The Tau Directive

by Tomas Black

  “I’ll leave you here,” said the bot, and scooted out of the door. Drum noticed that, this time, it bounced down the steps rather than taking the ramp.

  “Good morning, Mr Drummond, Ms Chung,” said the receptionist, a woman young enough to be an intern. She gave them both a bright smile—something which MSU-12 couldn’t quite manage. “Mr Salenko is waiting for you. My name is Amanda. I’ll escort you to his office.”

  Salenko’s office was a large affair situated at the apex of the horseshoe-shaped building. It had a wide, sweeping window that occupied almost half its circumference and which looked out onto an idyllic vista of the Cambridgeshire countryside, bisected by the River Cam. The walls of the room were panelled in a rich maple which absorbed the warm hues of the low, setting sun streaming in through the large expanse of glass. Abstract paintings adorned the wall opposite the window and added to the multitude of colours. Several sofas lined the window, following the curvature of the wall. Two long, glass coffee tables had been laden with refreshments. Salenko rose from behind his desk when Drum and Mei entered, waving a cheery goodbye to the amenable Amanda.

  “If I’d known you were coming, I would have met you at the gate,” said Salenko, extending his hand to Mei and then to Drum.

  “Given the events of the past week, we thought it prudent to get here as soon as possible,” said Mei.

  Salenko was not a tall man and, as Moretti had mentioned at their meeting, not as young as some tech entrepreneurs. Drum put him in his early to mid-thirties, stocky in build with short, dark cropped hair. His eyes darted here and there and never seemed to stay still. He was casually dressed in flannel slacks and a polo shirt and looked ready for a round of tennis at one of the local clubs.

  “McKinley spoke highly of you, Mr Drummond,” said Salenko. “I’m glad you were available to accept the assignment.” He glanced at Mei. “Now that you’re here, perhaps we can review your brief.”

  Before Drum could answer Mei said, “Mr Drummond is here to determine the source of the leak and to protect our investment. The brief has not changed—unless there is something you want to share with us?”

  Salenko glanced at Drum. “Er no, that was my understanding. I just want to make sure that boundaries are established. Work here is at a critical stage and I would like to avoid any disruption to our schedule. When do you plan to start?”

  Drum wondered how Mei was going to play this. It would have been better if they had agreed on a plan before the meeting.

  “I don’t intend to charge around the place causing havoc,” said Drum. “I’ll be discrete. As for starting, we already have.”

  Mei looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Salenko frowned “How so?” he asked.

  “We interrogated one of your mobile units. Impressive technology. I hadn’t realised that robotics was a part of your work here.”

  Salenko leaned forward, his interest aroused. “You interrogated one of our units. How?”

  Mei smiled, now understanding. “We asked it sensitive information which it freely gave.”

  “Really!” said Salenko, jumping up and moving to his desk. “Which unit was it?”

  “MSU-12,” said Drum.

  Salenko waved his hand over a glass panel embedded in the surface of the desk. A voice filled the room. “This is Central.”

  “Central, play back the last interaction of MSU-12 with individual Drummond.”

  There was a slight pause before Central answered. “Playback time two forty-five.” A panel on the wall lit up with an image of Drum asking the unit his question. “Interaction ends,” said Central.

  “I’m lost,” said Salenko. “What did the unit reveal.”

  “Your garrison strength,” said Drum. “A soldier would never have revealed that. Given a little more time, the unit would probably have told me more.”

  “I see,” said Salenko. “That is a flaw. They were right about you.”

  “Thank you,” said Drum. “But the unit is still impressive. I’d be interested to know more about it for future reference, but I suspect the leak is probably down to something more mundane—a disgruntled employee, maybe.” Drum thought he would float a controversial theory and see how Salenko reacted. “Another possibility that we can’t discount is that your network was penetrated.”

  Salenko’s face broke into a broad grin. “Really! Is that what you think?”

