Interface: A Techno Thriller

by Tony Batton

  He took a sip of the coffee. The bitter taste rasped on his tongue and he felt his head starting to clear. But something about the taste was wrong; there was a faint suggestion of something metallic. A memory flashed into his mind. He had broken his nose once. He remembered waking up after the operation to reset it with an odd taste in his mouth.

  He banged the coffee cup down and stood up, running his hands over his torso, dreading what he might find. But nothing seemed to hurt. His hands shifted to his lower back and he wrenched off his shirt.

  No bruises on his wrists, no marks on his arms as if he'd been in a fight or someone had held him down. There was just a faint mark in the crook of his elbow. Was that a spot or a bug bite or a mark from a syringe? He looked closer, but couldn't be sure. Had he injected drugs? Why would he do that when the most he'd ever tried before was one joint at university?

  The woman in the black dress. She was the last thing he could recall. Had he gone home with her? He would have to ask around at work, see if anyone saw them leave together.

  At work.

  And it suddenly hit him. It was Monday, not Saturday. Monday. His first day at CERUS Tower.

  Should he call in sick? Could he call in sick and not get fired? What would he even tell them? What if everyone had seen him roaring drunk at the party and knew it was just a hangover? He closed his eyes and considered how he was feeling. He didn't feel ill exactly. Just off. He took a gulp of coffee. That was certainly helping.

  There was no reason to think he'd suffered anything worse than the world's worst hangover. No point turning bad to worse and getting fired before he'd even started his new job.

  He shook his head. Time to get to work.

  SEVEN

  WILLIAM BERN GUIDED HIS ASTON Martin DB9 through the automatic gates of his country estate. Five walled acres of beautiful countryside in leafy Berkshire provided a perfect setting for a classic Edwardian house discovered, acquired, restored and decorated by his wife, Celia. His only contribution had been to pay for it. In his wife's words, he was always too busy trying to change the world. Well, he was about to play to form.

  He parked and crunched across the gravel to the front door. Celia stood there, immaculate in a long black dress. "I thought you had meetings today in Monaco," she said, touching the silver chain around her neck. "What's going on?"

  Bern pecked her on the cheek. "Let's have a drink and I'll explain."

  "A drink?" She raised her eyebrows. "It's ten in the morning? Even for you that's early."

  "Trust me: you'll need it."

  They took the drinks trolley out to the veranda and sat for a while holding large glasses of cognac, looking out at the carefully manicured lawn and the orchard beyond.

  Bern took a sip and cleared his throat. "I'm afraid, my dear, that I haven't been entirely truthful with you. Those rumours running around, the ones I've been furiously denying. CERUS is on the brink. We're way overextended: there's no way to prop things up any longer. We've got three months."

  Celia's eyes narrowed. "The whole company? How is that possible?"

  "You've heard the expression 'a house of cards'?"

  She sighed. "Then we walk away, start over. It's not like either of us ever need work again. We can travel, spend more time on my charities."

  Bern shook his head. "It's not just CERUS. We're in just as deep."

  She put her glass down. "What have you done, William?"

  "We've been struggling since the government put a block on nano research. We over-invested, overcommitted to what we were certain was going to be the next big thing." He took a deep breath. "I had to put everything up to guarantee borrowing by the company or CERUS would already have failed."

  Celia's lips tightened. "And you didn't tell me? You didn't ask me?"

  "I didn't want you worrying. I knew I could sort it all out and you would never know." He paused. "I've always managed it before."

  She leaned back in her chair, took a slow sip of her drink. Her face was a mask. "You said almost inevitable."

  "A new member of my team, Bradley, has come up with a possible solution."

  Celia shifted in her seat. "Bradley? Have I met him?"

  "I don't remember. Anyway, he's not important. But the idea is." He slid two grey folders onto the table.

  Celia read them in silence, her lips tight. "I thought this was all behind us. I thought all the papers had been destroyed."

  "The auditors weren't as thorough as they believed."

  "And this Viktor Leskov? He might be rich, but can you trust him?"

  "He's probably asking the same question of me. As long as our interests are aligned we can do business."

  They sat in silence for several moments. Finally Celia drained her glass. "Is this wise?"

  "I realise that I'm asking a lot."

  "It should come as no surprise that I'd rather go to prison than go broke."

  "You say that--"

  "Protect yourself: protect us. I trust you to do what you need to." She smiled. "We're a team, William. Don't forget that."

  ◇ ◇ ◇

  Celia watched him drive away, then dialled a number from memory. It was answered immediately.

  "Well?" said a man's voice.

  "I think," she replied, "we can assume things are in motion."

  "He doesn't suspect?"

  "He's just doing what he does. What he has to do."

  "You sure about all this?"

  "I've never been surer. He's going to get exactly what he deserves."

  EIGHT

  TOM MOVED WITH THE CROWD through the high-ceilinged tube station, then out into glaring daylight. Around him suited figures fanned out, making their way towards their buildings for the start of the day. Above, seagulls wheeled and cried, the air filled with the faintly salty odour of the Thames. The great river looped around the Isle of Dogs and passed CERUS Tower.

