She parked before the house and as she approached the front door it swung open. Louisa froze as a furiously barking Border Collie shot out. It was on her in a second. She staggered back a step but loose gravel gave way underfoot and with a cry she fell onto her rear. Before she could shove the dog away it proceeded to lick her face with a long, wet tongue.
Louisa laughed. ‘Enough! I give up!’
‘Tor!’ A man stood in the doorway. ‘Down, boy.’
The collie retreated back to where the man was standing.
‘Some guard dog you are,’ he muttered, rubbing the dog’s ears affectionately.
The man was dressed in jeans and a red checked shirt. He looked to be in his fifties, but he still had a full head of unkempt black hair loosely tied back in a ponytail. Thick, expressive eyebrows perched over round-rimmed spectacles. Behind them deep laughter lines creased the corners of his eyes which sparked with mischief as he peered at Louisa.
Recognition dawned on Louisa as she levered herself up and brushed dirt from her slacks. His accent was German, but it had been eroded by years of living in England. She might not have known who Kenneth Barry was in the stratum of the London Project but everyone knew of the man who co-founded Portal with Adam Walsh. ‘You’re Dietrich Frey.’
‘I am indeed,’ Dietrich said. ‘Let’s get inside, Detective. It’s freezing out here and we’re letting all the heat out.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
‘Would you like some tea?’ Dietrich closed the door behind Louisa. ‘Perhaps something to eat also?’
‘Yes, please,’ she replied. She was shivering, but it may have been due to hunger as much as anything else.
The farmhouse’s rustic exterior was mirrored in its inside decor. The floors were tiled in natural stone in hues ranging from grey to a dull orange, and the walls were coated in an irregular and far from smooth white render. Louisa got the impression the building hadn’t been altered substantially since it was built, and that was likely to have been a few hundred years ago, or more.
Dietrich led her through the living room where a fire blazed and into the kitchen. A long ornately carved wooden table took up most of the floor-space. At the far end Louisa could see an old-fashioned range cooker. It seemed to be the genuine solid-fuel version rather than electric. Light from the fire flickered through a crack in the front. An array of copper pans and cooking implements dangled from hooks above the table. Dietrich reached up and retrieved a cast iron kettle, which he filled at a white Belfast sink before setting it on the range.
‘It will be a few minutes,’ Dietrich said. ‘In the meantime I can rustle you up something to eat. Is bread and cheese all right?’
Louisa nodded.
He motioned towards the table. ‘Please, sit down.’
Dietrich brought over a wooden board with some bread and cheese and proceeded to cut thick slices of each. Louisa’s mouth watered. He placed the slices on a plate and handed it to Louisa.
She attacked the bread with gusto. The crust melted in her mouth; the inside of the loaf was light and fresh. The cheese was crumbly and smooth with a sharp tang. They were both wonderful.
‘What do you think?’ Dietrich asked.
‘Fantastic,’ Louisa said around a mouthful.
Dietrich beamed. ‘I made them myself.’
The kettle on the range started whistling. Dietrich filled a teapot and fetched two mugs and milk from a fridge before joining her at the table.
‘You said Kenny told you where to find me. Does he still live in the horrible tower block?’
Louisa nodded.
‘The third richest man in Britain,’ Dietrich chuckled. ‘He grew up there. Did you know? He bought it from the council when they were about to demolish it. Not just the tower either, every council house in a half-mile radius. He likes to think he’s keeping in touch with his roots but all the local residents are paying him rent!’
‘He seems to value the lack of a Portal presence,’ Louisa said, reluctant to mention how paranoid the man had seemed. She was still trying to work out how close these two were.
‘He likes to boast about how there’s not a single piece of Portal hardware in the whole area. What he doesn’t tell people is that he has built his own version of Portal inside the tower and the streets surrounding it.’
‘Wouldn’t he need a council licence for the network?’
