The Tau Directive

by Tomas Black

  Mei spoke a few words and the console screen displayed a road map of the city and a blue dot traversing the street which he assumed was their car.

  “This road leads to a roundabout which joins the Newmarket road,” said Drum.

  “So?”

  “I think they’re heading for Fen Wootton,” he said.

  “That would make sense,” said Mei. “They’re taking him to the house. What do you want to do?”

  Drum thought about it. Intercepting the car could get messy. He was the only one armed, as far as he knew, and there was a risk that Burnett could be injured or killed in a shootout.

  “Keep your distance,” said Drum, “but don’t lose sight of them. The best we can do is confirm where they’re taking him.”

  “We’re coming up to the roundabout,” said Mei. “I hate these things.”

  Drum smiled. “Give way to the right.”

  “Really! I never knew that.”

  The road ahead opened up, the pursuit taking them onto the Newmarket road as Drum had predicted. The police car sped up once it hit the dual carriageway, trying its best to outpace the Chinese supercar following close behind.

  “In your dreams,” said Mei, as she powered on the juice, throwing the car forward in a massive spurt of acceleration. The power bars, showing the number of kilowatts feeding the twin electric motors of the rear wheels, climbed steadily up. Drum watched with some trepidation as the digital speedometer quickly exceeded the speed limit of the local road. They were soon tailgating the police car.

  “Remember, we need Burnett alive,” said Drum.

  Mei eased off the accelerator, causing the power meter to plunge. The police car sped ahead, rounding a bend in the dual carriageway that took them over the main train line into London. They heard a screech of tyres up ahead and saw the police car take a sharp left onto a private road beside a small flint and granite chapel.

  Mei reacted quickly and applied the brakes, the sports suspension of the low-slung car absorbing the massive decrease in acceleration, throwing Drum forward into his harness. Mei slid the car into the corner, narrowly avoiding a small hedgerow. The tyres bit into the gravel of the narrow road, causing the rear of the car to fishtail wildly. Mei fought with the steering wheel to regain control and then powered into the lane past the chapel.

  The road widened as they passed a large commercial building on their left and swung around parallel to the train line. On their right was an open meadow. The road turned from loose gravel to new concrete and disappeared into a gated entrance at the edge of a large copse of trees. A lone police officer stood in front of the open gate with an automatic weapon trained in their direction.

  “Watch out!” shouted Drum, but Mei had already reacted as the man opened up with a sustained burst of gunfire.

  Drum instinctively ducked as a hail of bullets ricocheted off the windscreen and fabric of the car. Mei braked hard and swung the car around in a full circle, unfazed by the hail of bullets raining down around them. The gunman walked forward, firing short bursts at the back of the car, the bullets glancing harmlessly off the large, sloping back windscreen. Mei hit the juice and the car burnt rubber, catapulting them back the way they had come.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Relative Values

  “So this is how you interrogate foreign intelligence officers in your country,” said Sergei, looking petulantly out of the window of the public house in the centre of Fen Wootton.

  “It’s called afternoon tea,” said Alice, refilling Sergei’s cup for the second time from an ornate china teapot. “It’s what English people do at this time of day. More cake?”

  “No, thank you,” he said, turning around to observe two locals propping up the bar of the old inn, its roof beams and supporting braces hosting an array of horse brasses and an assortment of farming implements. He looked on with envy as the two men supped on full pints of beer.

  “Later,” said Alice, glancing out of the large bay window. They had been lucky. The public house was on the corner of a junction, facing the gated entrance to the house that Stevie had described. Even better, it served an excellent afternoon tea.

  Sergei turned back and gave Alice his full attention. “You knew my father, I think.”

  Alice was dreading this conversation, but she owed it to Sergei to tell him what she knew. Her relationship with her own father had been a strained affair, and she thought back to the times when she had tried desperately to win his approval. It seemed that whatever she did was wrong in his eyes, always too busy to make room for her in his life. This also included her mother, a Russian who had fallen in love with the British diplomat. She wondered, knowing what she knew now about intelligence operatives, if her father’s marriage to her mother had been a sham. After all, her mother had been well placed in the Soviet state machinery.

