by Tomas Black
Jeremy smiled and winced from the swelling on the side of his face. “These programs are very sophisticated. They use the latest in neurolinguistic programming. It’s hard sometimes to believe that you’re actually communicating with a machine—and Jane is Kovac’s most sophisticated AI.”
“So what’s it doing here?”
“I don’t know,” said Jeremy.
They heard voices outside. Stevie quickly pocketed the phone as the garage door opened and Vashchenko’s thug stepped back in, followed by the man himself and, to their surprise, Professor Kovac.
“Ah, my two best students,” said Kovac, with a smile. “I hope you’ve not been too uncomfortable?”
Jeremy looked at Stevie and back at Kovac. “What are you doing here, Professor?” he said.
Kovac frowned as he drew closer, taking Jeremy’s chin in his hand and turning his bruised cheek to the light. “What’s gone on here?” he said to Vashchenko. “I left strict instructions they were not to be harmed.”
Vashchenko turned to his henchman for an explanation. The man simply shrugged, uttering a short explanation in Ukrainian.
“Kulik and the boy, they play together,” said Vashchenko. “Kulik, he won’t be playing anymore today.” He laughed.
Kovac frowned. “Let’s keep to the plan, shall we?”
Vashchenko nodded.
“I can’t believe you’re working with these people,” said Stevie, disdainfully.
“Needs must,” said Kovac. “Salenko was about to cut me out of the IPO—years of research sold off and my projects cancelled. I couldn’t let that happen. Then an opportunity came my way and I had to take it.” He looked at Vashchenko. “Let’s just say I found a new partner. Someone more dependable.”
“But why these people?” said Jeremy.
Kovac smiled grimly. “Stevie here knows why—or should I say, Svetlana. She used to work for them. A very competent hacker, so I’m told.” He turned to Vashchenko, who nodded. “Purely a financial arrangement at first. I’ve been churning out Bitcoin at the data centre for months now. Become very efficient at it. Even created some dedicated TPU’s speeding up the process. But now we both share a common goal.”
“Tau,” said Jeremy. “You’ve been developing another AI. That creep Baz mentioned it.”
“I can’t claim all the credit. You could say it fell into my hands. But yes, the next evolution in Artificial Intelligence,” said Kovac. “A real game-changer—and once transferred into my new array, it’ll be a hundred times faster at processing its neural net.” He paused a look of dismay on his face. “But Salenko put a spanner in the works. He found out what was going on. I suspect it was the million-pound electricity bill from all that Bitcoin mining that tipped him off. Anyway, the point is, he tried to slow us down. He, or one of his minions, encrypted Tau’s core code using Jane’s keystones and split them up. Tau can’t evolve further without them—which is the reason for the exchange.”
“But why the data breaches?” said Stevie. “Surely that would draw the security services into the picture.”
“Actually, that was Tau’s idea,” said Kovac. “Brilliant move. The security services were always going to close us down. All the major governments are signing up to a general ban on advanced AI research—well, all except China—until they can figure out how to carve it up between themselves. It’s the same old story. The superpowers keep the keys to superintelligence, and the wealth that comes with it, while the rest of humanity is denied access. The cache of data we have on ice—” he laughed, and Vashchenko smiled, “—yes, literally on ice, that was just an insurance policy.”
“The British government knows what’s going on,” said Stevie. “Ben Drummond will have figured it out and told them.”
“Ah yes, your benefactor, Mr Drummond. A tenacious fellow. As for the British government, we did a deal with them. Free passage in exchange for the data.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The Exchange
Drum stood among the old, blackened gravestones around the small flint chapel and looked up. Black clouds scudded across a darkening sky, threatening rain. They were losing the light faster than he had expected, despite leaving an hour earlier to set up their command and control. What was it that McKay always said: no plan survives contact with the enemy.
Drum touched his earbud. “Comms check.”