‘Well, yes, but as I said, he’s the third richest man in Britain. A few charitable donations to the right people and it becomes a non-issue. Also, we in Portal were happy to let him run his little experiment as long as he didn’t interfere with our network. Besides, what if he went into competition! He wouldn’t do it of course. Then he would be no better than us.’
‘Ken mentioned Portal had deviated from the original philosophy the three of you came up with,’ Louisa said. ‘He said you shared his viewpoint.’
‘Is he still going on about that? It all came about from a drunken conversation while we were still at university. Ken thought Portal could change the world and foster peace and harmony for all humanity.’ Dietrich shook his head and took a sip of tea.
‘You don’t believe that?’
‘It was a nice idea, but it made the extremely arrogant assumption we could contrive to affect the way our users behave. If you get ten people together you can barely predict their actions, let alone the population of an entire city. Kenny never accepted it. He wanted to mould the thoughts and feelings of Portal’s users into a form he believed would eventually lead to a social nirvana. It would never have worked. People aren’t sheep—they don’t like being told how to think or act. Now he’s stuck in a moral trap of his own making. For all we know, the system he’s developed in his little tower is the only serious technological rival for Portal in the entire world, and he can’t release it in case it gets twisted into something awful like Portal. It must drive him crazy!’
Louisa smiled and nodded. Ken might have been somewhat odd but Dietrich seemed a little eccentric himself. ‘Are you out here on your own, Dietrich?’
‘Yeah, yeah. I bought the place not long after we started Portal but I only moved here permanently last year. It was always something I wanted to do. Escape from the rat race and all. Adam used to make fun of me. He said I’d never stick at it. He called me Jean De Florette.’ Dietrich smiled. ‘I’ve had my ups and downs but unlike poor Jean it hasn’t quite killed me yet.’ Dietrich took another sip. ‘So what can I do for you, Detective? It must be important for you to come all the way up here. And how did Kenny know I was here?’
‘Actually, he didn’t.’
‘No?’ Dietrich looked bemused. ‘Then who did?’
‘I don’t know,’ Louisa said, exasperated. ‘I’d hoped to find him here. He sent your location to Ken and told him to pass it onto me. All Ken had was the email account. The request originated from someone calling themselves White Hat.’
The smile slid from Dietrich’s face. ‘I think you better tell me why you are here, Detective.’
Louisa pondered his request. What was she going to tell him? Initially when she recognised Dietrich outside she was convinced he was White Hat. He certainly fit the profile. He knew Portal’s systems inside and out, after all. But now she wasn’t so sure. So the question remained, why had she been told to come here? Dietrich must know something of White Hat’s identity. His reaction certainly indicated that he might.
So she told Dietrich about Claire Harris, about how the girl apparently had no Portal profile, yet her first-person feed had been streamed directly to Louisa’s. She covered Claire’s post mortem, how the girl died from a cerebral haemorrhage, the synthetic neurons and the wound in the back of her neck. She skipped Baz’s arrest, SCD7 and Victor Korehkov. She wasn’t about to divulge classified MET operational details to someone she had only just met. But she did describe how Ed found the footage of Claire from the leaked Portal data and concluded with her visit to Ken’s tower block.
Dietrich remained silent while she ta
lked, staring through her, his eyes unfocussed. Abruptly he rose. ‘Let’s go and sit in the living room. It’s more comfortable in there.’
The living room had a suite of antique brown leather furniture. Louisa’s entire body relaxed as she sank into the luxuriously soft leather. Tor popped his head up from where he had been lying in front of the fire and padded over to her. He jumped up and rested his head on her lap. She scratched behind his ears and his tail thumped.
Dietrich threw a split log on the fire from a stack beside the hearth and sat in an armchair opposite her. ‘Do you know why I left Portal, Detective?’
‘The newscasts reported it was because of Adam’s death.’
‘Hmm,’ Dietrich nodded. ‘Yes, that was the official company line. In part it was true. Adam and I were very close. I lost much of my interest in Portal’s daily affairs after he died. But I had made up my mind to leave beforehand. Your victim, Claire Harris—she died of a brain haemorrhage you said, yes?’