  Alice put down her cup. It was reasonable for Sergei to want to know about his father. “I knew him as Misha, but to the Russian mob he was known as Molotok.” She smiled. “A stupid name made up by stupid men.”

  Sergei nodded. “I have heard this name. They told me he was a gangster—a criminal. He left me after my mother died. I despised him for it.”

  Alice could feel his pain. The love of a father is all a child ever wants. “I didn’t know your father well—I hardly knew him at all, to tell you the truth, but those people who were close to him spoke well of him. Benjamin liked your father. He trusted him—Lord knows why—perhaps because they had something in common.”

  Sergei looked up, a frown creasing his brow. “Benjamin and my father were friends?”

  “I wouldn’t go as far as that,” said Alice. “Ben and your father were both soldiers. They shared something few men experience. I remember Ben telling me about the first time they met in a market in London. Ben was talking to his father when Misha walked up and introduced himself. Misha ordered a type of tea they drink in Afghanistan. Both men had served there—both men had lost comrades there. From that brief talk, over a cup of tea, Ben knew your father was an honourable man whom he could trust.”

  “This is not what I was told,” said Sergei. “They told me British Intelligence killed my father, along with two other GRU agents.”

  “Well, they would say that, wouldn’t they, and that story is utter bollocks.”

  Sergei looked surprised at her profanity. “How do you know?” he said.

  “Well, because I was there.” Alice hesitated, wondering how much of this story she should reveal. After all, she didn’t know how deep Misha was within MI6.

  “You can’t stop now, Alice,” said Sergei. He turned back towards the bar. “Fuck this tea. We need a proper drink.” Alice didn’t object. If she was going to tell this story, she would need something stronger than tea.

  Sergei came back with two large glasses and placed one in front of Alice. “Gin and Tonic, a double, and a Vodka for me.” He raised his glass to Alice and took a big gulp. “You were saying.”

  “I was there,” repeated Alice. “They had tied me to a chair—two GRU agents sent to close down an operation that had got out of control. Their job was to tidy house. My William was a casualty of that encounter.”

  “I’m sorry, Alice,” said Sergei. “What did you do?”

  Alice nodded. “I can’t go into details, but without your father’s help, I might not be sitting here today.”

  “Really!” said Sergei. “I don’t understand. Why would he help British Intelligence?”

  Alice shook her head. “You don’t understand. It’s complicated. Nothing in this business is black and white. It all comes down to the people you trust. Misha wasn’t helping British Intelligence, he was helping Ben and me.”

  Sergei looked dumbfounded. Alice took a big swig of her gin and tonic. God, she needed that. The memory of that day came flooding back to her. She’d spent a year trying to forget it and now here was this young man bringing it all up again. She took a deep breath and tried again.

  “Look, Sergei. Ben and your fa
ther—they had this mutual respect. When Ben went to New York on an assignment, Misha was told to bring him back. But the FBI arrested him. It was in an FBI holding cell that Misha told Ben about you—the sacrifices he had made to keep you safe. He told Ben that if the FBI deported him back to Russia it would put your life at risk. So he asked Ben for help—one soldier to another.”

  “And did he?” said Sergei.

  Alice nodded. “He did. He vouched for your father. Told the FBI to send him back to London at great risk to himself and his reputation.” She smiled. “And his love life.”

  Sergei looked puzzled. “Never mind,” said Alice. “The important thing is that your father sacrificed himself to keep you safe and both men helped to save themselves.”

  Sergei looked crestfallen. He downed his drink in one. “I need another.”

  “So do I,” said Alice. She looked out of the window. Nothing much was happening at the house. Sergei soon returned with more drinks.

