The Tau Directive

by Tomas Black

  “Drummond.”

  “I hope you’re running,” said Fern.

  Drum turned around and started a slow walk back along the river. “Trying to keep fit.” He detected something in Fern’s voice. “What’s up.”

  There was a long pause. He waited, catching his breath.

  “I had to shoot someone the other day.”

  Drum stopped in his tracks, sweat dripping down his back. “What happened?”

  Fern briefed him on the shooting. He listened as he walked, not interrupting, staying silent until he was sure she had told him everything that needed to be said. Taking someone’s life was never a simple thing. Talking about it always helped—at least to those who understood.

  “Listen, Fern. You had no choice. Sounds like a professional hit. You did your job. Both you and the principal survived.”

  There was silence on the line. Eventually, Fern spoke. “I know. I keep telling myself that. But I keep going over things in my mind …”

  “Listen,” said Drum. “It never pays to play the ‘what if’ game. You reacted in the split second you had, which is why we train for these situations. What happens now?”

  “I’ve been suspended, pending an investigation. The local NYPD says it was a clear case of self-defence. Didn’t help that the little creep I was protecting told the police I had endangered his life by throwing him in the elevator.”

  “You threw him into an elevator!”

  “Yeah, I should have shot him myself.”

  Drum laughed. “What now?”

  “I’m on desk duty. Have to wait and see what Delaney is going to do.”

  “She’ll support you,” said Drum. “She may be many things, but she protects her people. Take the time to sort yourself out. Do some shopping, it’s Manhattan.”

  “Right, right.” There was a pause. “Hey, listen. I’m sorry about your friend Charles. Alice told me. She called for a chat. This case of yours …”

  Alice the matchmaker, thought Drum. But it was nice of her to check up on Fern. “Don’t worry about the case, Fern. It’ll sort itself out.” He didn’t sound too convincing.

  “Stay safe. And stop jogging, you’ll damage something.”

  Drum pocketed his phone and headed back to the office. He had got as far as Tea Trader’s Wharf when his phone buzzed again. The call was from an unknown number.

  “Drummond.”

  “Hi, Ben. It’s Michael—Michael Mann.”

  Drum was surprised to hear from his old friend at GCHQ.

  “Michael! It’s been a while. Still listening in on other people’s conversations?”

  It was an old joke, but it made Michael laugh. “I’m glad I caught you. Can we talk?”

  Drum liked Michael Mann. They had worked together during Drum’s last deployment and he considered him a straight shooter. But that was almost a decade ago. They had not been in contact since. Michael’s role at GCHQ was classified, but Drum knew enough that it involved liaison with the security services and the dissemination of the many pieces of intelligence the organisation obtained and analysed.

  “I was just heading back to the office. Why not meet me there?”

  “Not at the office. Can we meet near Borough Market? I’ll be waiting in the cathedral grounds. You know the place.” He hung up.

  Drum was surprised by the curt response but thought it must be important for Michael to contact him out of the blue. He called Alice to let her know he’d be delayed and headed along the embankment towards the market.

  He climbed the steps onto London Bridge and crossed the busy road. Southwark Cathedral rose up from below the bridge, providing a sanctuary from the mass of people milling about in the busy market alongside. William used to love it here. He would often find him all alone, reading his newspaper on one of the benches, content in the solitude of the cathedral grounds. He missed his father. He found Michael Mann occupying the same place and reading a newspaper.

  “What brings you to my neck of the woods, Michael? Hope I’m not under surveillance?”

  Mann folded his newspaper, stood and shook hands. “Right, and no, you’re not under surveillance. Sorry, but I couldn’t be seen entering your office. This seemed like a suitable alternative.”

  “What can I do for you, Michael?”

  “We understand you’re taking an assignment for McKinley.”

  “It looks that way. Why the interest?”

  “We understand the police want to question you about the Moretti murder.”

  “So, I am under surveillance.”

  “No, Moretti is—or was. We’ve been monitoring the calls of anyone involved with Salenko Security Systems. We can confirm she called McKinley shortly after you left the hotel. Which gives you an alibi. We’ve informed the City police,” added Mann.

  The assignment had just taken on a whole extra dimension, thought Drum. “Any lead on the murderer?”

  “Not at this time. She died from a blow to the back of the head. Not very professional—or at least it was made to look that way. The room was ransacked but nothing was taken according to the police report. They figure it was a robbery gone wrong.”

  “It wasn’t,” said Drum, and gave Mann a brief update on DCI Chambers’ visit.

  “And he didn’t ask you to come in for a statement?”

  “He was just fishing for information,” said Drum, but held back on revealing anything to do with the device. A thought occurred to him. “Does Delaney know about your interest?”

  “No—and as a matter of national security, we’d prefer you kept her in the dark. It was our people who recommended you to McKinley’s CEO. He then contacted Delaney. With your security clearance and tech background, you were the ideal candidate.”

  Drum frowned. “For what?”

  “We need someone to infiltrate the organisation—find out what’s going on in there. We’ve made several attempts, but we can’t get anyone past Salenko’s security. The man’s got the place locked down tight.”

