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Treasonable Intent Page 4
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There were plenty of blind spots away from the cameras. The car was also parked right next to the front door under a security light and it was just too difficult to cover the distance across open ground without being seen. “Too many gaps” the SAS operational commander, Captain Ellis, had muttered when asked for his assessment. Nia Williams covered all of these risks in her report and then signed off.
Alicia flicked on her desktop computer. She rapidly summarised the events of that morning for her voice recorded operational log and checked her e-mail. There were two updates from Special Events and a flurry of other texts into which she was copied, mostly concerning Lightening. Then her eye was drawn to a short e-mail from the Secret Intelligence Service, MI6. It was from Olsson. Whilst she got on well with Alan Vickers the Head of MI6 she was far less enamoured with the rest of his team. Olsson in particular seemed some kind of arrogant throwback to a male public school mentality. She opened the e-mail with her security clearance key. Her eyes were transfixed and she couldn’t help let out a startled gasp. Blinking, she looked at the text and the image below it again. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed.
Chapter Four
The sky was a dull, grey, sheet, thrown across the steel and concrete pinnacles of the Zurich business district. As so often in early March, the powdery snowfall overnight had turned into a dirty mulch and the pavements around the city were treacherous. People picked their way carefully between the hard façades of office blocks towards the warm lights of the retail stores. Just off the main thoroughfare, the man known only as the “Diplomat”, found the address he was looking for and scurried inside. Apart from his obvious Chinese origin there was nothing particularly notable about him. A trait he worked on conscientiously.
The entrance to the clinic was as impressive as any of the exclusive finance houses in the rest of the city and the smell was distinctly one of coffee and fresh hardwood rather than anything medicinal. The smoked glass and flecked marble atrium opened up to seven floors of stainless steel and chrome walkways which crossed the void on every level. Heavy oak doors led into discreet suites of surgical and laboratory facilities. In the centre of the richly patterned floor, a tall, thin young man stood behind a large reception desk speaking to a FedEx delivery agent. The latter seemed to be insisting that a parcel was handed over to the addressee in person. The fixed smile on the receptionists face did not falter as he explained that further access into the building would not be possible. The Diplomat waited patiently in line whilst the parcel issue was resolved before the receptionist took his name and indicated a waiting area behind some rather incongruous cacti and tropical flowers. He sank himself slowly into the plush leather of the largest of the carefully arranged sofas. Sky News was on a flat screen TV on the far wall and he watched the headlines roll by until he realised that they were beginning to repeat themselves. His gaze shifted away and he began to study the soaked bottoms of his trouser legs. Clearly, the decision to wear his smart suit had been incorrect. Despite every effort, the slush on the pavement had taken its toll and his shoes and toes were freezing. As the digital clock on the wall slowly turned over the minutes he watched in vain for some sign that his socks were drying out. Eventually, to distract himself, he picked up some of the magazines and flicked through them idly. Most were in German but his grasp of the language was good and he found enough in the sports articles to hold his attention.
After nearly an hour he was beginning to wonder if frostbite or trench foot or something equally ghastly was going to befall his weary feet. Evidently, they weren’t bothered if they kept him waiting. Not that he anticipated being treated any differently. After all he had virtually forced himself upon the clinic.
It had been nearly three months since he had last seen the founder of the institution, Dr Ernst Haller. Since that time things had not gone well and his government now required some compensation. Clearly Dr Haller didn’t really want to know but was not in a position to bluntly tell the Chinese government to get lost. The doctor had built his reputation in cutting edge research into DNA and genetic coding. The rumour, however, was that he made his millions in non-ethical work around designer babies, providing discreet services to the wealthy. This gave him powerful friends in many places and influence around the globe, including China. He had, unfortunately for him, recently overstepped the mark and within the Peoples Republic, not even his wealthy clients could protect him from the anger of the state.
The Diplomat was an experienced fixer. Despite his nickname he didn’t work for the Foreign Service. Instead he had been dispatched by the Ministry of State Security as something of a last resort. His skills were most apposite when his government had lost patience. Now was such a moment. He looked up again at the large silver clock face on the wall opposite. It was 3.10 pm. His patience too was almost exhausted. The tall thin receptionist was still busy on the phone. Suddenly, the young man looked directly at him and made a gesture beckoning him to the desk. Within thirty seconds he was in a lift with a diminutive figure who brusquely introduced herself as Ms Morelli, Haller’s personal assistant.
After sitting in freezing socks for over an hour in their lobby he had hoped for some warmth and hospitality. He didn’t get it. She looked at him as if he was contaminated. Perhaps his feet did smell, or was it just his rather damp appearance that looked out of step with the darkened glass and chrome modernity around him? Either way he had decided not to bother trying to make pleasantries by the time the lift doors opened on the 7th floor. The gantry across to the main office suite had a glass floor. It was sufficiently transparent to give the unwary a bad attack of vertigo on stepping out and the Diplomat did wonder whether this was deliberate. Ms Morelli clattered over it in her high heels with the conviction of someone who understood the design of armoured glass, and ushered him quickly through a set of double oak doors. He had expected it to be a traditional ante room but instead he found himself staring across a vast expanse of cream carpet to a large black, opulent sofa on which reclined a well-built man in his mid-fifties.
