Dominic Conlon

Silent Warpath

Chapter 1

Benjamin Campbell stopped the motorbike to wipe sweat from his forehead. He was way out of his depth. Fear clenched his stomach as he looked back along the road. He couldn’t see them in the dusk, but he could hear the car: tyres squealing, engine revving. There had to be another way out.

He gunned the bike, accelerating quickly along the outskirts of the town. He should be able to lose them in the back streets by squeezing through gaps that would stop a car. But when a second car closed off his exit he had to react quickly to find another. He realised that eventually they would corner him and when they did they would kill him.

Galvanised into action, he made for Rocky Hill Road. He knew the territory; he would make use of it. Rocky Hill was a long road in a heavily wooded area outside Plymouth, Massachusetts. There would be plenty of places he could turn off and wait until they passed him. Then he would find somewhere to lie low.

The speedometer flicked between 90 and 100. He couldn’t hear the car behind because of the noise from the bike engine. They might be catching up but when he got to Rocky Hill he could blast them away. He didn’t know how fast his motorbike could go but he was sure it could make 120 or more.

He came to it suddenly. The trees either side shut out the light but there was just enough to make out the road surface. He couldn’t switch his lights on — that would show them where he was. Instead he wrenched the throttle wide open. The bike responded quickly, the speedometer racing round beyond 130. The road began to merge with the tree line.

Then he saw the perfect opening: a long driveway to a house hidden behind the trees. He slammed on the brakes and the bike skidded in the road. He strived to keep it upright as it slowed but the bike slid out from under him. Luckily it had nearly stopped before he came off. He picked up the bike and jumped back on, kick-starting in the same movement. The engine spluttered but refused to start. He tried a second time but the engine wouldn’t catch. Ben jumped off and urgently wheeled the bike to the driveway.

He could hear the car coming, engine screaming. He ran the bike up the slope and the car flashed past on the road. Ben continued pushing and once in the shadow of the trees he stopped and listened as the car receded. Even at this distance he couldn’t see much of the house because of the long drive. It was a safe bet they couldn’t see him either so he straddled the bike and prepared to set off.

He cursed in the darkness. They had warned him but he ignored the danger and was paying the price. Now they had shown their hand they wouldn’t let him have a second chance.

He waggled the bike between his thighs thinking there might be an air lock in the carburettor feed. When he kick-started, the engine caught with a smooth roar. Steering the bike back down the slope, he stopped at the bottom to check the road. There was no sign of the car. He breathed a sigh of relief, switched on the lights and turned the bike back to town.

He hadn’t gone far when he spotted an oncoming car. Could this be the second chase car? His heart leapt and he prepared for evasive action. At the last moment the car swerved towards him. Ben twisted the throttle and jerked the handlebars left and then right to avoid the crash. He scraped along the side and then the bike was past. Now the car would have to reverse before it could come after him and Ben had the accelerator as high as it would go. Seconds later the trees thinned and he saw a large grassy space on either side. This was tempting but he needed to put as much distance as he could from the car behind.

As he flew down the road a car hidden in the trees at the opposite end turned on its lights. They’d sent three cars for him! Hopes of escape rapidly diminished and Ben reluctantly turned the bike onto the grass.

Drainage ditches criss-crossed the field and the bike bucked and slithered as it crossed each one. A quick glance over his shoulder rewarded him with small satisfaction. The two following cars were having great difficulty: bouncing over the ditches slowed their progress. Coming to a wider channel Ben turned the bike to follow it back to the road. Water and mud sprayed out from both sides as he opened up, only 50 yards from the tarmac. Once he reached that he would be free. The cars would take forever to get to the road and in the meantime he would put enough distance between them to find a place to hide.

His front wheel was only five yards from the road when the third car appeared, roaring through the trees on the right, too fast to avoid. Ben started to turn the handlebars away as the bike met the road. The car caught the bike and hurled them into the air. They landed on the hard tarmac, yards apart.

The second car pulled up with a screech of brakes and two men got out. The first man observed the scene. The motorbike’s engine had stalled, but the front wheel continued to rotate. Campbell lay sprawled on his back, blood pooling behind his head. ‘He looks dead to me, chief. Shall I make sure?’

Schaeffer turned his collar up to ward off the evening chill. ‘No, it’s supposed to look like an accident. Don’t touch him.’

* * *

Agent down. Return immediately.

Sean’s gaze flicked up from his mobile to follow the attractive student as she left the car and walked uneasily towards the shop.

Sean was used to waiting. The heat and humidity didn’t make it comfortable. Sweat trickled down his neck creating a damp patch between his back and the cracked leather of the car seat. He opened the window to listen to the surroundings. Immediately the earthy odour from the laterite road wafted in overlaid with a hint of decay from the nearby mangrove forest. The smell of the river was unmistakable. Opening the window any further would not make any difference to the temperature because there was no cooling breeze.

Sean scanned the message again and frowned. When London used the word immediately they weren’t joking. A deep sigh escaped his lips. In his peripheral vision he saw a battered Nissan pickup approach. It parked opposite the shop which doubled as a shanty house, but no-one got out.

Agent down: there was no clue in the message as to who it was, but he had an idea. It was typical of London to be so curt. Return immediately: no please or thank you, just get your arse back now.

From outside the car Sean Quinlan looked like he was dozing. His tropical hat was pulled well down over long brown hair and his stubbled face was hidden by the dash. The crumpled linen suit he wore disguised a wiry body. He sat slumped in the seat with his eyes appearing above the instrument panel, though no-one could guess at their clear blue colour through the deep shade cast by the brim.

Someone should have got out of the car by now, so it could only mean trouble.

From his vantage point he could make out two men in the front seat of the Nissan and the outline of a third in the back. Slowly the car door opened and the driver got out. Thin and medium height, he wore stained loose clothing that had once been white. He looked nervously around for a few moments. Appearing satisfied that no-one was watching he signalled for the other two. They stood in a huddle apparently in guarded discussion.

The driver broke away from the group and sauntered towards the rear entrance of the shop. Sean put the phone away. As the other two moved to the front door, Sean slipped out of the car.

They might be amateurs he thought, but Kelly’s life was now in danger.

* * *

Kelly Chen opened the door and stepped inside cautiously. The air was cool and slightly musty. As the door closed it brushed against some chimes. The smell of sandalwood drifted over from some incense sticks smouldering on a shelf.

She looked around. The shop was typical of those in Kuala Gula: small, badly lit and crammed with carvings, basketry and crystal ornaments. Kelly walked over to the counter, picked up a small delicate brass bell and rang it. There was no response. Impatiently she ducked behind the counter to investigate the rear of the shop which was hidden from view by a set of ornate Chinese drapes.

The curtains twitched and a white round face emerged from the parting.

‘Oh God!’ her hands flew to her face.

The curtains opened slowly to reveal a rotund Chinese figure. His eyes darted towards the door and around the shop before taking her in.

Kelly backed away. ‘I’m really sorry, I thought there wasn’t anyone here.’ Her voice sounded nervous and she reprimanded herself for being taken by surprise.

The man’s demeanour changed unexpectedly, the face slowly creasing into an enormous smile.

‘Selamat tengahari.’ He stopped and bowed, hands together as if praying.

Kelly quickly recovered, shook his hand loosely and touched her heart. She smiled cautiously. ‘Mr Wei, I’m Kelly’.

Wei straightened up. ‘I must apologise for the sudden appearance. I hope I didn’t frighten you but I am expecting some ah.. unwelcome visitors. Shall we?’ Wei indicated a narrow wooden staircase and they began to climb. He led the way to an untidy kitchen cum dining room and gestured for Kelly to take a seat in an over-stuffed armchair covered with a bright green silky cloth.

‘Would you care to take some tea with me?’

Kelly bowed. ‘Ang Cho Teh.’

Wei had his back to her so she couldn’t see his facial reaction. But she did notice a fractional stiffening of the shoulders as Wei continued to add water to the pot. He placed it on a tray and brought it over to a nearby mahogany coffee table. Sitting opposite her, he folded his hands in his lap. ‘So you have been sent to me’ he said simply.

Kelly chose her next words carefully. ‘Mr Wei. I was told you might have something for me..’

She was interrupted by the sound of wind chimes from downstairs, quickly followed by a crash as if a shelf of brick-a-brac had fallen over. Wei’s expression changed instantly. He rose quickly and beckoned. Kelly followed him through to another room at the back which looked like a workshop. Sounds of the disturbance continued to come from below.