“Bravo one and two check,” came the reply from Sergei. “Delta one and two check,” came the reply from the cowboy. “Alpha two check,” replied Mei. “Alpha one all check,” replied Drum. There was nothing more to be done except wait.
“Alpha one, we have movement on the service road. Two vehicles heading your way.”
Drum looked at his watch. Four on the dot. Tau was nothing if not predictable—it was the humans that he worried about. “Alpha one, acknowledged.”
He heard the engines from two beefy motors coming down the road from the tree line. After a while, two black Range Rovers pulled up at the end of the lane, their roofs just visible above the top of the coarse hedgerow. Doors slammed shut and three men, dressed in black combat fatigues, entered the graveyard and spread out. Each was armed with a modern, compact machine gun and a large sidearm. They scanned all around them and then advanced towards him.
Drum held up his hand. “That’s near enough.” The men stopped their advance, leaving a closing distance of just over ten metres. Two rows of gravestones stood between him and his assailants. He had some cover, while they had none. All three men made ready their weapons, nervously scanning the area. They were right to be cautious.
A minute passed, then one man stepped back and waved to the two cars down the lane. After a few more minutes, Vashchenko and Kovac walked into the graveyard. They stood there, staring at Drum. Finally, Kovac spoke. “Mr Drummond. Nice to meet you again. Do you have the keystone?”
“Professor Kovac. You’re keeping terrible company these days.”
Kovac smiled. “So I’m constantly being told. The keystone, please.”
“Proof of life.”
Kovac turned to Vashchenko, who spoke into a collar mike. Another man appeared, pushing Stevie and Burnett in front of him. Both looked unharmed, as far as Drum could tell.
“The keystone, please,” said Kovac, advancing towards Drum’s position. Vashchenko was quick to pull his man back.
Drum tapped his breast pocket.
“I need to see it,” said Kovac. “I need to authenticate it.”
Drum held up both hands and then slowly took hold of each side of his leather jacket and pulled it apart, showing all concerned that he had no concealed weapon. He slowly reached inside his breast pocket and pulled out the small wooden box containing the keystone. He took out the glowing crystal and held it aloft. Even in the gloaming, the swirl of its metallic core was captivating to behold. Again Kovac advanced, and again Vashchenko restrained him.
Drum clenched his fist around the crystal and held it there. “If you want to see it, I need one hostage.”
Kovac looked at Vashchenko, who shook his head. He nodded to his men, who advanced towards Drum.
~~~
Sergei opened the door of Alice’s small Ford rental. She put a restraining hand on his arm. “Don’t get shot.”
He gave her a look, then smiled. “No, mother.” He left the car and hurried to take up his position at the back of the chapel. He skirted behind a small copse of trees that encircled the building, providing him with cover from the road. He entered by a side door and crept into a small space that opened out onto a nave of whitewashed walls. He looked up at the large oak roof timbers arching towards the heavens and silently prayed to God to forgive him for what he was about to do.
The chapel smelt musty and damp. It had been unused for some time. The overcast sky had turned the inside to night. He unholstered his firearm, a Glock 17, and screwed on the long, black barrel of a suppressor. He moved to his position in the corner opposite the main door and sank back into the shadows and waited.
He pressed himself tightly against the angle of the two walls, his breathing shallow and his mind still. He wondered if this was how Misha had spent his days. Alone in some dark corner of the world, waiting for the enemy. Misha, the soldier, the hitman, and now enemy of the state. Was this his fate?
He pressed the cold metal of the gun against his forehead and shut his eyes tight. He needed to relax and stay focused. Misha the soldier, but never the father. A voice squawked in his earbud, sending his heart pounding. It was Alice. “Message from Delta one, they’re here.” He raised his gun.
The chapel door creaked open and two shadows stepped in from the twilight. They swept the room from left to right with their snub-nosed machine guns and crept towards his position in the nave. He held his breath. His vision was now fully attuned to the dark and the two men stood out like beacons against the whitewashed walls. He heaved a sigh of relief when he saw they were not wearing night-vision goggles. They walked past him, their eyesight not fully accustomed to the gloom around them. He watched as they took up position on either side of the main door that led to the graveyard beyond.