“Dr Haller… it’s the Chinese representative,” piped Ms Morelli before turning on her heel and closing the doors smartly behind her. Haller was already rising to his feet and extending a large hand towards him. His eyes were deep blue and his hair a striking platinum blonde. The Diplomat assumed that it must be dyed. His face revealed an olive tan, accentuated by his white shirt and discrete grey silk tie. His suit was clearly very expensive, as were the shoes. The handshake was more what you would expect from a weightlifter than a doctor and the broad smile and over friendly clasp of the shoulder were equally unexpected.
“Good afternoon” said the Diplomat, choosing to speak in English.
Haller’s English was almost flawless but his intonation hinted at his German origins. “Please, do have a seat.” He gestured to the leather sofa next to where he had settled himself down again.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me.” The Chinese looked uncomfortably at his feet, aware of the grime he must be treading into the luxury floor covering. “Hopefully, I won’t take too much of your time. I just wanted to talk about the research proposition my government has asked you to consider.”
Haller smiled. “As you know, although I cannot divulge the names of my clients, I deal with some very eminent and wealthy people. One of the reasons they come to me is discretion and anonymity. Therefore I have to be very careful about the business I take on. For that reason I only work with private sector companies and never with national governments.”
The Diplomat looked into Haller’s eyes. They gave nothing away. “I understand your position but it is a little different when you already have a relationship with us. You have been working with our private sector company TwoBitz. All we are asking is that you continue to do so. Your research raises serious matters of concern to the People’s Republic. Matters of national security.”
Haller smiled again. “Look, even if you were right about that, and I don’t accept your logic, I am afraid that what you
are proposing is too difficult. It brings too much of the wrong kind of attention.”
The Diplomat shifted in his seat, leaning forward with a particular cold menace. “It is a bit late for that” he said. From his pocket he drew a phone and in a swift movement he opened it up and removed the SSD card. He handed it to Haller before he sat back. “This is for you to consider. It spells out again what we require and what the consequences will be if we don’t get it. It is a take it or take it offer.”
By this time Haller’s smile had faded. He looked out of the window across the cityscape. He seemed, for the first time, slightly hesitant, as if choosing his words with difficulty. “Are you afraid of your mortality?” The question was clearly rhetorical, as he continued before the Diplomat could reply. “I mean, do you crave to leave your legacy on the world or are you happy to simply be forgotten as the years pass by?” Haller seemed to have fallen into a sudden and distant reverie.
He wasn’t sure where the Doctor was heading. Indeed the question itself was a little beyond him. Perhaps it was a simple subterfuge to get him off the subject of his proposition? “Whatever…Doctor…I think the issue is that you are passing your technology onto clients in our country for commercial gain but will not share it with us.”
Haller slowly turned back from gazing out of the window. His look changed from distant reverie to one of resignation. “You are right, of course. My Chinese clients may have been indiscreet and caused us this embarrassment. I have a technology that I have been able to use to assist their particular needs but as an unintended consequence it is now seen by your government as a threat to security.”
The Diplomat bit his lower lip. He hadn’t quite expected that confession so quickly nor in such a crude way. The hairs began to stand up on the back of his neck. Something wasn’t right with the way this conversation was going. “We know what you did for them,” he stated.
Haller didn’t reply. Instead he stood up and moved slowly over to a silver coffee stand in the corner of the room. Pouring himself a cup of the dark black liquid he gestured at the Diplomat who simply nodded. He came back to the sofa holding both cups and cleared his throat. “I think you will find that my backers recognise the importance of this technology to you. They also understand its value. It will cost you. That may be financial or through other actions they will ask you to take. Naturally their concern will be that you can keep your side of any deal and not proliferate or misuse the work.”
The Chinese was elated. Haller had gone from denial to a likely deal in minutes. He took a swig of the coffee, as much to buy time and rehearse his thoughts as to quench any thirst. Haller was looking directly at him with a steely stare. “Well?” he intoned.
The Diplomat looked past Haller at the picture on the far wall. He seemed to recognise it from an exhibition of Kandinsky paintings he had recently attended. The doctor was a man of expensive tastes and any arrangement with him would not be cheap.
“I accept there will be a cost. Our proposition is simple. The encrypted SSD card gives you the detail. We want you to assist us in removing the threat which your clients have created by sharing the technology with our leading company in this sector. Your work offers a glimpse of the future but it is not a future we can ascribe to. Indeed if that technology is in the wrong hands we believe it will alter the course of human history…and not for the better. We think our terms should offer you sufficient assurance.”