In the corner was another set of rickety wooden stairs. They creaked alarmingly as Wei led the way up to a dusty attic. The floor was covered with stuffed animals, cardboard boxes and packaging.

Without hesitation Wei pulled out a wooden crate and stood on it to reach the skylight above. Kelly heard a clatter on the stairs and knew they were only moments away from being discovered. She looked around for some kind of weapon. Flipping open one of the boxes she was frustrated to discover nothing more than a rosewood carving of an elephant. Wei pushed the window open and began to pull himself through as the attackers burst into the room.

As Kelly pushed the overweight Wei up through the skylight she felt a savage blow to the kidneys. The man pulled her away in his desperation to get to Wei. The pain hit and she sagged to the floor.

A million thoughts ran through her mind before she recollected her training. Sean’s voice directed her almost as if by her side. ‘Can’t escape? Then you must deal with the opposition.’ She had no gun — Sean was very particular about that — but Kelly needed a weapon this instant. She looked down at the carving she still clutched in her hand. It would have to do.

She crouched and then straightened in one movement, driving the wooden figure hard up between the man’s legs. The man twisted, howling in pain. The statuette flew out of her hand, spinning away.

She felt a renewed bout of pain and knew she did not have enough strength left to face the second man. He was already on her, knife in his raised hand. But her training kicked in and without thinking she stepped back only to fall over a packing case. As she fell she saw Sean appear in the doorway, but he was too far away to help. To gain time she rolled to one side as she hit the floor. She kept on rolling, finally coming face to face with the rosewood carving. Instinctively she grabbed the statuette. Even in the heat of the moment she noticed the tusks had snapped off.

She saw Sean appear behind the second man. She couldn’t see what he did but the man sank slowly to his knees. With a pure animal snarl Kelly rose and swung the rosewood carving round in a hard blow to his head. The man collapsed without a sound.

‘Steady’ warned Sean, grabbing her arm. ‘We don’t want to kill him’.

Kelly sat back, heart pounding and gasping for breath. Finally she breathed ‘you may not, but I do.’

* * *

Christopher Schaeffer thought the man behind the desk looked small, lost behind half an acre of Carpathian elm and a large monitor. The normally mild face was topped with a crown of grey hair and he looked as if he wouldn’t hurt a fly.

‘Is he dead?’

‘I think so.’ Schaeffer had prepared his script.

‘What do you mean — you think so?’

‘We hit him hard. He wasn’t wearing a helmet and the back of his skull was caved in.’

The man grunted. ‘Check the hospitals. If he’s been found you’ll need to send someone to make sure he’s dead.’ The bland face assumed a thoughtful expression. ‘Did he talk to anyone?’

Schaeffer shook his head. ‘We’re monitoring all the key people. He never got time.’

Over the four years he had worked for Dennis Clarke he had grown to hate and fear him. Initially he was taken in by the silver-haired man with the courteous manners and softly spoken cadences. At his interview Schaeffer was prepared to meet the head of one of the biggest defence contractors in the States. He expected the man would exude power and he was not disappointed. What he did not expect was the man would prove to be more ruthless, ambitious and greedy than himself.

‘Did you find anything at the flat?’

‘No — we checked all his papers’ replied Schaeffer.

‘Computers?’

‘We found a laptop and smashed it against the radiator. We also spray-painted the walls to make it look like some dope-heads got in.’

‘You should have taken the computer.’

‘It’s in hundreds of pieces’ Schaeffer pointed out.

‘Right — don’t forget you’re getting a new member of the team next week. I want you to show him around.’

‘Everything?’

‘Yes, everything. He needs to see the whole operation.’

‘The last guy…’. Schaeffer was interrupted by Clarke.

’…was planning to sell confidential company information to the media. We had to lose him.’

‘I read he was found on the shore near Kingsbury beach in Cape Cod bay. The paper said his body was so bloated and scarred that he could only be identified through his dental records.’

Clarke shrugged.

‘I’ll remind the new person of his obligations’ said Schaeffer.

‘Good. Is there anything else?’

‘No’ Schaeffer replied.

‘Then you’d better get on with it.’

* * *

‘Good afternoon sir. Please could you sign in the visitor’s book?’

The youth behind the desk was hardly out of school thought Lomax. He took the proffered pen, signed in, and waited patiently while the man prepared his pass.

‘I’ll let Mr Andrews know you have arrived. In the meantime would you like a tea or coffee?’

Lomax shook his head.

‘Very well sir. Perhaps you would like to take a seat while I let Mr Andrews know you are here?’

Lomax chose a chair that allowed him the best view of the reception area. He cast a disapproving eye over the gleaming décor before picking up a newspaper. Before he had time to turn to the second page the pimply youth was talking to him again.

‘Mr Andrews is ready for you sir. Please could you make your way to room 612?’ Lomax knew it as the briefing area for major operations.

‘Sir, you take the lift to…’

‘Thank you, I know my way’. Lomax dismissed him and strode to the lift. As the doors closed he pushed the button for the sixth floor. He couldn’t help wondering what they had in store for him.

Up until he left he had been an agent for the Section. Though agents were trained to deal with it, they had to work for prolonged periods under extreme stress and threat of exposure. Lomax knew several agents who had not lasted beyond their first mission. But he thought it unlikely he would be offered agent status again — not after the last time.

There were only two other roles in the field he could be offered: executive or specialist. Executive’s job was to liaise with London and obtain whatever resources were required by the agent: information, access, guns, money or anything else. The executive was responsible for keeping the mission on track, making this the most senior position in the team. It required a different set of skills though the best were former agents. Given the balls-up on the last mission Lomax knew he wasn’t about to be offered that role.

Possibly specialist then, thought Lomax. He had racked his brains as to what specialist skills they might want him for, but he kept coming back to the thought that all his experience was in field-craft: survival, weapons, hand-to-hand combat, intelligence gathering, theft and burglary, transport — the list went on. But all those skills were gained from his time as an agent. Specialists had knowledge or skills outside the range of normal agents, such as communications, ciphers or bio-technology. Lomax couldn’t imagine he was to be offered that role either — he simply wasn’t an expert in any other field.

Only one position seemed to fit. They wanted him not for field operations but as a training instructor — an area well away from the cut and thrust of mission work. They wanted him to pass on his extensive experience to people like the kid on reception. As he knocked on the door he resolved to turn down any offer they made. He was just not cut out to shape up green recruits; he lacked empathy and was too impatient with anyone less experienced than himself.

As he walked in he recognised the man behind the walnut veneered desk. Andrews had aged badly and looked at least ten years older than his actual age of sixty two. He wore a thatch of white hair and his immaculate suit was draped over a scarecrow of a body. Andrews continued to write in his notebook as though unaware of Lomax. There was a strained pause.

Just like old times, thought Lomax: the servant must always wait for the master. But not today. He spoke first. ‘Afternoon Andrews’.

Andrews motioned Lomax to sit down. ‘How are you?’ The voice had a gravelly quality that had not been there before.

‘Much recovered and you probably know that better than me. Let’s cut to the chase.’

A rasping chuckle erupted from Andrews accompanied by a brief shake of the head. Lomax noticed the deep shadows under the eyebrows and the paper-thin skin over the cheek bones. He looked decidedly ill.

‘Some people never change. It’s one of the things I used to like about you Lomax. Always straight to the point.’

‘Let’s just get on with it sir, shall we?’, replied Lomax evenly.

There was another pause as Andrews assessed Lomax. He had lost none of his muscle tone while he was away. In fact up close he looked even more strongly built, exuding a powerful sense of controlled aggression. His relatively short stature accentuated a burly chest. He wouldn’t win any prizes in a beauty contest but he could win any bare knuckle fight going.

Satisfied, Andrews pushed a file across the desk towards him. ‘We have a job for you’.

Chapter 2

‘We want you to run this one as executive.’

Lomax felt a jolt of electricity. He struggled to keep his face blank. More than a year ago he thought he had done with the Section. And the Section had left him in no doubt that they had done with him. Finito — or retirement, however one chose to look at it. They must have a very special reason for wanting him back.

‘Scraping the bottom of the proverbial barrel?’

‘You know us better than that Lomax. Do I take it you are declining my offer?’

Lomax looked carefully at Andrews. A trick of the light made the man’s eyes appear like black sunken sockets in a skull.

‘Well?’ enquired Andrews.

‘You are giving me the opportunity to become an executive for the Section?’