  Drum shrugged. “It’s possible.”

  Salenko sat back on the edge of his desk and smiled. “Tell me, Mr Drummond, what is it you think we do here?”

  “My understanding is that you have created a new network security product,” said Drum, being as vague as possible.

  “Well, that’s a gross oversimplification, but not wrong.” Salenko thought for a while. “I understand you are a cybersecurity specialist. Is that right?”

  “Yes,” said Drum, hoping that Salenko would not dig any deeper.

  “So tell me, how would you typically go about assessing a company’s network for security flaws?”

  “Well,” said Drum, “the short answer is I’d review the network topology for design flaws that might provide an intruder with access; review firewall configurations for security holes and general configuration errors, and the list goes on.”

  “Precisely,” said Salenko. “You might even conduct a penetration test to see if you could break into the network—with the owner’s permission, of course.”

  “Of course,” agreed Drum.

  “How long would that take?” asked Salenko. “A couple of hours?”

  “More like a couple of weeks, depending on the size and sensitivity of the network.”

  “Very good, Mr Drummond. You know your stuff. And I dare say your skilful assessment wouldn’t come cheap.”

  Drum smiled. If there was one thing William had taught him, it was never to sell yourself cheap. Private clients paid top money; the government always conscripted him and paid nothing.

  “Our system,” continued Salenko, now in full sales mode, “is like having ten Ben Drummonds working twenty-four seven, continuously monitoring the network for unauthorised access. It’s capable of monitoring inbound traffic for thousands of potential attack vectors, dynamically configuring the network topology on the fly to prevent intrusions without affecting user access to critical systems.” He beamed. “What do you think about that!”

  “How do you know,” asked Drum.

  “Know what?”

  “That it’s effective.”

  “Ah, good question.” Salenko thought for a moment. “We pay people to penetrate our network—or at least try to.”

  “You employ hackers,” said Mei.

  “Ethical hackers—white hats,” added Salenko, “that is true. As Mr Drummond has indicated, it is part of the verification process.”

  “And your AI learns from these penetration tests,” said Drum, now seeing how clever the system was.

  “Precisely!” said Salenko, warming to the topic. “We have partnered with the university to utilise the work of Professor Kovac. He is an expert on adaptive AI techniques, which makes our system very agile without the need for vast amounts of training data.” Salenko beamed. “You should talk to him. He works here several days a week and often at weekends. I informed him you were coming and told him to make himself available.”

  Mei rose from her seat and brushed down her jeans. The meeting was over. “Well, thank you for your time, Mr Salenko,” she said, extending her hand. “We won’t keep you any longer.”

  “Thank you,” said Drum, shaking Salenko’s hand. “I’ll be back on Monday. Perhaps I can meet with your head of security, first thing?”

  “Fine,” said Salenko. “That would be Ludmilla Drago. I’ll make sure she clears her diary for you. We will keep your security clearance active for the duration of your assignment, so no need to check in again. Automated systems will allow you entry to most of the facility—with certain restrictions.”

  Drum nodded.

  Salenko raised his
hand, indicating they should wait. “Central, please have Amanda report to my office.”

  There was a soft warble from the system. “Amanda will show you out.”

  They walked to the door where Drum paused and turned to face Salenko, who had retreated behind his desk. “Just one more thing, purely out of interest.”

  “Sure,” said Salenko.

  “Your AI has probably learned to recognise and analyse many thousands of attacks.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Could it be used to test for the vulnerabilities of an external system?”

  Salenko looked thoughtful. “It could—if we allowed it to. But it’s not an area we would want to pursue.”

  “Why not?” asked Mei.

  “Legal issues, mainly. We would run into liability issues for misuse of our system.”