Haller looked pensive for a few moments. Then he was smiling again. “I think… that we can find a way of concluding this matter to everyone’s satisfaction. I will consult with my backers and ask them to consider your terms. It will take a day or two.” He had left his cup of coffee untouched on the small table at the side of the sofa and now walked across to his large oak desk by the window and picked up the phone. “Miss Morelli, please come and show our guest out, he is leaving.” He replaced the receiver very slowly.
The Diplomat nodded and rose to leave. “This is my card. Please contact me by phone when you are in a position to proceed. I expect to hear from you within 48 hours.” The personal assistant ushered him out and quickly closed the door behind her.
Haller paced the room for a few minutes muttering to himself until she returned. “He has gone,” she confirmed.
He looked at her anxiously. “Only for now.” He handed her the SSD card. “This is their proposal. I’d like you to go through it with our legal team then give me a briefing paper I can take to our friends in New England.”
Miss Morelli looked perplexed. “You are going to the USA? What about our Chinese friend? He is bound to find out you have left the country.”
Haller was already picking out papers and two memory sticks from his desk to add to his slim laptop case. “Believe me I wish I could stay but I knew it would come to this.” He muttered some inaudible expletive, then in a sharper tone... “that stupid property developer in Shanghai couldn’t keep her mouth shut and now we have a very big problem. I will get the next flight to Amsterdam and tie up some loose ends there before flying to Boston. Stall the Chinese as long as you can. What I need now is time.”
Chapter Five
Corsham military base in Wiltshire was home to a number of military units including a section of the Joint Cyber Warfare Unit. Fawzia was already familiar with the place although it was not somewhere she spent a great deal of time. She had previously assessed its security over two days. It took time because of the complexity of so many specialist teams using the site. It was not the JCW building that she was interested in particularly but a rather drab concrete edifice simply signposted “Secure Ordnance Warehouse No.4”.
Sitting amongst a group of five buildings of the same design, each was contained in a compound of security fencing with a gate post manned by troops of the RAF Regiment. Fawzia had already dealt with the formalities at the base headquarters. The site was well organised and managed and security was tight. She and Ray, despite their credentials, were escorted everywhere by two corporals armed with SA80 rifles until they were admitted into the warehouse.
The inside of the building came as a surprise to Ray. It was virtually empty but in its centre stood a large lift shaft. More security awaited before a descent of some 100 feet to the underground complex nicknamed by its occupants as “The Bat Cave”. When they emerged from the lift, Ray had another surprise. This was certainly not the sterile environment they had endured in Oxford. It had the feel of a giant war room. To his right was a small medical bay where two doctors were busy checking over the health of the flight officers. To his left was a large canteen where those who had just finished or were waiting to start their shifts were eating and conversing quietly. The whole place seemed very informal. What riveted his attention was the scene in front of him. The cave contained three tiered rows arranged in a circle.
The outer and highest tier was conventional enough. There were forty eight officers behind computer screens either punching information into keyboards or operating touch screens or speaking verbal commands into their headsets. All were clad in lightweight green RAF flight suits. On their right arm was a decal denoting they were Cyberspace Communications Specialists. The next tier contained twenty four chairs. It reminded him of the kind of recliner you would have for a visit to the dentist. All were occupied with officers wearing helmets and virtual reality headsets. They spoke into throat microphones and operated touch pads and joysticks placed by each hand. The final tier was strangest of all. Twelve men and women were standing in glass booths. Their flight suits were covered in webbing holding sensors and wires plugged into a main line that hung from their abdomen to the floor. They were all moving independently as if playing a virtual reality game.
“This is weird” whispered Ray. Fawzia smiled. She had felt exactly the same way when she had made her first assessment visit. “I know” she replied. A flight suited figure came out of the canteen and with a cursory salute extended her hand. “Wing Commander Josey Ndidi.” Her accent was a mix of Home Counties and Nigerian.
Fawzia had met her several times and counted her as a friend even though she was of higher rank. She introduced Ray and after a few pleasantries, came straight to the point of her visit. “As you know my last assessment highlighted the principal weakness in your security is the constant rotation of officers. I need to review how you mitigate the risk it presents.”
Josey nodded “As you had to accept, I am afraid that is something we have to manage. Our officers are restricted as to how much time they can spend here for very good health reasons. They can do three hours on tier one, two hours on tier two and only one hour on tier three. For every hour on they need the same time off, multiplied by the number of the tier. No one is allowed to do more than eight hours on a shift. No one does more than three shifts in a row without a day of leave. No one does a tour of duty here for more than three months without a month off.”
Ray raised his eyebrows; “That is a lot of personnel and a lot of coming and going.”
Josey looked him directly in the eyes. “It is the only way we can protect our people. The alternative is a lot of mental health issues and even suicides.”
Fawzia interjected “I’m going to need to go through your logs and to interview some of those off duty.” Josey nodded and beckoned them into the canteen area. “Take your pick.” Fawzia logged her secure tablet into the base network and began to type her assessment.