  Tom paused and looked up. It was going to be quite something to finally work here, especially since he would be one of the lucky few with his own dedicated office. Around him a seemingly never-ending stream of people were flowing in apparently random patterns, like the particles on the surface of his coffee. He waited for a gap in the crowd then began to walk, but something suddenly caught his eye. As if someone had moved at the exact same time, aping his movements. He stopped, puzzled, prompting a curse as a woman nearly walked into him. He apologised, spinning around and holding up his hand to fend off the glare of the sunlight.

  Around him was a sea of faces. Nobody seemed to be paying him particular attention. Had he imagined it? Was he suffering some sort of drug-induced paranoid hallucination? Or had he just had too much coffee? With a sigh, he let the crowd carry him to the Tower, only to find a long queue snaking out of the lobby.

  For the first time that day, he smiled. Today everyone was going to be late.

  Tom stood patiently as the line shuffled forward. The acres of glass that clothed the Tower were offset on the first ten storeys by a feathering of steel plates, each the size of a large window, but sticking out at nearly ninety degrees, not unlike the fletching on an arrow. It was an odd ornamental feature, but not unattractive, he mused as he let his eyes roam over the building.

  Finally, the queue started moving more quickly and soon he stepped into the lobby and saw what must have caused the problem: the automatic turnstiles were out of order and a line of harassed-looking security guards were admitting people through a service gate, checking their ID cards with handheld scanners.

  "Problems?" he asked as he produced his card.

  The guard flickered his eyebrows like he'd already answered that question a few hundred times. "Doing our best, Sir." He held out the scanner and there was an angry buzz. Frowning, he looked at it and held it out again. There was another buzz.

  "I do work here," said Tom. "Or I will do if you'll let me in. It's my first day: don't really want to be any later than I am already. With the queue, I mean."

  "Sorry, Sir. The access database keeps
dropping out. Another joy to go with the turnstiles."

  Tom suddenly felt a wave of pain stab through his head. He put his hand to his forehead, rubbing at his temple.

  There was a soft beep from the scanner.

  "Good morning, Mr Faraday," said the guard in a relieved tone. "You can proceed. Just make sure you keep your card with you at all times."

  Tom forced a smile and walked towards the bank of lifts. He emerged from the lift on Level 84 and walked into his new office for the first time. It was far from the largest on the floor, but the entire external wall was glass and, through it, he had a stunning view over London. Even with the recent incursion of other skyscrapers, there were few other buildings with such an outlook. What was it Bern had said? From the top, we can see the future.

  There was a sharp knock on the door. His secretary, Samantha, walked in, clutching her day-planner as if someone might try to pry it from her. "Mr Bradley wants to see you in his office."

  Tom stepped behind his desk. "I only just got here. What's it about?"

  "He needs you to run a meeting. He's been diverted on to something for Mr Bern."

  Tom coughed. So much for easing himself into things. "Sure. Where is he?"

  "Up two floors. I suggest taking the stairs: it's amazing the lift got you here at all."

  "I just need to log in."

  "Don't keep him waiting. Oh, and don't forget to take your ID card or you'll get locked in the stairwell. The building keeps track of you through your ID, but if you don't have it... Well, people keep getting stuck in all sorts of places."

  Tom quickly entered his password on the computer system. He felt a slight tingle in his fingertips as he typed and flinched back, wiping his hands on his jacket to earth the static. The screen jumped and an error message appeared.

  Perhaps they had been hasty in moving in to the building. He looked under his desk for the computer terminal and crouched low to reach the reboot button. As his finger hit it, he felt the blood rush to his head. He had a brief moment of intense alertness, then suddenly pain was lancing through his brain, like it was burning. His tongue felt immense in his mouth, as if it would choke him.

  He jerked back from the computer and fell sideways. He just had time to notice the CCTV system, a large fish-eye lens sparkling in the corner, before darkness took him.

  NINE

  BRADLEY ADJUSTED HIS SHARPLY PRESSED suit as he descended in one of the express lifts to Level 60: the first of the technical floors. He had given up waiting for the lawyer and told his assistant to cancel the meeting. There were more important things to deal with: things that he could share with only a chosen few.

  The heads of each of the research and production divisions were now located on Levels 59 and 60, with their teams in the floors below. The idea was that the layout would help the team leaders to work openly and cooperatively together, sharing ideas and innovations.

  The lift juddered twice then finally reached Level 60. Bradley rolled his eyes as the doors opened slowly. The building still had many teething problems: they should not have been moving in yet, but everything had been planned assuming things would be ready. The old lease for the old premises had expired: the old networks and phone lines had been switched off. Even if they hadn't, it wasn't Bern's style to delay. However, the building faults were nothing compared to the disaster on CERUS's horizon.

  Bradley stopped at a touch screen, held his security pass over a reading device, and called up a plan of the floor. At least that was working. He turned right, heading to the office of Ed Holm, Head of Technology Research. A sign on the door proclaimed 'STOP! TRESPASSERS WILL BE ELECTROCUTED!' Bradley walked in to find himself amid chaos.

  "Can it wait?" Ed Holm asked, looking up from the two laptops in front of him. "I'm kind of in the middle of something."