  “Your father was a complicated man, Sergei—all parents are. But children see things differently. Whatever your father did in London, with the mob, it was all to keep you safe. It was the sacrifice he made for you.”

  Sergei stared down at the table.

  “He told Ben how proud he was of you—how you were studying to be an engineer. He never wanted you in this line of work.”

  Sergei gulped his drink.

  Before Alice could continue, her phone buzzed. She retrieved it from her bag. There was one secure message. “It’s from Ben,” she said.

  “Are we needed?”

  “Ben’s run into a few problems. Asked us to keep an eye on the house for any activity—”

  “There, look,” said Sergei. “A police car pulling into the gate.”

  Alice typed a brief message on her phone. “Sit tight,” came the reply. “Sounds like there's been some action down the road. We might have to leave.”

  Sergei looked at Alice. “So, how did my father die?”

  “Your father,” said Alice, downing the rest of her drink, “is still alive.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Fen Wootton

  Stevie looked up from her terminal inside the main room of the old rectory where she was working and watched helplessly as a dishevelled Jeremy Burnett was dragged from the back of the police car and marched to an outbuilding close to the house.

  Baz Kulik walked over and stood beside her as Burnett disappeared from view. “It looks like your boyfriend was holding out on us,” he sneered. “Turns out he had one of the keystones. His life won’t be worth shit after Vashchenko finishes with him.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” said Stevie, as evenly as she could.

  “Yeah, well, if you say so,” said Baz.

  “What will they do with him?” asked Stevie.

  “Nothing until they find out who sent him the keystone,” said Baz. “Until then, we keep him on ice.” He looked at her screen. “You need to finish the site. We have less than a week.” He stomped back to his seat on the other side of the room.

  Stevie looked at her screen. She had almost finished working on the auction site and was now playing for time. Fortunately, none of the other programmers had bothered to check on her work. She minimised the terminal window she had been working in and opened another. The script she had written had been busy in the background, scanning for open ports on the network inside the building, looking for any vulnerability that her arsenal of hacking tools could exploit. She had already cracked the passwords of several programmers who had illicitly opened up the network connections on their computers so that they could play games with each other in the evening. They felt confident that they were secure from attack from the outside world, sitting behind the network’s main firewall, but hadn’t reckoned on being hacked from inside the network where the firewall was all but useless. With each hacked computer on the network, her account gained more privileges. Soon her account would be strong enough to take on the administrators. Once she had one of these accounts, she could search for the whereabouts of the stolen data files. But first, she had to talk to Jeremy.

  Stevie minimised her terminal window and logged out, securing her login with a strong password to discourage nosey teammates. She walked to the main entrance and pulled open the heavy oak door, letting the crisp evening air envelop her. She took a deep breath and walked across a small courtyard to the building where they were holding Jeremy.

  A previous owner had converted the old building into a garage. She cautiously pushed open the door and walked into a brightly lit space illuminated by the harsh light of a flickering fluorescent tube suspended from the rafters. Jeremy sat forlornly on a stool by a workbench laden with old car parts and bits of machinery, looking dejectedly down at the floor. Vashchenko stood over him, holding what appeared to be a glowing crystal up to the light. A man in a police officer’s uniform stood behind Burnett, his eyes also fixed on the device. He looked up as she entered and said something to Vashchenko.

  “Ah, Svetlana,” he said. “I wondered when you would show up.”

  “You said you wouldn’t hurt him,” said Stevie, looking to see if Jeremy was indeed hurt.

  Vashchenko’s face took on a feigned look of surprise. “But we haven’t hurt him, have we, Mr Burnett?”

  Jeremy shook his head but didn’t look up.

  “You see. Still in one piece,” said Vashchenko, smiling, “For now, at least. He was sensible enough to hand over the keystone.” Vashchenko held it up to the light once more. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what it is,” admitted Stevie.

  “It’s a type of key—and worth more than you can imagine. Isn’t that right, Mr Burnett?”