  Drum nodded and turned to find Amanda at the door. “Monday then,” said Drum and they followed Amanda out.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  McKay of MI5

  The sun was setting when Mei and Drum left the campus en route back to Cambridge town centre where Mei had reserved rooms at a hotel. Drum thought through the ramifications of what Salenko had told them. The car slid quietly through the back roads of the Cambridgeshire countryside. Mei drove in silence, her hand resting lightly on the steering wheel. The sun finally bid its last farewell, prompting the car to turn on its headlights and light up the interior with its many displays.

  They were coming into the town centre when Mei turned to him. “Do you think Salenko knows about the hacks originating from his site?”

  Drum stared out of the window, thinking. From the candour of the man’s answer to his last question, he was wondering the same thing. The medieval spires of the Cambridge colleges came into view, their bleached stone brightly lit against the inky-black of the February sky. “If he does, he’s very good at pretending otherwise.”

  “We need to find this Jane,” said Mei.

  “We’ll start by reviewing the list of employees on Monday.”

  “Why wait?” said Mei. “We can make a start tomorrow.”

  “It’s Sunday.”

  “So?”

  “I need to prep. And anyway, the security personnel we need will probably be at home. Take the day off and explore Cambridge.”

  She nodded and pulled up outside the hotel.

  “You booked us in at the Grand?” said Drum.

  “Yes,” said Mei, looking a little concerned. “Is that not acceptable?”

  “No, no. It’s fine. It’s just a little above my pay grade,” said Drum.

  Mei grinned. “No worries. IBS is paying—or I should say Beijing is paying.” She hesitated. “Can I buy you dinner?”

  Before he could answer, his phone buzzed. Great, he thought, perfect timing. He glanced at the screen. There was a message: Grey Duck, by the river, Mill Lane. There was no caller ID, but he guessed who it might be from.

  “Sorry, Mei. It’s my office manager. I need to see her. How about Sunday brunch?”

  Mei smiled. “No problem. I’ll have your bag sent to your room.”

  He nodded and got out of the car. No sooner had he closed the door, than Mei sped off, turning sharply into the entrance of the underground car park.

  He brought up a map of the city on his phone and orientated himself towards the river and started walking, pulling up his collar against the chill night air. He followed a route down narrow Pembroke Street, between buildings that became more mundane as he neared the river, the grandeur of medieval limestone being replaced by Victorian brick. Small groups of students cycled by, navigating past errant pedestrians who had wandered off the pavement and into the road. The tinkling of bells seemed to follow him down the street, together with the laughter of young people looking forward to a night on the town.

  He stopped and turned. A small group of students bumped into him, mumbling their apologies. He didn’t know why he had stopped. Situational awareness the Army called it. After years of people trying to kill him, Drum’s inner warning system was wound tight. A lone figure, further back, was examining a storefront, a young man in a leather bomber jacket and jeans. It was too late to lose him, so he continued to the end of Mill Lane.

  The Grey Duck was a small pub just on the bend of the river beside a boatyard that hired out punts and small canoes, which were now neatly moored and tied up for the night. Drum pushed open the door and walked into a melee of people chatting and drinking along the length of a long bar that snaked its way through the building. He spotted his man almost immediately at a corner table on an elevated section by a large window that looked out onto the inky blackness of the river. He spotted Drum and raised an empty pint glass.

  Drum nodded and eased himself between the sea of bodies to get to the bar. He caught the eye of a young barmaid and ordered two pints of the local bitter. He watched the door as she pulled the pints. As if on cue, his tail entered the throng of people by the door and scanned the room. Drum turned and paid for the beers and made his way over to the table.

  “Evening, McKay,” said Drum, as he took a seat beside him. “I got you the local brew.”

  “Evening, Drummond.” He drained the rest of his pint and made a start on the second.

  Major Ian McKay, retired, formerly of British Military Intelligence, and now working for MI5, was a bear of a man with a head of close-cropped ginger hair which was normally covered by an unfashionable trilby, but which tonight had been replaced by a less conspicuous flat cap, now resting on his lap. He wore a sports jacket complete with leather-patched elbows over an open-necked checked shirt. Brown corduroy trousers completed the ensemble. Drum noticed though that he had kept his trusty trench coat that was bundled in a heap on the chair beside him.