Andrews nodded.

‘Despite the fact that I’ve never been an executive before.’

‘You’ll have to prove yourself, like you did when you first arrived.’ Andrews took a sip of water but was unable shake off the hoarse rasp to his voice.

‘What about my retirement?’

‘You’ll have to leave that behind’ replied Andrews. ‘Do you feel ready?’

‘I feel ready, but I need to know why you want me back.’

Andrews didn’t reply immediately. ‘You mean why we chose you instead of another experienced executive?’ he said carefully.

Lomax nodded curtly.

‘Like you, we think you’re ready for it.’

Lomax allowed a trace of scepticism enter his voice. ‘OK, let me see’ he mused. ‘You’re giving me a simple mission — one that the kid on reception could do. Perhaps with the idea of breaking me in gently, seeing how I go, with the prospect of a more interesting mission next time?’

Andrews indicated agreement.

‘Bullshit!’

Andrews’ eyelids rose fractionally.

‘Bullshit’ repeated Lomax. ‘That’s not what you have in mind. There’s more to this than you’re telling me.’

Andrews remained still. ‘Go on.’

‘Before I make any kind of decision I need to know what this is all about.’

A ghost of a smile flickered over Andrew’s lined face. Lomax’s perceptive comments confirmed that he had chosen the right man for the job. He placed both his hands face down on the table as if spreading out all his cards.

‘Then I shall tell you. But first I want to introduce you to your agent — also a man of considerable experience.’ Andrews picked up the phone and spoke into it. After a short conversation Andrews put the phone down. ‘Seems he’s gone walkabout’. Andrews grinned, ‘I’ll fill you in while we wait.’

* * *

Sean sipped strong coffee from a mug. He had pulled a few strings and secured a place on an American military transport from Kuala Lumpur to Frankfurt, then by charter to Heathrow. A police car drove him all the way to HQ with flashing lights. The driver was curious but refrained from asking any questions giving Sean time to close his eyes on the short journey.

One of the tea ladies had slipped some ginger biscuits onto his plate and hadn’t charged him. They always tried to mother him in the canteen, bless their cotton socks. Perhaps they sensed his loneliness but Sean only wanted to get the briefing over. Maybe they hoped he would agree to take the job just to relieve the tension he could feel building.

Abruptly Sean left the café and made his way to the fourth floor, the main communications suite where they kept tabs on current missions. When he opened the door he saw Murdoch lounging back in his chair with a cigarette between his fingers. They had taken out the smoke alarm in order to let Murdoch light up — in direct contravention of any number of laws relating to health and safety. But the thought only made Sean chuckle — health and safety in his line of work!

‘Evening Murdoch, you still haven’t given up the weed then?’

Ten years ago Murdoch was one of the best field agents they had. He was eventually caught in a sniper’s sights in the Far East. The bullet shattered his tibia and with it any hope of further action.

Murdoch glanced round casually. His voice still held the soft intonation of the highlands. ‘Thought I might be seeing you again. I heard you were on your way over. What’s the matter — haven’t you seen anyone yet?’

‘Nope, they like to keep you waiting. How are you doing?’

‘Oh, so-so. Marie’s had a baby which makes me a first time grandfather. Can you imagine that?’

Sean grinned. ‘I bet Margery’s proud. Listen, I don’t suppose you know anything about this job?’

Murdoch shook his head. ‘Sorry.’ He hesitated. ‘I shouldn’t say this and you didn’t hear it from me — OK?’

‘OK’ Sean agreed.

‘I heard a whisper that there might be some action in the States.’

‘Any background?’

‘Sorry, this one’s classified to the rafters. I don’t even know who’s lined up for executive. All I know..’. He stopped as the phone rang. Picking it up, he glanced at Sean briefly before putting it back.

‘Well you’ll find out soon enough. That was the chief’s secretary — they’ve been looking all over for you. Andrews wants to see you right away.’

‘Thanks Murdoch. Give my regards to Margery and Marie will you.’

* * *

Andrews skimmed through his notes. ‘Sean Quinlan. Second generation Irish. His parents were from southern Ireland and came over to England in the early seventies. He’s in his late thirties, maybe a little on the older side for an agent. He went to Exeter University and applied for a bursary from the Royal Marines during his second year. After graduating he entered the Commando Training Centre at Lympstone in Devon. Graduated second in his class.’

Andrews noted Lomax was listening carefully. He continued, ‘rose rapidly in the ranks, showing a natural flare for resolving difficult problems. When he completed training at the tail end of the Bosnian conflict he began co-piloting medi-vac helicopters. He was promoted to Captain after Kosovo and then sent to Northern Ireland for two years followed by a short spell in East Timor.’

‘How did he come to be invited here?’ asked Lomax.

‘I’m coming to that’ replied Andrews testily. He checked his notes again, then resumed. ‘Various missions followed, probably the highest profile was operation Barras in 2000 when he took part in the rescue of British army hostages in Sierra Leone. Quinlan piloted one of the Chinooks carrying Special Air Service up country. After a second spell in Northern Ireland he was promoted again to Lieutenant and sent to the DR Congo as part of the United Nations peace keeping force.’

Andrews stopped, apparently a little short of breath. After a few seconds he recovered. ‘I’ll let you have his file later. In the latter part of his career he joined the Special Reconnaissance Regiment where he developed a talent for collecting and interpreting data from many different sources. Some bright spark suggested a spell with the SBS. Quinlan acquitted himself well, in fact he thrived in Special Services. From there he came to the attention of the SAS where he was seconded for a short period. That’s when the Section started taking an interest.’ Andrews looked up.

There was a knock on the door, and Andrews rose painfully.

‘Sounds like he packed two lifetimes into one career’ observed Lomax. ‘He must be good.’

Andrews stopped before the door. ‘He is’ he asserted. ‘He’s a bit touchy about some things, but then, aren’t we all?’

* * *

As the door opened Sean saw Andrews, hand outstretched.

‘Sean. Glad you managed to get back so quickly’.

The voice sounded hoarse. Sean shook his hand. The touch was cold, the fingers bony, like a reptile’s claw.

Andrews turned. ‘Let me introduce you to Lomax.’

Lomax stood and Sean felt his hand gripped tightly. Lomax was around five foot nine inches but there was no mistaking the musculature underneath the fine blue suit nor the steady gaze that seemed to be sizing him up.

Andrews observed the interplay. ‘I’ve been giving Lomax some background — would you like to take a seat?’

Sean remained standing. ‘I got an agent down message and was ordered to return immediately. I broke a load of regs to get back as quickly as I could but I’ve been kept waiting in the canteen.’ He paused to let it that sink in. ‘Will someone be kind enough to tell me what’s going on?’

There was a brief embarrassed silence. ‘Take a seat and I’ll explain.’ Andrews gestured vaguely towards a chair and moved painfully slowly to sit behind his desk. ‘What you say is correct’ he continued, ‘but I’m sure you’ll understand the need to get all the assets in place first.’

Sean stopped, knowing his anger was beginning to show. He took a deep breath and held it, aware how cleverly Andrews had manipulated events. The urgent communiqué, the long wait when he got here and now the glassy politeness were all part of the plan. He almost had Sean hooked.

‘The mission concerns the special relationship Britain has with America’ said Andrews.

Sean remained quiet, unsure if he was expected to reply.

‘In actual fact the special relationship is a lie. While the politicians on both sides of the Atlantic talk about it, behind the headlines there’s another reality. Both countries have their own political ambitions and both are in economic competition with each other. That means each country watches the other very carefully — we know for instance that a certain amount of commercial spying goes on between multinationals on both sides of the pond.’

Andrews coughed and rested a moment before continuing. ‘One issue our masters are keen on is technology — especially in the area of defence. It might not surprise you that we have several sleepers working right now in the States on a variety of projects. They’re naturalised Americans, or Americans who have some sympathy for the UK. They make reports via a number of covert channels and pass on low grade intelligence. The US are aware that we have these people though in most cases they are unaware exactly who they are.’

Andrews took a sip of water. ‘Of course the US also has a number of scientists and engineers working in our companies and they pass back information to their intelligence services. We know who some of these people are, but equally we’re not so sure about the others.’

‘Right, I get the picture’, said Sean. ‘You're going to tell me that something has happened to disturb the equilibrium?’

‘One of our sleepers made contact and asked us to get him out.’

‘Is that unusual?’ asked Sean.