  Jeremy raised his head and looked at her for the first time. She couldn’t decipher what was going through his head. Fear probably—he’d almost certainly never met a psychopath like Vashchenko before; disappointment with her, even betrayal. From his viewpoint, she was one of them. He simply nodded.

  “What are you going to do with him?” asked Stevie.

  “That depends …”

  “On what?”

  “On how useful he can be to us,” said Vashchenko. He took a small box from his pocket and placed the crystal inside. “Talk to your friend and persuade him to cooperate with us. After the auction, we will leave here.” He nodded to his man, and they walked out of the garage talking, Vashchenko lighting up a cigarette.

  Stevie waited until they were out of earshot, then grabbed Jeremy by the shoulder. “You alright? Are you hurt?”

  He pulled his shoulder back from her hand, looking up at her, his face taking on a ghostly pallor in the flickering light. “What are you doing working for these people?”

  Stevie’s heart sank. “I’m trying to protect you,” she said, her voice sounding small in the large space.

  “You’re doing it for me?” he said, incredulously. “I don’t even know why I’m here?”

  “They were after that crystal—a keystone, they call it. What were you doing with it?”

  “Someone called Jane called me while I was working at the campus. She said she worked for Salenko. I assumed she was his assistant. She had it sent to me at reception and asked me to hold on to it. Said it was important, and that you were in trouble. Someone called Drummond would contact me. I was waiting for him in the Cam when they snatched me.”

  “Ben Drummond!” said Stevie.

  “Yes, you know him?”

  Stevie nodded. “Don’t mention this to anyone. Does Ben know where you are?”

  “I didn’t have time to speak to him. But someone driving a blue sports car chased us. The guys who snatched me were pretty pissed. Kept referring to the driver as the Chinese bitch. There was a guy with her …”

  Stevie nodded again. “Look, Jeremy, sorry you got caught up in all this. It’s not your fault—”

  “I just wanted to help, Stevie.”

  “I know, just do what they say. You’re no threat to them. They’l
l be leaving soon and we’ll be out of here.”

  “Really!”

  Stevie tried her best to smile but knew in her heart it wasn’t true. Vashchenko would be sure to tie up any loose ends, and Baz would be only too happy to help. She had to get them out of the house and away from Cambridge. A thought occurred to her. “Did this Jane leave a number or some means of contacting her?”

  Jeremy shook his head. “It was weird, though—the way she called me on my phone. I thought it was on the fritz at first. And the call—it must have been made over the internal network via wi-fi. And then my phone died—battery dead flat.”

  “Where is your phone now?” asked Stevie, curious about the call.

  “First thing they took when they threw me into the police car. I guess someone in the house has it.”

  Stevie nodded. One of the programmers was probably hacking into it this minute. “Look, sit tight. I’ve got to get back to the house. My friends know you’re here, so help won’t be too far away.”

  “Who are these people, Stevie? What’s going on?”

  ~~~

  Drum’s phone buzzed and he read the message from Alice. “My people report a police car pulling into the house.”

  Mei nodded and pulled off the main road just past the small chapel and activated the car’s drone. Drum watched as the small quadcopter tracked back the way they had come, following the waypoints Mei had tapped on the console’s screen.

  “There,” said Mei. “Looks like a new road beside an old railway track. It cuts across those fields to that large house.”

  “See if you can fly over the grounds,” said Drum, gazing at the screen. “But try to keep out of sight.”

  “I’ll try,” said Mei, tapping numbers into the console. “But they'll be bound to hear it.”

  They watched as the small drone followed its assigned course until it was positioned over the house. The house itself was a large affair and was made of the same stone and flint material as the chapel they had passed. Drum had read it used to be the parish rectory until it was repurposed into a private dwelling. It sat in several acres of grounds, enclosed by a high flint and stone wall with a gated entrance onto the main road into the village. The River Cam was less than half a mile away.