. ‘But the question is, what part of central London do we concentrate our search on?’

  ‘Humans First always have to make their political point,’ said Ray Fox. ‘That’s why they’re targetting Silicon Valley. But in London we’ve got no really advanced computing companies. The only technology we’ve got to which Humans First would object are life extension hospitals, genetic rejuvenation centres and the drop-in implant clinics. We’ve got scores of those, mostly in the Harley Street area. That’s where we should search first.’

  *

  Floyd had been allowed to sleep in one of the unoccupied accommodation huts, an armed FARC guard posted at the door to watch over him. He woke to find Sergeant Resigo shaking his shoulder.

  ‘Humans First has checked your mother out in the UK,’ he told Floyd with an impassive face. ‘It was her O.K., but it was very stupid of you to make that call. You could have been a British or an American spy.’

  Floyd said nothing, just shut his eyes again.

  Resigo tapped him on his shoulder again and pointed at the bandage on Floyd’s nose. ‘You’ll heal quickly,’ he said. ‘Rapid healing tape, gene based.’

  *

  ‘The bomb is pr
obably somewhere near a Mondo facility,’ Nicole Sanderson muttered out loud as she stood in her office examining a large interactive map of Silicon Valley. ‘But which one? And there are hundreds of industrial building and warehouses to search in Mountain View alone.’

  There are over six thousand commercial buildings in the city, Carl told her as he drew the information from the web. But you’re right. Given Makowski’s long standing beef with Mondo, he won’t pass up this chance to hit them once again. The company has already started evacuating their staff quietly and the local police are searching every building in Mountain View large enough to house a container.

  Like all virtual assistants used by military, government and security agency personnel, Carl had been specially ‘hardened’ by software engineers at the National Security Agency. Starting with an off-the-shelf Mondo computer personality, Nicole’s VA had been upgraded to military level encryption and had then been bio-dedicated to his sole user. Only Nicole Sanderson’s DNA could access his thoughts, memories and knowledge.