‘You could say that’, Andrews replied. ‘We rarely get requests like it since the so-called cold war ended. We don’t have the same networks as we used to.’

‘So I suppose that’s where I come in?’

‘Correct’, Andrews replied. A sleeper alerted London two months ago that he was onto something. I wasn’t here at the time. Then about forty eight hours ago we got a signal that he wanted to pull out. That’s when we recalled you. Then yesterday he went off our radar.’

‘And the sleeper is Ben Campbell?’

Andrews inclined his head but was unable to keep the curiosity out of his voice. ‘Yes.’

‘And now you can’t find him?’

Andrews gave Sean an embarrassed glance. ‘I understand he is an acquaintance of yours’ Andrews continued. ‘I’m sorry for the cryptic message we sent but I wanted to break this to you face to face’.

Sean sighed. ‘Campbell was a friend, not just an acquaintance’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve known him since my university days.’

‘You kept in touch afterwards?’

‘We met again years later at one of the British Ambassador’s parties in Washington. In those days he was a rising star in the field of robotics’.

Andrews checked his notes. ‘I also understand you helped him get the job he wanted’.

Ben had wanted to develop his career with the American Underwater Research Institute. He had tried several approaches but was rejected every time. He assumed they objected to his British background as the work was highly sensitive, so he applied for American citizenship. But even then they wouldn’t accept his application.

‘I spoke to some of the guys when I returned home’ Sean replied. ‘Soon afterwards Ben received a letter to report for an interview. I don’t know for sure if that swung it but since then he hasn’t looked back’.

‘So — have you heard from him recently?’

‘I got an email a couple of weeks ago.’

‘Oh — what did it say?’

‘It was a bit strange — said he wanted to talk a few things over and was planning to come to the UK soon.’

‘Well — that fits in with our information.’

‘Is he one of yours?’

Andrews’ lips drew back into a thin line. He hadn’t missed the implication of Sean’s last sentence. Obviously Sean felt he hadn’t been at the Section long enough to feel part of the organisation.

‘Perhaps I had better let Lomax continue.’

Sean noticed how tired Andrews looked as he leaned back in his chair.

The briefing papers were still fresh in Lomax’s mind. ‘He’s working for a software company contracted to the American Department of Defence. They provide code for several military projects involving remote control software. We suspect that he discovered something of real importance to us. He probably thought this was the only way he could tell us about it — by leaving the country under our protection.’

‘Do you know anything about the projects he was working on?’ asked Sean.

‘Not a great deal. The department saw him last summer when he came to the UK on holiday — he visited his parents in Yorkshire. You were in Mexico then.’

‘I remember — it wasn’t a holiday.’

‘No’. Lomax glanced at Andrews. ‘One of our chaps took him out for a pint and a chat. From that conversation it appears that the company he is working for was developing some software for a military submarine.’

‘Do we know anything more since his last signal?’ Sean enquired.

‘No, we’ve not been in contact. We think he may have gone to ground — either that or he’s dead.’

Sean looked at Andrews and then back to Lomax to see if anyone would elaborate. No-one did. ‘So gentlemen, what do you want me to do?’

‘If he’s alive’, continued Lomax, ‘we want you to find him and bring him out. He knows you and trusts you, so that should make the job easier.’

‘If he’s on the run I may not be able to find him. Is there any kind of deadline to this?’

‘None that we know of at present. But he’s not been trained in escape and evasion techniques like you. If he’s on the run, he might not last very long.’

Sean thought for a moment. ‘Just how important is this to the department?’

‘We think it’s very important. He’s been feeding us with the odd bit of info for the last four and a half years.’ Lomax paused. ‘However he’s never divulged anything which we might consider “secret”. If you can get him out this might be the breakthrough we’ve been looking for.’

‘So when do I go?’

‘I fly tonight and you go out tomorrow after collecting your documentation. ‘That is, if you want to go?’

Sean could already taste the anticipation. The job would get him back into the field. But he still felt uncertain about Lomax. Sean had never worked with him before and something about Lomax’s absence from the department disturbed him.

‘I’ve heard about you’ Sean recollected. ‘You dropped out of the picture suddenly, about a year ago. Everyone was vague about why you had left. Someone suggested you’d developed stage fright.’ Sean meant that Lomax had lost his nerve, which was not uncommon when working for the Section.

‘I’m not surprised. There were lots of rumours flying around. Let’s just say I needed a holiday — some time to get patched up after my last job.’

‘You needed a year? You must have been injured pretty badly.’

‘You could say that.’ Lomax wasn’t giving anything away.

There was a pause while Sean thought about that.

‘I’m not really here to defend myself’ Lomax continued. ‘It did take a long time to recover, but now I’m back and I’ve accepted promotion.’

‘Congratulations.’ Sean meant it — new executives were very hard to come by and only appointed on merit.

‘Thanks. Do I take it you want the job?’

Sean looked at Andrews and back to Lomax. ‘Is there anything else I need to know?’

Lomax shook his head. ‘You’ll get your briefing papers. They go into a bit more detail but there’s nothing more we can tell you.’

Sean hesitated.

Lomax waited a second. ‘The usual rules Sean. You can refuse to take this on once the briefing is finished.’

Sean noted the slight quickening of his heart beat.

‘There is one more caveat on this job — no bodies. We can’t afford the repercussions.’

The way Sean looked at it there were two possibilities. Either Ben was on the run because his cover was blown, or he was dead. If he was dead Sean could return home straight away. If he was still alive things would be a little trickier, but even so finding and escorting a mate back to the UK shouldn’t be too big a problem. But there always was that little word ‘should’.

‘I’ll go’ said Sean. ‘But on one condition — you keep everyone out of my way. Once I get going I don’t want to stop until I’m back in the UK.’

Lomax glanced at Andrews and saw a minute nod of satisfaction. Lomax looked at his watch again and stood up. ‘Good. Well if that’s all, I’ve a plane to catch. Wish me luck.’

Sean shook hands. ‘Good luck Lomax. I’ll need some too.’

Lomax smiled. ‘You make your own luck.'

When Sean and Lomax reached the door Andrews called out in a hoarse voice, ‘Lomax, I need a word before you go.’

Lomax turned to Sean. ‘You go on. We’ll be in touch tomorrow.’

Sean closed the door gently behind him.

Chapter 3

Andrews beckoned Lomax back into the room. ‘I know Sean’s preference is to work alone, but I think you should have a computer specialist standing by.’

Lomax shook his head. ‘It’s not just Sean — I don’t want to watch over some computer nerd who doesn’t know how to look after himself. Why do you think it’s so important?’

‘Because’ rasped Andrews ‘we think they have developed a communications technology which can remotely command a small nuclear powered submarine from just about anywhere in the world. HM Gov would like a look-see at the technology.’

Lomax cleared his throat. ‘How much are they willing to risk?’

‘The government wants access to this technology badly enough to risk breaking the special relationship’ Andrews replied with a grimace.

Lomax thought for a moment. ‘If the Americans are already on to Campbell then we may have done just that’ he observed.

‘That may be the case. But I don’t think it’s happened yet. If his cover was blown we would know by now. The line between Washington and London would be incandescent.’

‘They might know and want to keep it to themselves’ ventured Lomax.

‘They might just be playing a game’ Andrews conceded. ‘All the more reason you need to take care. Just get Campbell — or his information — out any way you can. If your computer guy can get a line into this new sub, so much the better. We'll deal with the repercussions later.’

‘Fine. And if we are compromised?’

Andrews pulled a face. ‘You already know the answer to that. You and Sean are expendable. If push comes to shove, as the Americans say, then you will be disowned. Use the legend we’ve created for you. If you are compromised and can’t get Ben out, then get everyone else out.’

* * *

‘Hello, I’d like to speak to Natasha Moore?’ The voice was clear and authoritative.

‘Yes’ said Natasha guardedly. ‘Who is this?’

‘Glenda Hadlett, Jordon Hospital. I’m the admissions duty nurse. I’m sorry to disturb to you so early but do you know a Ben Campbell?’

‘Yes’, she hesitated. ‘He works with me.’

‘I’m sorry to tell you that Mr. Campbell was involved in a road accident last night.’

Natasha sat down abruptly. ‘Oh God, tell me how is he?’

‘I’m afraid the injuries Ben sustained were quite bad. It was a road accident and we’re doing our best for him. He’s in intensive care and he is stable at the moment, but that could change at any time. I’m sorry to break such bad news in this way. Do you know if he has any relatives?’