  “Blending in I see,” said Drum. “Is this the Cambridge don look or the impoverished farmer look?”

  “Fuck off, Drummond,” said McKay, as he drained almost half his drink. “You realise you brought a tail.”

  Drum glanced in the direction of the bar. His young friend was standing with a pint in his hand talking to one of the barmaids. “Didn’t have time to lose him.”

  “No matter,” said McKay. “Half the people in Cambridge are probably intelligence operatives.” He hesitated. “I must admit, I was a little surprised when you requested me as your handler.”

  This time last year, McKay would have been the last person Drum would have asked for, but working with the man on operation Omega had changed all that. “To tell you the truth, McKay, you’re about the only person I trust in the intelligence community right now. I know you’ll have my back.”

  McKay simply nodded. “Victor Renkov.”

  “Did you pick him up?”

  McKay drained his glass and slammed it back on the table. “No, we did not. Thames House is pissed you met with him before informing them.”

  Drum shrugged. “There was no time, events were moving quickly and I had Alice to think of.”

  “That was my assessment,” said McKay. “At least we know the Russians are in play. Victor won’t get far.”

  Drum nodded but privately thought that the odds of MI5 catching Victor were very slim. He somehow always eluded British Intelligence. “You have something for me?”

  Being the consummate professional that he was, McKay carried no documents with him. He’d memorised his briefing. He stared straight ahead and recalled the information Drum had requested. “The guy at the bar is Sergei Fedorov, Russian GRU, newly minted, straight from military service. Degree in Engineering from the University of St. Petersburg, apparently. We think he was brought in as the local muscle for Victor. First time in the UK, as far as we know. Thames House can’t decide if it was smart to bring him on board or a big mistake that will eventually bite you in the arse.”

  “What do you think?” said Drum.

  McKay picked up his empty glass. “I think briefings can be thirsty work.”

  Drum shook his head and headed for the bar. His man was still t
here, casually supping his beer. There was something familiar about the name Fedorov, but he couldn’t place it. He stopped beside him and waved to a passing barman. “Two pints of the local stuff and whatever my friend here is having.”

  Sergei put down his empty glass and beamed. “That was nice of you, Benjamin. Thank you.”

  “Does Alice know you’re out on your own?”

  Sergei smiled. “I think she would be pissed—if she found out.”

  Drum shook his head. Sergei didn’t know Alice very well. He paid for the drinks. “Wait for me. I won’t be long.”

  Sergei returned to chatting with the barmaid. Drum made his way back to McKay with the drinks.

  “Amenable chap,” said Drum.

  McKay grunted. “I wonder why they sent someone so young and not a more experienced GRU operative?”

  Drum shrugged. “As long as he’s not trying to kill me, I don’t care.”

  “Early days,” said McKay, taking a long draught of beer. “Anyway, Mei Ling.”

  “Is that her actual name?”

  “As far as we know,” said McKay, “although our intel on Chinese operatives is not as developed as the Soviets. Now she is someone to watch out for. Our sources in Hong Kong tell us she’s a rising star in the intelligence community and well connected with the ruling elite in Beijing. Degrees in both Computer Sciences and Philosophy. She specialises in AI and was in charge of the Hong Kong facility when it got penetrated. She’s probably been told to find out who is responsible or not come back.”

  “I see,” said Drum. “She was very keen to trade. Made no secret of the information she had on me—which, I might add, was substantial.”

  “I’m not surprised,” said McKay. “There have been several concerted attempts to access our systems. GCHQ have your files locked down tight. You can be sure she has plenty of local support, so be careful.” McKay took another long swig of his drink. “And another thing. Diplomatic relations between London and Beijing are at an all-time low. Things are escalating fast and London is looking for results.”