‘Yes, that’s the suspected cause of death.’
‘Adam died in the same manner.’
Louisa leaned forward. She hadn’t been aware. ‘Did you discover what caused his haemorrhage?’
‘The same thing which caused Claire’s, I imagine. That’s if she was truly part of a Portal research project as you suspect. Given the nature of the wound in the back of her neck I would say you are correct in that regard. Adam and I were partners in Portal. I ran the day-to-day operations as CEO and Adam took the role of Chief Technology Officer focussing on product innovation and research. What happened to the girl was likely as a result of an experimental human-to-Portal interface Adam had been pursuing several years ago.’
‘An experimental…interface?’
‘Yes. It involved a process whereby a small terminal was implanted into the back of the patient’s neck. The terminal’s nanoware mechanosynthesis abilities were combined with Professor Keenan’s pioneering work into the manufacture of synthetic human cells. Synthetic neurons were grown in the lab before being injected into the terminal, which nurtured an environment designed to facilitate cell replication. The neurons then proliferated throughout the brain, their neurospatial growth pattern directed by the implant. This ability to minutely affect the growth of the neurons was facilitated by a sequence introduced into the genome of the synthesised cells. Once the neuronal structure was in place it monitored the subject’s natural neurons. The electrical signals between the neurons were harvested and relayed back to the implant. It was Adam’s contention that if we were able to monitor the subject’s brain activity at a fine-grained level then the translation of those thought processes into a form we could understand was entirely possible. In effect the subject would be communicating directly with the implanted terminal, and Portal, using their thoughts alone.’
Interfacing with Portal using your thoughts alone. The implications were staggering. No more hand-held terminals. You’d be plugged directly into Portal. ‘Did it work?’
‘Yes, as far as I am aware it was quite successful. But I was only informed of the experiment at quite a late stage. I believe Adam kept it from me on purpose because of the inherent risks involved. You see, he was one of the first human trials for the project. The team had reported great successes by the time he eventually brought me in on things.’ Dietrich paused. ‘Then came the first death.’
Louisa guessed what was coming. ‘A brain haemorrhage.’
Dietrich nodded. ‘One quickly followed another until five test subjects had died. Adam was one of the few who survived beyond a year, but he knew his time was running out. He…changed afterwards, spending all his waking moments in the research centre. I saw less and less of him and when I did seek him out, I was rebuffed and told to stay away.’ Dietrich looked at her sadly. ‘In a way I lost my friend even before he died. It was then I decided I needed a break from the company. It was then I decided to leave.’
‘It’s true, then,’ Louisa said. ‘Claire died because of a Portal experiment.’
‘Yes, the experiment must have been restarted after I left the company. Believe me, I will return to London tomorrow and make sure it is retired. Permanently, this time. But I hope—’ Dietrich hesitated. ‘I hope you can let this go, Detective.’
Louisa narrowed her eyes. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because I don’t believe Portal will be held accountable for this girl’s death and you may not believe me, but it pains me. The company takes steps to ensure all of the research projects are carried out within the bounds of the law and with the expressed consent of participants. Attempts in the past to apportion blame to Portal for similar incidents have all been in vain, and the long protracted legal affairs did little to aid the plaintiffs and much to line the pockets of their lawyers and barristers. Our legal representatives as well, for that matter.’
‘What about torturing the test subjects? Is that within the bounds of the law?’
Dietrich frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Claire Harris. She was abused while she was in one of your labs. Her whole body was covered in scars from hundreds of lacerations and burns. Even if the abuse didn’t directly lead to her death, I believe Portal should answer for it.’
‘I…that’s horrible. Are you sure of this?’
‘I assume it wasn’t part of the experiment?’
‘No, of course not.’ Dietrich’s face twisted in anguish. ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you there, Detective. I don’t know who could have done such a thing.’ He glanced over at the fire with a haunted look on his face.
‘Dietrich, do you know who White Hat is?’