  Drum remembered what Moretti had said about Salenko’s security. It didn’t bode well. “Why wasn’t I contacted by Thames House—why send you?”

  “After what went down in Afghanistan and the Omega fiasco, it was decided to disband Section 6. There is now only an informal communications channel between the security services. I act as their liaison. I thought you were the best candidate for the job. The Americans think so too.”

  “The Americans. How many agencies are involved?”

  “All of them that matter. I won’t lie to you, Ben. This won’t be a walk in the park, and I’ll understand if you turn us down …”

  Mann didn’t actually say ‘your country needs you', he didn’t have to. Anyone who has served knows what it means when you get the call. And if Michael hadn’t reached out, he would have stumbled into a difficult situation.

  “I still don’t understand,” said Drum. “Why are the security services interested in a startup?”

  “About a month ago, our intrusion detection systems lit up. Someone was hammering on the door of the Doughnut and wanted in.”

  Drum smiled at the reference to the GCHQ building in Cheltenham.

  “The attack was very sophisticated, using very novel attack vectors—many we’ve never seen before. We spent hours fending off the attack, but one-by-one our firewalls went down.”

  “What happened?”

  “We were literally down to the wire, thinking about pulling the plug when some bright spark powered up an experimental system he’d been working on, built entirely on a new type of computer operating system. This did the trick and stopped the attack.”

  “Did you lose anything?” asked Drum.

  “Only our pride. We’re still analysing the attack and reviewing all our procedures. Needless to say, we’ve employed our new firewall extensively across all our systems.”

  “But?”

  “We think it’s only a matter of time before the attacker strikes again—and we won’t be so lucky next time.”
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br />   Drum leaned back and let out a soft whistle. “And you think Salenko Systems has something to do with the attack?”

  “Shortly after, I contacted our American liaison. Let’s just say she was less than impressed with our performance and blew off the severity of the attack on our poor technology.”

  Drum smiled. Competition between the services nearly always prevented good cooperation. “What happened?”

  “A few days later there was an attack on the CIA. Their firewalls went down like dominoes. They suffered a massive data breach. Since then our American friends have been very interested in our new firewall and we’ve agreed on a new joint task force to share the technology and to track down and neutralise the attacker. Again, your name came up.”

  “Who recommended me?”

  “Tom Hammond. He now runs Homeland Security. He’s put a guy called Marchetti on the case as liaison.”

  Drum thought back to the Omega operation and his meeting with Hammond. He knew Jack Marchetti as the CIA contact from the Mexico City job. It would be good to have him in his corner.

  “We had no sooner re-grouped when we received intelligence from an operative in Hong Kong. A sensitive government data centre was breached. We don’t know what was taken, but the Chinese are hopping mad. There was also another incident at the same facility. One of their top analysts we’ve been tracking shot himself. A man called Michael Chen. We’re not sure if the two events are connected. To make things worse, the Chinese have pointed the finger at us. Diplomatic relations have become very tense, especially with the political situation as it is with the former colony.”

  “And you think Salenko is behind the attacks.”

  “We do. Until recently, the attacker has been very careful to cover their tracks. Then we got lucky. Someone probed our network and failed to mask their IP address. We tracked the probe back to Salenko’s principal offices in Cambridge.”

  Drum frowned. “That sounds very convenient. Not something a sophisticated attacker would do.”

  Mann nodded. “I agree. But it’s the only lead we have. Are you in?”

  He had little choice. Moretti was dead—killed by persons unknown and who had implicated him in her death. Then there was the whistleblower, Jane, asking for his help. And of course, there was Charles. He couldn’t let this one go.

  “I’m in.”

  Mann smiled. “Good, I knew I could count on you.”

  “But I need to insist on some operational parameters.”

  Mann looked wary. “How so.”

  “It’s pointless trying to keep Delaney in the dark. If Tom Hammond knows, then Delaney almost certainly knows. They go way back. And anyway, I’ll need to call upon ROD’s resources.”

  “Ahem, you realise you have the resources of GCHQ and the British government at your disposal.”

  Drum smiled. “I appreciate that, Michael. But ROD has access to a large talent pool. Trust me on this one.”

  “Ok, I think I can sell Delaney’s involvement given her standing in the intelligence community. What else?”

  “I’ll need Alice to run point for me,” said Drum.

  “Your office manager?”

  “C’mon, Michael. They must have briefed you on Alice.”

  Mann nodded. “They did. But wouldn’t you want someone …”

  “Younger?” added Drum.

  “Well, yes, to put it bluntly.”

  “I’ll take experience over youthful exuberance any day.”

  “Ok. It’s your show. I’ll need to reactivate her security clearance. There will be some inside MI6 who won’t be happy.”

  Drum shrugged.

  Mann rose from the bench. “I’ll arrange a handler from Thames House to act as a go-to in the field. Give me a day or two to set things up. They’ll meet you in Cambridge. When are you leaving?”

  “I’m riding up with an Investment Banker from IBS on Saturday.”

  “Mei Ling Chung?”

  “Yes,” said Drum. “You know her?”

  Mann put a hand on Drum’s shoulder and bent close to his ear. “You realise, of course, she works for Beijing.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Strategic Assessments

  Drum spent the rest of the morning bringing Alice up to speed with Michael Mann’s revelations.