It was time. He stepped silently from the shadows.
~~~
Marcus Hemings lay prone on the floor of the abandoned warehouse located beside the tracks of a disused siding on the main Cambridge to London line and less than seventy-five metres from the chapel. He peered through the telescopic sight of his TAC-338, the Seal’s weapon of choice, and located Drum. Protecting his principal at this distance would be easy, but the fading light added to the challenge. He lowered his weapon and took up his binoculars, observing the tree line where they said the enemy would come from. He checked his watch and waited.
Officially, he had retired. A lifetime of clandestine operations all over the globe had taken their toll, but Marchetti had been persuasive.
“I can’t trust anyone in the company,” he had told him. “Officially, you don’t exist. I need someone who is not on the company books. Our asset list has been compromised.”
He trusted Marchetti. The two of them had often worked together ever since the girl’s extraction over ten years ago. Harry, she called herself. She was from England. The land of warm beer and small chapels—a green and pleasant land. He had never been. So what the hell. He was bored anyway and, since the passing of his beloved Louise, he had nothing much to live for anymore. So he’d packed a bag and grabbed the red-eye from JFK.
He felt the presence behind him before he heard the man. A lifetime of living in the shadows had given him a sixth sense. But age had dulled his reflexes. As he reached for his sidearm, the man spoke. “Hands by your side. Don’t move.”
He had a thick Eastern European accent and moved with great stealth. A pro, he thought, another shooter. They had both scoped out the same location. He always knew it would end somewhere like this. A disused building in some foreign land.
“Who are you?” said the man.
Marcus looked up. The man was dressed in black combat fatigues and carried his main weapon, still cased, over his shoulder. He had time for a little conversation, or perhaps he was afraid he would shoot a fellow soldier—someone who hadn’t been told about the dress code. It was worth a try.
“I work for Tau,” said Marcus. “You didn’t get the memo?”
The man hesitated. The name had an effect on him, as Marchetti had said it would. But who Tau was, he hadn’t a clue.
“Stand up,” said the man.
Marcus slowly stood. At six-three he towered over the man. He noticed the comms mike on his lapel. He was about to call it in, something that Marcus couldn’t allow. There was a sudden crunch of broken glass from the stairwell. The man instinctively reacted to the sound, his weapon turning towards its new target. There was a phut, phut from a suppressor and the man crumpled to the floor, his head a bloody mess.
“Better late than never,” said Marcus.
“Yeah, right,” said Marchetti. “Took the wrong stairwell.”
Marcus heard it first. The sound of engines. He grabbed his binoculars and identified the two SUVs coming down the service road. He thumbed his mike and called it in.
~~~
Drum unclenched his fist and held the keystone aloft between his thumb and forefinger. He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, electric shocker. He flipped the switch and watched as an electric spark jumped between the two contacts, crackling and glowing in the fading light. He brought the keystone towards the two metal contacts of the device.
“Stop!” shouted Kovac.
Vashchenko’s three men stopped their advance.
“Give him the girl,” said Kovac, fear on his face. “Keep to the plan.”
Vashchenko spoke into his collar mike and waited. Nothing happened. A full minute ticked by.
“I’m growing tired of this, Kovac,” shouted Drum. “Make the exchange or I zap the keystone.”
Kovac looked anxiously at Vashchenko. The man spoke once more into his collar mike. This time there was the slamming of a car door and Michael Mann walked into the graveyard.
“Ben. Let’s talk.”
“Walk away, Michael,” said Drum. “You don’t want to be here.”
“I have too, Ben. I represent the British government. These people have immunity. Stand down.”
“I can’t do that, Michael. You’re being played.”
Mann took a step towards Drum. “Give me the keystone, and this all ends here and now. You and your people can just leave.”