  Bradley looked around the room. Boxes and boxes of files, bursting open and spilling their contents, covered the floor. There were a number of computer cases, routers and a multitude of cables, plus a media player sound-dock and a rather neglected-looking bonsai tree.

  "How did you make a mess so quickly? You only moved in today."

  Holm removed his tiny circular-rimmed glasses and wiped them on a cloth. "Actually I've been moving stuff over for weeks. Didn't want my gear getting muddled with that of the great unwashed."

  Bradley sighed. "Did you get my message?"

  "What message? Oh, the one about a meeting tomorrow? Can't we deal with whatever you want then?" His phone beeped and he glanced at it. "Where is Armstrong? He's supposed to be briefing me on the Phase 3 analysis."

  "This is important."

  "Everyone thinks their stuff is important."

  "We meet tomorrow at 7pm on Level 90. Bern will be there."

  Holm blinked. "Really?" His tone was suddenly cautious.

  "You recall that confidential side project? I need a plan to take it forward."

  "Well, I have a theoretical production timetable for you."

  "Good. Be prepared to explain it." Bradley turned and left, with Holm staring after him.

  Bradley headed next to the opposite corner of the floor and the office of Professor Stefan Heidn. Heidn's office was a marked contrast to Holm's: files were neatly arranged on shelves and a bookcase held a number of medical texts and journals. A high-end stereo and record turntable were set up in a cabinet; classical piano music was playing softly.

  "Neil, good morning." Heidn, his long grey hair brushed back, walked over and offered his hand.

  Bradley shook it. "Professor, good to see you. Has the move gone smoothly?"

  "No complaints. I hired my own movers so they would be more considerate with my possessions, but then our overzealous security team wouldn't let them in. I had to go and speak to them personally about it."

  "You can't blame them," replied Bradley. "There are plenty of things in here we'd like to remain unseen. Did you get my message?"

  "I did indeed. Very clandestine."

  "Can you attend?"

  "A secret meeting with our CEO? At which my presence is demanded?" Heidn patted Bradley on the shoulder. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

  "You don't want to know what it's about?"

  "And spoil the surprise?" He ran a hand through his grey hair. "Besides, I'm pretty sure I can guess. I've been at CERUS a very long time. Few things that happen here surprise me anymore." He sighed and added, "Those years of experience make me think the wise course would be to forget the whole thing."

  Bradley shrugged. "My job is just to present the choices. Others make the call."

  The professor nodded. "However big this company gets, only one man ever makes the decisions."

  "Let's hope he makes the right one."

  TEN

  KATE ARRIVED AT THE WEST London shopping plaza ahead of schedule. It was the kind of second-tier mall that aimed to be gleaming and aspirational, but had failed to attract the better retail chains. Now a heavy London grime had settled in every corner and Kate's shoes stuck to the grubby floors as she made her way through the lunchtime crowds, looking for the food court.

  As arranged, she bought two cappuccinos and sat at a table tucked away to one side. There she opened a newspaper and waited. Five minutes later, a man emerged from the crowd and stood at her shoulder. His brown suit looked as ill-fitting and uncomfortable as he did; he kept touching his wire-frame glasses with a nervous twitch.

  "Were you followed?" he asked.

  Kate indicated the chair opposite. "I very much doubt it." She passed one of the coffees over to him as he sat down. "In my experience big companies have a lot of worries on their plate. They don't usually have the time or inclination to set covert operatives watching their staff."

  He narrowed his eyes. "If they knew about me, they would, but I've been careful."

  "And that's great, but now the truth should come out," Kate said. "Shareholders, employees, the public: they shouldn't be lied to. If the financial situation is as dire as many suspect then it's time to--"


  "CERUS has made plenty of mistakes with its finances, but I can assure you they are not its biggest mistakes." He shook his head. "I wanted to talk to you because you have a platform and your background is in science. You'll understand what I'm about to tell you and you'll know how to turn it into a story that everyone else can understand."

  She gripped his hand. "Mr Armstrong, I don't know what you know, but if I can possibly help you, I will."

  His eyes narrowed. "You realise this could be dangerous."

  "If you're so concerned, why not involve lawyers? Or the police?"

  "There's a CERUS lawyer so new he can't be part of the system. I started to speak to him at the launch party, but... I changed my mind. He seemed like a good kid, but can you ever really trust a lawyer?" He laughed bitterly. "And if I go to the authorities, this story is never getting out."

  "This all sounds very dramatic, but you have to understand that without evidence of whatever it is that is concerning you so much..." Kate raised her hands.

  Armstrong looked around the food court, then reached into a pocket and removed what looked like a watch case. With a practised motion he flipped open the case. Inside was a small glass vial, filled with a cloudy green liquid.

  Kate leaned forward. "What's that?"

  "Nano," he said. "Intelligent nanites in liquid suspension. Automated particles on a molecular scale."

  She looked closer. The liquid almost seemed to be glowing. "You're kidding."

  "What I hold here could be the basis for creating functional systems beyond the microscopic, with applications spanning biology, chemistry, physics and engineering. The nanites just need to be programmed."

  "You got them from CERUS? I thought that project was shut down?"