  “And he said I’d be reactivated,” said Alice, balancing a cup of tea on her lap. “Why did you do that? I swore I’d never work for those people again.”

  Drum nodded. “I understand, Alice. But I don’t know what I’m walking into with this assignment, and I’d rather have you watching my back than some kid still wet behind the ears.”

  “Thanks, Ben. I appreciate that.” She thought for a moment. “Did you tell him about the device Moretti gave you?”

  “No,” he said. “Don’t ask me why. I thought the fewer people who know about it the better.”

  “Good,” said Alice. “Let’s keep it that way for the moment. If there is one thing I’ve learnt over the years it’s that it’s best not to reveal all one’s cards.”

  “Agreed,” said Drum. “Stevie might have some idea about its function. Did you tell her we’re coming?”

  Alice shook her head. “She’s not picking up. I just get her voicemail. I’ve left her a few messages …”

  “She’s probably up to her neck in undergraduates,” said Drum, trying to play down Stevie’s lack of communication. It certainly wasn’t like her.

  “What are you going to do about your Chinese friend,” said Alice, changing the subject.

  “I don’t know,” said Drum. “Play along, I guess. Brock made her straight away. Guess I’m losing it.”

  “Oh tsk, tsk,” said Alice. “You’re just too close to the situation, that’s all.” Alice cocked her head to one side and smiled. “Is she nice?”

  Drum rolled his eyes. He checked his watch. “Eleven-thirty. I’m going for a quick sandwich before it gets too busy. Want anything?”

  “No thank you, dear. I need to sort out this temp.”

  Drum left Alice dialling around the various City temping agencies. He grabbed his coat and headed out along the wharf. The morning had clouded over and it was threatening rain, the sky casting dull-grey shadows over the cityscape of glass and steel across the river. He pulled up his collar against the chill air as he passed the small cafes and restaurants along the embankment.

  He needed to get his head around all that had happened over the last few days. Someone had tampered with his rigging. Why? He didn’t know, but he was sure it had something to do with the McKinley assignment. Your name came up.

  He didn’t believe Charles would have knowingly put him in harm’s way, no matter how much money the guy owed, but Drum had to admit that his old sergeant was somehow involved in the incident. Drum reached into his wallet and pulled out the piece of paper he’d found on Charles. He examined the long string of numbers and the twelve, seemingly random, words. He’d not seen many of these. It was a type of paper crypto payment. It only confirmed his suspicions about the man.

  And then there was Moretti. Someone had sent her the device. Someone had killed for it—whatever it was. His mysterious caller, Jane, was implicated in some way. Something bad is happening here. Moretti had received a similar call. He needed to find this woman. If she was the whistleblower, she’d need protecting.

  He thought about his recent conversation with Mann. The hackers had attacked all the major intelligence agencies. Someone had left them a clue. Now they were all heading for Cambridge and Marco Salenko. All except one: the Russians. Were they behind the attack? He could understand an attack against NATO allies; but an attack against China? It made little sense. You realise, of course, she works for Beijing.

  His phone buzzed. It was another unknown number.

  “Drummond.”

  “Hi, Ben.”

  The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite believe it. Not after had what happened. He felt his gut wrench. He stared at his phone, unable to speak.


  “Ben, it’s me, Victor.”

  ~~~

  Victor Renkov. The very thought of the man was like a white-hot spike between his eyes. It must be some kind of joke. What would Victor be doing back in London? As far as he knew, British Intelligence was still hunting for the man. Whatever the reason, Alice would want to know his location. It was Victor who had helped Vlad Abramov ensnare him into helping the Russian Mafia solve the Omega case that led to the death of his father. There were debts to be paid, and Alice would want to collect. He also wanted his pound of flesh.

  He headed across Tower Bridge and phoned Brock.

  “Brock, it’s Drum.”

  “Hey, are you coming for lunch?”

  “I’ve just had a call—from Victor Renkov.”

  There was a long pause. Drum kept walking. He passed the Tower of London. “Still there?”

  “Victor?”

  “He wants to meet,” said Drum.

  “Where?”

  “The coffee place by Lloyd’s. I’m heading there now. I need backup.”

  “When?”

  “In about thirty minutes.”

  There was another pause. He heard Brock giving orders in the background.

  “Right, I’ll be there,” he said and hung up.

  Drum carried on walking and turned off onto a small side street that led onto Lime Street. The Lloyd’s building gleamed in the morning sunshine. He and William had always referred to it as ‘The Brewery’. Drum stopped and watched the glass-sided elevators ride the outside of the building and thought about phoning Alice. He could use her expertise, but he also needed Victor alive—for now. The other option was to contact MI5. A dangerous Russian national was operating on their home turf, but Victor would have thought of that. He must have a backup plan. What was he missing?

  Drum sat at a table outside the small cafe facing Lloyd’s and waited. He chose a table that provided him with the best visibility of the market and afforded him the greatest cover, but he still felt very exposed. He looked around; there were at least a dozen buildings with a line of sight onto his position. Sit outside, Victor had instructed. He’d chosen the location well.