Drum shook his head. “It’s a lie, Michael. Whatever they have told you, it’s a lie. They will never share this technology or let you have the data. They have said the same thing to each of the principal players.”
Mann turned and grabbed Stevie, dragging her back towards Drum. “I need that keystone, Ben. You don’t understand. They have my family.” He pulled a gun from his raincoat pocket and let it hang by his side.
“Michael, put the gun away. Whatever evidence they have sent you is a lie—a deep fake.”
Mann hesitated. Drum knew the man must be in pain, battling between duty to his country and to his family.
“I can’t take that chance.” He brought his weapon up, level with Stevie’s head. “Give me the keystone.”
“Michael, no!”
There was a faint whisper as the high-velocity round ripped through Mann’s head, killing him instantly. Stevie screamed and ran towards Drum. He grabbed her and dropped the keystone. He pulled her behind the gravestone just as the three foot-soldiers opened fire, peppering the surrounding ground with a hail of bullets.
And then the heavens opened.
Drum held Stevie close and retrieved his gun, which had been duct-taped to the back of a gravestone. He heard another faint whisper, and a gunman fell by his side, a large hole in his back. Not even his armoured vest could stop a high velocity round from Marchetti’s shooter at such close range. The light had all but gone and he knew Marcus would have to abandon his post.
“Alpha one, keep your head down,” came Sergei’s voice over his comms. Drum looked towards the chapel doors where Sergei now stood holding a snub-nosed machine gun and firing just in front of his position. He heard a man cry out.
“Alpha one, they’re making for the cars with Burnett,” said Alice.
Drum rose from behind his cover, leaving Stevie cowering on the ground. Two of the gunmen were now dead and the third was limping towards the gate in retreat. Vashchenko had Burnett, using him as a human shield as he dragged him out of the gate, making for the cars. Another gunman was dragging Kovac, covering his principal with his body. Drum aimed and fired, but the heavy rain obscured his vision. His shot went wide and Kovac lived to fight another day.
Sergei started running towards the gate. “Brav
o one, hold your position. Stop your run,” shouted Drum into his mike.
Sergei stopped, then pointed at the tree line. Drum turned. In the gloom, he saw two pairs of bright red eyes moving fast towards him. Lightning lit up the sky, revealing two of Kovac’s dogs bearing down on his position.
“Run, Stevie,” shouted Drum, and pulled Stevie to her feet. “Sergei, head for the chapel.”
Drum heard the squeal of tyres and the whine of engines from the two SUV’s reversing down the lane. Sergei stood just inside the door as the two dogs bounded towards them. Drum ran, dragging Stevie with him, and pushed her into the chapel as the first dog leapt towards him. He threw himself onto the floor of the nave just as Sergei slammed the door shut. The heavy oak door shuddered with the impact of the robot, knocking Sergei back. He thrust his shoulder back against the door and made ready for another attack.
“What the hell were those?” said Sergei, breathing hard.
“Bad news,” said Drum. “They’re after the keystone.” He keyed his mike. “Alpha one to Bravo and Delta teams. Stay clear of the chapel and the graveyard, repeat, stay clear.”
“Delta team, roger,” said Marchetti. “Bravo, acknowledged,” said Alice. “Alpha one, do you have the keystone?”
It was Mei. “Negative. Two of Kovacs dogs are in the vicinity. Do not engage.”
Drum picked up a weapon from one of the men dispatched by Sergei and moved towards the back of the nave. A flash of lightning lit up the chapel to reveal one of Kovacs dogs standing there, its eyes glowing red. Drum opened fire at almost point-blank range. He heard a swish and jumped back just as the honed blade of the dog’s tail flashed past his head. Drum felt a sharp pain across his chest and cried out. He emptied the machine gun clip at the dog’s head and hoped it would be enough. He heard a soft whine and the two red eyes grew dim and faded into the blackness.
Part Three
Fire and Ice
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