Natasha tried hard to recall. ‘No, I don’t think he has any here — all his family are in England.’

‘Oh. I don’t suppose you have a contact number for them?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t — I don’t know Ben’s family at all.’

‘We found an envelope with your name on it’ continued the nurse. ‘It was inside his jacket but there was no address. I’ve been ringing all the Moore’s in the phone book. It’s taken us half a hour.’

‘Could I come in to see him?’

‘You won’t be able to while he’s in the intensive care unit. But you can come over and wait if you want.’

Natasha gripped the phone tightly. ‘Of course, I’ll be right over.’

Her thoughts were flying all over the place. She called her boss Stan to let him know and headed for the door. Less than an hour later she found the hospital and parked in the adjacent car park. It was still dark but she remembered the red brick building, having passed it the first time she came to Plymouth.

At the reception desk she asked the nurse if she could see Ben. She checked her computer screen and her face tightened a little. ‘I’m afraid he is very ill. Has anyone told you about the extent of his injuries?’

‘No — all I know is that he was involved in a hit-and-run accident. The nurse who called said I could come over.’

The Nurse looked at Natasha sympathetically. ‘You might have to wait a long time. He’ll be in intensive care for the next 24 hours at least.’ The Nurse checked a cubby hole behind the desk. ‘We found a letter addressed to you.’ She fished out a transparent polythene bag. Natasha could see an envelope inside. When the Nurse handed it to her she recognised Ben’s writing on the front. There was just her name, underlined in a blue pen. Natasha stuffed it into her handbag.

‘Which room is he in?’ she enquired. ‘I’d like to go and see.’

The Nurse came around the counter and led Natasha down the corridor before turning left. They came to a room with the blinds partially pulled down. Natasha could make out Ben’s form through the slats. She saw tubes coming into and away from his body and there were several machines arranged around the bed monitoring key respiratory indicators. His head and the arm and leg on his left side were completely encased in plaster bandages.

The Nurse hesitated. ‘Are you OK? There is a restaurant on the floor above if you need something to eat, or there are some chairs down the corridor if you want to sit and wait.’

‘I’ll be fine, thank you’ said Natasha and she turned to peer through the window.

* * *

Sean’s first stop was the accounts department where they had the usual pile of forms. The one at the top required him to confirm he would return all unused expenses. Tucked in amongst the paperwork, as if an afterthought, was a copy of his will. Attached was a form confirming he wanted no changes which needed to be countersigned by a witness. In this case it was a pretty blond cashier who was no older than nineteen. He could tell when the girl had read the last section because she looked up with an embarrassed stare.

A sheaf of roses to be placed on Katherine's grave on 15th May each year.

She said quietly ‘Please God it will never come to that but if it does I’ll make sure it happens.’ She picked up the pen, signed the form and tucked it back into the file.

Next stop was the armoury in the basement. Although he never checked out a gun Sean rarely passed up an opportunity to practice. He never brought a gun on a mission for the simple reason that the airline industry was far too sensitive about passengers carrying weapons. After landing in the US obtaining any hardware he wanted would be easy. But having a gun was no good if you couldn’t shoot straight.

The armourer on duty was Hamish on his second secondment from the Army. Sean had heard that when Hamish and Murdoch went out for a beer it rarely stopped at six. Hamish was one of the few people Sean knew who wore a moustache. He was painfully thin and had a prosthetic leg, courtesy of a land mine in Bosnia.

‘Evening young man’. Hamish called all his recruits young men.

Sean asked Hamish for a selection of four handguns and three automatic machine guns. He picked up the first, a heavy looking Browning automatic and pushed a clip into it. He fired off four rounds before finding form. When Hamish pressed the button the cardboard target whizzed down and showed the second group was indeed much closer than the first. Sean removed his ear muffs — Hamish always had some advice to give.

‘Take more time with your first shot, you’ll find the rest will tend to follow the first.’ Hamish spoke with a Glaswegian accent.

‘I know Hamish, but I usually have to be quick with all of them.’

Sean moved on to the other handguns and practised with them for the best part of an hour. Then he signed for all the guns and ammunition he had used.

The last place Sean visited was documentation because they took longest to produce. He was given a driver’s licence and various store and credit cards. He was also given a small net book computer and an encrypted memory stick. The files on the stick detailed his cover from the very first school he attended. In particular it listed the dates and times when Ben had visited the UK, where he had gone and copies of all the emails between Ben and the Section. Sean could read them on the plane, then run a special program that would completely remove the information on the stick.

The elderly lady behind the desk handed him a passport and a printed sheet containing his ESTA reference permitting him to travel to the States. She gave him a perfunctory smile. That, Sean thought to himself, was the best ‘au revoir’ he could expect from the Section.

* * *

While leafing through the paper Sean was able to observe a large section of the hallway from his vantage point in the cafe at Logan airport. There was a strong visible police presence. Sean observed that they made no effort at all to hide the hardware they were carrying.

He tagged two undercover cops. The first was a cleaner who seemed more interested in scratching his right ear and leaning on a broom than using it to clean the floor. The giveaway was an almost invisible wire which ran from his ear, down the back of his neck and into his overalls. The second was an older lady who worked in the florist stall. She sat on a stool behind the counter. Only the younger girl served the customers, even when there was a queue.

He finished his coffee and made his way to the car hire counter. He always chose a car in the medium to large class purely because the extra horse power just might one day save his life. Besides, he liked to have a solid engine block in case of a head-on collision. He was given a Chevrolet Impala.

He didn’t look round as he passed Lomax but went straight for the car park. When he found the car he slung his suitcase in the boot then sat for 5 minutes in the front seat, scanning the environment before making for the exit.

Around an hour and a half later he parked at the hotel in Falmouth, a country style two story resort Inn. After checking in Sean went straight to his room and started to unpack. Twenty minutes later there was a knock on the door and he opened it carefully. He let Lomax in and locked the door behind him.

‘Any ticks?’ enquired Sean.

‘None’, replied Lomax. ‘Did you see anyone follow me?’

‘Nope’, said Sean. ‘What about this place?’

Lomax removed a black plastic gadget from his pocket that looked very much like a battery tester. Checking the room and the bathroom for listening devices took less than two minutes.

‘It’s clean’ Lomax announced.

‘Like a drink?’

They made their way downstairs. While Lomax was getting the drinks Sean used the opportunity to look around and check out the clientele. Amongst several couples there were one or two well dressed men and women drinking alone. Lomax brought back a scotch for Sean without asking. Sean noticed Lomax’s glass contained nothing stronger than sparking water. That set the little cells ticking, but now was not a good time to ask Lomax about it.

‘What was your little tête-à-tête with Andrews about?’ Sean enquired.

‘Just some last minute updates for me.’

Lomax was making it quite plain he didn’t want to talk about it thought Sean. ‘Nothing I need to know then?’ He was pushing it.

Lomax turned to look at Sean. ‘Nothing you really need to know about, just a conversation about whether the Americans are already on to Campbell.’

Sean could see he would get no more out of Lomax. He changed the subject. ‘Have you made contact yet?’

‘Not directly’ replied Lomax. ‘I should have some info early tomorrow morning. In the meantime I suggest you grab some sleep.’

Lomax was true to his word. At 5:10 am he knocked on Sean’s door.

‘I’ve found him, but it’s bad news. A contact in the FBI told me that Ben was involved in a road accident. When I rang the hospital they told me he’d collided with an oncoming car. He was taken in with head injuries, ruptured spleen, broken ribs and a broken wrist and leg. The hospital contacted the girlfriend, a Miss Natasha Moore. She’s there now.’

‘Have you any info about her?’

‘She also works with Ben. Apparently she’s their resident expert on digital navigation and guidance packages — whatever that means.’

Sean started pulling clothes on. ‘It looks like we’re already too late’ he said sadly.

Less than an hour later Sean walked towards the ward where Ben was lying. Approaching the room he saw an attractive woman in her early thirties asleep on a chair in the corridor. Her head lay on a cushion, long dark hair spilling over and partially covering her face.

Sean guessed this was Natasha Moore. Not wanting to disturb her he looked through the window into the room beyond. He wasn’t able to tell at first if the person lying on the bed was Ben. Too much of his face was obscured by bandages. But there was something about the chin and the jaw that was familiar.

‘Are you a relative?’

Sean turned. She was sitting up. She had dark eyes and black hair framed an oval face. Her eyes looked a little puffy with sleep.