‘No, I don’t believe so. I think someone is playing some sort of practical joke by using that name. Although I find it far from amusing. You see, White Hat was the pseudonym Adam used as his handle when we played an online role-playing game back in university. His character was a sorcerer and he always wore a white hat. It was a little joke, you see, because the name has a different meaning within the tech community. I wasn't aware anyone else knew about it. Kenny didn’t even know. He thought playing games was a waste of time. Someone must have found out. I don’t know who is doing all these things but my friend is gone.’
‘But there’s someone else you’re thinking of, isn’t there? Maybe someone linked to the experiments Claire got mixed up in?’
Tor lifted his head from her lap and his ears pricked up. He cocked his head to one side.
Dietrich slowly shook his head. ‘No…I—I don’t think it could be—’
A low rumble came from Tor’s throat. Louisa glanced down at him in concern and jumped as he let out a sharp bark. The dog leapt from the sofa and bounded into the kitchen, barking furiously.
‘Tor,’ Dietrich said, ‘what’s got into you, boy?’
Louisa followed Dietrich as he went after the dog. They found him in the parlour at the back door. Tor had ceased barking but he whined and scratched at the bottom of the door.
‘He doesn’t normally get on like this,’ Dietrich said. ‘Maybe I’ll let him out for a bit.’
Louisa felt a cold ball form in the pit of her stomach. Had someone followed her here? ‘Wait, Dietrich. Do you keep a gun in the house?’
‘What? Yes. I have a shotgun. I bought the farm outright and the gun came along with it, but I’ve never fired the thing. Why do you ask?’
‘It’s just a precaution.’ Louisa kept her voice calm, even though her pulse had begun to race. Had Victor Korehkov sent someone to finish Ouza’s job?
Dietrich went upstairs and returned with a shotgun and a box of cartridges. He loaded the gun, handed it to Louisa and grabbed Tor by his collar. He led the dog back into the kitchen.
The back door was secured by an iron bolt. Louisa slid it across and glanced over at Dietrich. ‘Stay inside the house.’
She opened the door a crack. The back yard was surfaced in concrete and across from the door there was a large stone-built outhouse. The yard was empty. She opened the door further.
<
br /> 'Tor!' Dietrich cried.
Before she could react Tor flew past her, bounded into the yard and around the corner of the outhouse.
She turned to Dietrich. ‘Bolt the door behind me.’
Louisa crossed the yard to the outhouse’s wall and crept along it. At the corner of the building she slowly leaned out. The concrete of the yard ended in a dirt track partially covered in loose gravel. Directly ahead, at the end of the track was a gated field. Beside it a large barn. There was no sign of Tor but one of the barn doors was ajar. It banged open and closed in the wind.
Louisa kept the gun pointed low. The last thing she wanted to do was shoot some kids that were mucking around in Dietrich’s barn. Away from the shelter of the yard the wind rose from a low whistle to a piercing shriek before dying again. It bit into her exposed skin and leeched the heat from her body. Her teeth chattered.
A strangled yelp came from the direction of the barn. Louisa stopped. The wind picked up again, making her doubt what she had heard. Louisa flicked off the safety on the shotgun.
She cautiously approached the barn and stopped beside the closed door, listening, but she could hear nothing above the howling wind. She tightened her grip on the shotgun and slipped inside.
The barn was cluttered with old farm machinery. Alongside a tractor and trailer was a wide yellow drum with large blades protruding along its length. It was then Louisa noticed a trail of blood flowing out from under the trailer and across the concrete floor towards her.
She raised the shotgun to her shoulder and gingerly stepped around the side of the trailer. Tor lay on the ground, unmoving, a large bloody gash in his side.
She swept the gun left and right, searching the corners of the barn. Visions of another one of Korehkov’s knife-wielding psychopaths flashed through her mind. She was too exposed in the barn on her own. She needed to get back to the house and phone for help.
She took a step backwards, then another. There was a crunch from behind her. Someone walking on the gravel outside the barn.
The London Project (Portal Book 1) Page 25