’No, just an old friend. I’m sorry to disturb you.’

‘Oh that’s OK’. She waved the apology away. ‘I’m Natasha, a friend of Ben’s.’

Sean leaned over to shake her hand.

‘I’ve been popping into hospital since I heard he was involved in a hit-and-run accident.’

‘It came as a shock to me’ replied Sean. ‘I’ve only just got in from England.’

‘Did Ben know you were coming — he didn’t say anything to me?’

‘Not really’ replied Sean. ‘He emailed an invitation some time ago. I happen to be here on business, and I thought I’d stop by to see him.’

Sean looked towards the ward reception. ‘The nurse said I would have to wait for one of the doctors to give me an update. I wondered if you know anything. How serious are his injuries?’

Natasha’s gaze slid to the floor. ‘Originally they said he might not make it’ she said quietly. ‘But he’s improved since and they’ve just moved him out of intensive care — so I suppose that’s a good sign.’

‘I see’ said Sean. He glanced down the corridor towards an approaching doctor.

The young man was wearing a white coat and had a stethoscope slung around his neck. He looked enquiringly at the pair. Sean introduced him and Natasha and asked the doctor about the accident.

‘I’m afraid I don’t know much about that, except he met a car head-on. His injuries are extensive but he has been stable for the last few hours, so you can go in to see him.’

‘Oh’ said Natasha. ‘The nurse said no-one was allowed to see him for another 24 hours?’

‘Never mind the nurses’ replied the doctor. ‘Sometimes they are a bit too protective. You can go in, but don’t stay long — no more than 5 minutes. I’m afraid he won’t be able to speak, he’s still under sedation.’

The room was lit by a dim overhead night light. Natasha went around the far side and took Ben’s hand in hers. Sean glanced around the small room which contained a chair and mobile bedside table. There was a TV and radio console, a window which looked out onto a lighted pathway, and a door which lead to an en-suite bathroom.

Sean turned back to the bed. He could see the regular rise and fall of the sheets as Ben breathed. But there was no indication he was aware of Natasha’s presence. A steady soft bleep came from the monitors. They stood in silence for some minutes.

‘Natasha’ Sean said softly. ‘You look worn out. Why don’t you go home and get some sleep. I’ll stay on for a while and let you know if anything happens.’

Natasha released Ben’s hand and sighed. ‘You’re right, I am exhausted. Thanks — here I’ll let you have my number.’ She wrote it on a piece of paper and handed it over. ‘It’s very kind of you.’

He followed her to the corridor to say goodbye. When she was out of sight he went back into Ben’s room, detecting the lingering scent of her perfume. Coming straight after Ben’s signal to the Section the accident could not be a coincidence — particularly the hit-and-run aspect. And once they realised he was still alive the opposition might come back for him.

Sean pulled out a pair of surgical gloves and slipped them on before making straight for the en-suite bathroom. Leaving the door slightly ajar, he could see the door from the corridor into the room and the partly obscured corridor window, but not the bed itself. He looked around and saw a bath with a shower unit fixed above it. There was a toilet, wash hand basin and mirror, and a window which opened outward onto the lawn.

He didn’t have long to wait.

He heard the door open and glimpsed the portly figure of a nurse as she bustled into the room. He could hear the rustle of her uniform as she moved about, presumably checking the instruments and making sure the patient was comfortable. Sean peeked through the crack in the doorway. He could see her back as she wrote up her notes. After she finished she replaced the clipboard and left.

Sean waited. He was prepared to wait all night if necessary but he didn’t have to. Nearly twenty minutes later the doctor they had met earlier entered. Sean was starting to think how efficient and well run the hospital was, when he sensed the stillness. He listened intently but he couldn’t hear the doctor moving around.

Sean slowly opened the door wider to see the doctor leaning over the bed, putting his whole weight onto the pillow over Ben’s chest and face.

Chapter 4

The doctor sensed his presence and reacted with surprising speed. Sean was unprepared for the elbow which caught his jaw and sent him sprawling against the table. Sean’s hand closed around a plastic TV remote. He brought it round in a fast hard blow to the man’s head. The man was blinded and his counter punch missed Sean. Sean drove two blows to the chest and followed with a knee to the groin. He fell back but began struggling to his feet almost immediately. Sean punched him hard on the side of the head. The doctor sank to the floor.

The pillow was still covering Ben’s face. Sean flung it off the bed and checked his pulse. He couldn’t feel anything and Ben’s breathing had stopped. Sean saw the red emergency cord above the bed and pulled it, then turned back to the bed. He began to apply CPR to Ben’s chest though the ribs were probably broken. Hearing a noise behind him he prepared for another attack but it never came. Glancing around Sean saw the doctor leaving through the emergency exit. After ten compressions Sean put his hand underneath Ben’s neck, pinched his nose and gave him the kiss of life.

He could hear a commotion not far away. Must be the crash team. Sean removed the latex gloves and continued giving CPR until the doctors entered the room.

* * *

‘Here’s a cup of tea for you.’ The nurse handed him a Styrofoam cup without asking if he wanted one.

Sean thanked her quietly. While he sipped the tea, memories of Ben flooded in. It was always this way when a friend died.

Sean excused himself and walked outside to make a call. His mobile looked like any other quad-band mobile but contained an embedded encryption chip which scrambled chosen calls.

‘Hello?’ Lomax replied immediately.

‘Campbell’s dead’ said Sean bluntly. ‘They made another attempt while he was in hospital and I wasn’t able to save him.’

‘Any leads?’

Sean saw the man approach from the corner of his eye. ‘There is one angle I could try.’

‘Ok, see what you can do.’

Sean ended the call. He looked up to find a man in a smart uniform in front of him. The man removed a card and gave it to Sean. It said ‘Detective Sergeant John Peters, Massachusetts State Police.’

* * *

Natasha had just got off to a fitful sleep when the phone rang. She jerked upright in the bed, momentarily unsure of where she was. The alarm clock showed it was past nine o’clock in the morning. The phone continued to ring and she picked it up wearily.

‘Hello, Natasha?’ Although the voice was familiar she couldn’t place it at first. Then she realised it was Sean Quinlan, the man she had met at the hospital.

‘Yes?’

‘I’m sorry to wake you so soon but I’ve some bad news.’

‘Ben?’ she asked hesitantly as she pulled hair out of her eyes.

‘I’m very sorry Natasha. He passed away a few minutes ago.’

Even though she was half expecting it she was still shocked. She didn’t know what to say and ended up saying nothing.

Sean began to talk again. ‘Someone attempted to kill Ben. The police are at the hospital interviewing people who were in his room. I expect you’ll get a call from them before long.’

Natasha sat bolt upright. She was fully awake now.

‘What happened?’

‘I went to the toilet and when I came back the murderer was trying to press a pillow over Ben’s face. I shouted and he escaped through the external door.’

‘Oh God!’ she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

‘The police have just taken a statement from me’. Sean paused. ‘Do you know any reason why someone would want to kill Ben?’

‘No. Ben was..’ she hesitated. ‘Well I just can’t imagine anyone wanting to do that to Ben.’ She thought for a moment. ‘So Ben was murdered?’

‘I am sorry to break it to you like this’ continued Sean. ‘Could I ring someone to come round?’

‘No’ she whispered.

‘I mean friends or relatives, anyone I could call just to help out?’

‘No — no thank you’ she replied more firmly.

‘OK, that’s fine. The nurse said the police will want someone who knows him well to formally identify the body. I guess I could do that but I think they would prefer a resident of the USA rather than a visitor. I wondered if you might be able to help? If not, is there someone else I could ring — perhaps someone at work?’

Natasha thought for a minute. There were many people at work who could go, but in fairness she knew him better than anyone.

‘Is there a set time I need to be there?’

‘Not really’ said Sean. ‘I could pick you up around 2pm tomorrow if you would like me to take you?’

Natasha felt relieved. ‘That’s kind of you, thank you.’

Natasha gave him her address, put the phone down and sank back on the pillow. The sense of despair she had felt earlier returned with renewed force. Tears formed and began to trickle down her cheeks.

* * *

Sean knocked on the plain varnished door of Ben’s apartment. There was no answer. He knocked again and waited a few minutes. Still no answer.

He retreated back down the stairs and rang the bell of the apartment below. Surprisingly it opened quickly, but only by a fraction. The person lay in shadow.

‘Sorry to trouble you but do you know the owner of the apartment above?’

‘Who wants to know?’ came the reply. The owner was definitely an elderly female and Sean suspected she lived by herself because of the door chain.

‘I’m Sean Quinlan. Ben was a friend of mine.’

‘Was?’ queried the frail voice.

Sean looked down. ‘Yes, was’ he replied. ‘I’m sorry to say he died yesterday.’

There was a long pause before the chain was released with a quick muttered ‘well, you’d better come in then.’

He followed the well dressed lady into her apartment. She sat on a floral settee and Sean sat opposite in an old-fashioned arm chair.

The lady’s fingers plucked aimlessly at her skirt. ‘How did he die?’

Sean hesitated. ‘He was involved in a road accident.’

She stared out of the window. ‘He was a good man. He used to do a bit of shopping for me at weekends and made sure that my daily help didn’t miss the cleaning.’

‘I’m really sorry to bring such bad news. Do you know if Ben had many visitors recently?’

The old lady looked sharply at Sean. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Do you know if he had many friends? Did they call much?’

The old lady shook her head firmly. ‘He wasn’t one for partying, if that’s what you mean. He had a few friends but they hardly ever used to visit. Generally he kept himself to himself.’

‘I see.’ Sean stood up. ‘I’m sorry to have troubled you.’

The lady followed him to the door. He opened it and turned back for a moment. ‘I don’t suppose Ben let you have a key to his apartment?’ For a second he saw her eyes widen fractionally.

She peered up at his face then slowly drew back having made her decision. ‘I have a spare somewhere. He asked me to keep it in case he forgot his own. I gave him my spare key too, just in case I lost mine.’ She smiled briefly at the memory.

* * *

Ben’s apartment was a mess. Graffiti was sprayed on the walls. Papers lay scattered about the floor and amongst them Sean saw some post. He felt cool air on his cheek blowing through an open window. A chair lay on its back and several books from a nearby bookcase had been pulled out. A laptop lay in pieces next to the radiator. The old ladies’ hand flew to her face. She walked slowly over to an armchair and sat down heavily.

Sean picked up some of the plastic pieces from the smashed laptop. On one he found the make and model and made a mental note.

He walked through to the next room. There was a small but well laid out kitchen. The floor was strewn with the debris of smashed crockery. The phone was still on the wall and had a blinking light indicating a message waiting. A door separated the kitchen from the next room but it hung crazily from its hinges, as though someone had tried to barge through it. Sean carefully pushed it back. On the left was a tiny bathroom and facing him was the last room, a bedroom. This was a good size and contained a double bed. The bed linen was piled up in one corner and a mattress sagged against the wall. Clothes from the wardrobe were heaped on top.

Sean walked back through to the living area. ‘Looks like some party’ he remarked. The old lady didn’t smile.

* * *

Ben’s laptop was a fairly recent model and Sean had no trouble finding one of the same make and model. He then visited a supermarket next door where he found some dark trainers, flashlight and miniature screwdrivers.

In the car he unscrewed the panel covering the laptop’s hard drive. It was a fairly easy job to remove the drive which he placed in his rucksack together with the flashlight and screwdrivers.

After nightfall Sean pulled in about fifty yards from Ben’s apartment and waited. He was dressed in all dark clothing and wore the dark trainers he had bought earlier. On the seat next to him was a rucksack containing the hard drive and flashlight. He checked the movement of cars up and down the road, the presence of pedestrians, the sounds of the neighbourhood.

Satisfied it was clear he drove around the back and parked immediately underneath Ben’s first floor window. He put on some thin elastic gloves and pulled plastic shoe covers over the trainers. Taking the rucksack with him he climbed onto the bonnet, then the roof, standing above the door pillars to avoid denting the thin metal top. He found he could reach up and easily grab the lintel of the window on the first floor. He pulled himself up and slipped his arm into the still open window. He took a quick look around to check that there was no one about before undoing the handle of the larger casement window. He entered the room feet first. Glancing at his watch, he noticed that the whole manoeuvre had taken no more than 20 seconds.

Not bad for your age, he thought.

Before Sean moved any further he waited a full minute, partially to let his night vision adjust and partially to listen to the immediate surroundings. When he was satisfied he quietly closed the window and drew all the curtains before turning on a table lamp in the corner.

He headed straight for the smashed laptop lying by the wall. One large piece still contained part of the mother board and the hard drive. Sean carefully prised out the drive and noticed it had a small dent in it. He fixed the new one into the slot and placed the dented one in his rucksack.

The mess of paperwork lay on the floor, undisturbed since it had fallen. Getting down onto his knees he lifted each page carefully and inspected them. Replacing each in turn he ensured they kept their position in the pile.

He looked around the rest of the room, mentally dividing it up into sections, then he began a systematic search. In all probability if Ben had made notes anywhere they would be on his laptop. But he had to check. Forty minutes later he had searched the whole apartment and had found nothing of importance.

Before he left Sean went over to the phone where the red light was still blinking on the answer machine. He pressed the recall button, ready to turn down the volume if it was too high. There were two messages.

‘Ben, it’s Jack Langham from work. I heard you were looking into our archives and having some problems? I may be able to help. I can’t promise anything but if you want we could meet and discuss it and I’ll do my best to sort it out. Tell you what, I’m having a bite to eat on Friday with Frances. You’re welcome to join us — we’re going to the Olive Garden around eight in the evening. We’re going away the following day so if you miss us it will have to keep until we get back.’

There was a message from Natasha. She sounded hesitant and unsure.

‘Hi, Ben. I’ve only just got in. I got your message to say you were coming over. Did I miss you? Give me a call if you haven’t set off yet.’

Sean had one last look round before making his way out through the window.

* * *

‘Who is making the identification?’ The man behind the reception desk was friendly and efficient.

‘I am’ replied Natasha. She took a deep breath.

‘I will need to see some ID.’

Natasha put her driving licence on the counter and Sean followed with his passport. The man picked up each in turn, making notes on his computer.

‘OK’ he replied. ‘Don’t worry. I just need to ask a few questions and then we can go in.’ He turned back to the screen. ‘What is your relationship with the deceased?’

‘We were seeing each other’ replied Natasha.

‘How long have you known him?’

‘Ever since I started working for the company — say three years.’

The man then asked for her address and contact details, typing them up on the computer. Eventually he finished and asked them to wait for a colleague to show them the way. A young man in a white coat arrived shortly and walked with them towards the main lifts. They descended to the lower basement and followed him down a metallic grey corridor. They waited as he keyed in the combination to enter the mortuary. Before opening the door the young man turned.

‘I’ll take you through now. I know this can be very upsetting but if you need to go out in a hurry, just let me know.’ He continued ‘just take a look and confirm that this is the man you have come to identify.’

They stepped into a room which was several degrees below room temperature. Sean smelt the clinging odour of formaldehyde and disinfectant and saw rows of over-large filing cabinets set into the far wall. The young man spoke to a mortuary attendant briefly. The mortuary attendant went over to a cabinet on the second row, checked the number against the name on the sheet, then unlocked the drawer and pulled it out. The body was draped entirely in a white sheet and the attendant carefully rolled it back to uncover the head.

There was no doubt that this was Ben. Sean saw Natasha look away from the body and give a small inclination of the head.

Sean looked back down at his friend. Even though the face had been cleaned up the cuts and wounds from the accident were obvious. Natasha moved to leave and Sean followed her. A tearful Natasha stopped at reception to thank the man for his help.

Sean wondered about Ben’s things. ‘What happens to the personal effects?’

‘Well, they go to the next of kin’ the man replied.

‘Ben’s only remaining family are his parents. They live in Perthshire in Scotland.’ Sean thought for a moment. ‘I don’t think it would be a good idea to post them — neither of them is in the best of health.’

‘I see’, the man said thoughtfully. ‘We don’t often send effects to next of kin outside of the States.’

‘I’m going back to the UK in a fortnight. If you like I could take them with me’ Sean suggested.

‘Well, the post-mortem will be completed well before then. Once the police have finished with the effects I’ll see what we can do. I’ll need you to fill out a form and take a form for the parents to sign and post back to say they have received the effects.’

‘Thanks’ said Sean. ‘I appreciate it and I think they will too.’

They made their way out to the car. ‘How long have you known Ben’s parents?’ asked Natasha quietly.

‘I met them once, a long time ago now’ Sean told her as they drove out of the car park. ‘Ben invited me up to the highlands in Scotland to go hunting for deer.’

He caught the expression on her face and smiled. ‘No, I don’t mean hunting with a rifle — at that time Ben was a keen photographer. He had a new camera and wanted to capture a stag,’ Sean recalled. ‘Unfortunately he never got to take the picture. We set off at dawn, climbed several hills and lay waiting for hours in the heather. We never saw a deer — at least not one close enough to shoot. On the way back we blundered into a quagmire — black stuff up to our waists!’

Sean had hoped the picture might have elicited a smile, but Natasha remained dejected. When they arrived outside the apartment Natasha asked if Sean would like a coffee. Sean hesitated.

‘It’s just that I don’t want to go into an empty apartment today’ she said quickly.

Sean followed Natasha. They went through a small hallway, inching past a bicycle and through into the living area. She gestured for him to take a seat on the sofa.

Sean looked around. The room was bright and airy. A coffee table sat in front of the sofa. There was a TV in the corner and a sports bag peeked from behind a cupboard. A coat and scarf were draped over a white painted pine wooden chair.

‘How long have you had the bicycle?’

Natasha thought back. ‘About two years. I bought it during one of my fitness regimes. I actually used it for a month or two to get to work and back. Then the winter set in and every day I found myself having to battle through rain and the colder temperatures to work so I parked it in the hallway until the weather improves.’

She got up and walked to the kitchen, continuing the conversation. ‘Of course I never got round to using it again, but I can’t face the thought of getting rid of it.’

She had left her partly open handbag on the floor by the settee. Casually Sean leant over and widened the aperture. He saw an opened envelope that was addressed to her in Ben’s handwriting.

Quickly he withdrew the single folded sheet of paper and opened it out on the table. ‘It’s five years at least since I rode a bike’ said Sean. He took out his phone and quickly snapped a photo before putting the sheet back. ‘I had a sore bottom for two days afterwards!’

Natasha appeared with the coffee. ‘You soon get used to it’ she replied as she set the mugs on the table. She produced some cookies and placed them on a plate. ‘Have you been over to see Ben before now?’ she asked as she swirled a biscuit in her cappuccino.

‘Once or twice. Ben came over to England to see me a few times.’ He took a sip of the coffee. ‘I wondered if you could tell me a little bit about him?’ asked Sean. The police say he was driving a motorbike but I never knew he had one — I always thought he drove a car.’

‘Well, it was fairly new. He bought it last year sometime, exchanging it for his car. I remember joking with him that he was going through a mid-life crisis.’ Natasha relived the moment. ‘He loved that machine. It wasn’t anything special — not like a Harley Davidson, or anything like that. But he used to drive it all over the county at weekends.’

They were quiet for a moment. ‘Sometimes he would take me for long rides on the bike.’ Natasha reminisced.

‘Do you know what he was doing the night he was killed?’

Natasha shook her head. ‘He left a message on my phone to say he was on his way over. By the time I got back and returned his call, he must have already left.’

Sean thought about the information she had told him. Everything seemed to fit.

‘Listen, I know Ben and you work for some kind of company that’s involved in hush-hush projects. I’m not trying to pry or obtain State secrets, but just to know if he was happy in his work.’

Natasha considered her reply. ‘Yes, I think so. I didn’t often see him there. He had an office on a different floor. But yes, he seemed happy, or at least content. Recently though he was tired. I put it down to the hours he was working.’

Before Sean could reply his mobile rang. He pulled it out and listened a moment, then ended the call and put it away without saying a word.

She glanced at her watch. ‘The police are coming round later to interview me. You said they’d spoken to you at the Hospital?’

Sean made a face. ‘A detective gave me a good grilling. Unfortunately I couldn’t tell him much. I was away from Ben’s room when it all happened. When I came back I saw a man in a white coat leaning over Ben. It didn’t look right. I called out and that’s when he ran off. Later I realised that the guy was trying to murder him. It was the same man we saw earlier — the doctor who said we could go in to see Ben.’

‘What?’ Natasha held her head in her hands. ‘You mean that doctor we met was the same person who tried to kill him?’

‘Not just tried’ said Sean grimly. ‘He succeeded. He was only pretending to be a doctor — but he had me convinced.’

Sean finished his coffee. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got to go.’ He glanced down and saw the listless expression return to her face. He touched her shoulder gently. ‘Will you be OK now?’

Natasha smiled briefly. ‘Yes — thanks for being with me today.’

‘Take care Natasha — I’ll see myself out.’

At the doorway to the apartment Sean looked back at her forlorn figure. He was tempted to stay and console her. Reluctantly he closed the door gently behind him.

Chapter 5

‘Hey, Louis — get your ass down here!’ shouted the supervisor.

Louis gripped the rail firmly until his knuckles showed white. Hardly able to talk, he stared steadfast into the driving wind and spray. The corkscrew motion of the ship set off another bout of sea-sickness and Louis retched over the side.

The supervisor was known to the scientific teams as ‘Long John’ because of his full beard and a slight limp which he claimed was the result of a fight in a Dublin bar. Annoyed, he raised his voice to a shout above the wind. ‘This is the most important test so far and they need you now.’

‘I don’t fucking care!’ Louis uttered through clenched teeth.

Long John lowered his voice to show some sympathy. ‘Best get below Lou before the launch boss comes looking for you. We start the first trial in two hours — you’ll need to get your end sorted out well before then.’

Early in the voyage when the weather started to deteriorate Louis had not known how deeply ill he could feel. The catalogue of misery didn’t end there. Louis discovered that his Rolex watch was missing. A present from his daughter for his 50th birthday, it was his most treasured possession. And when they arrived on station a major system crash had forced him to work solidly for 19 hours when he should have been in bed. Since then, between bouts of sickness and diarrhoea, he had only been able to doze fitfully for a few hours at a time.

As he turned to go the wind whipped at his white coat and spray smacked against his face. He nearly lost his footing and lunged for the rail again, cursing his co-director for falling ill at the last moment. In his absence Louis was the only other person in the company with the skills needed for the job. Even then he had to be coerced to take the trip and offered a bonus for bringing it off. He remembered telling himself at the time that the money would come in useful. But that didn’t seem so important now.

He gritted his teeth and glanced aft at the cause of his misfortune. A long cylindrical shape, held in a cradle, sat shrouded in a tarpaulin. The edges of the cover flapped wildly in the gusts, trapping air underneath. But even the demented wind couldn’t obscure the cold hard lines beneath.

‘Do you need a hand?’

Louis shook his head. He knew this phase was only the beginning. There would be at least two more weeks of trials before they could all head home and the return trip would probably take another week again. With a groan he pushed himself away from the rail towards the companionway.

When he was first shown around the ship he was told that the hull had computer controlled stabilisers that could keep her deck rock steady in all weathers. At least that was what the Steward claimed. Louis had begun to hope he might manage to avoid seasickness. He solemnly promised himself he would never set foot on a ship again after this voyage.

During the tour he was shown the bridge, equipped with the latest navigational radar and communications technology. The steward went into detail about how the project had installed two of the latest and most powerful diesel engines. When Louis queried the rust and dilapidation to the exterior of the ship, the steward gave him a knowing look. ‘She may look like a rusty old tub to you and me, but that’s what the security services wanted — no-one would guess 15 million dollars were spent on her refit.’

How wrong could I be about the stabilisers Louis moaned under his breath. He clutched at every available handhold on his way to Operations. The room consisted of two large holds knocked together to make a cavernous space with a balcony running round the outside at the upper level. As Louis pushed open the safety door, the volume of noise from the thirty engineers working below rose to a dull roar.

He looked down at the hive of activity. Technicians shouted across the racks of equipment and tension was almost palpable as everyone worked frantically to get their systems ready. Maintenance engineers were still connecting power cables to equipment and running tests. Louis noticed the quietest group in the far corner. The computer and weapons specialists from DARPA were huddled around their screens, oblivious to the clamour around them. The armament for Cetus was developed by the team from the American Defence Advanced Research Projects Agency. They had worked for two years to create a sonic cannon, capable of sending out powerful sound waves under water.

At that moment the Mosquito began to climb out of a particularly deep trough and Louis gripped the guard rail tightly. He watched as a monitor slid gracefully along a table top and smashed on the floor. The noise was lost in the sheer hubbub being generated elsewhere within the room. Reluctantly Louis started down the steps and walked unsteadily to his computer bay. Along the way he scowled at the gibes and gestures from colleagues. Apart from feeling lousy he had had to put up with taunts and jokes since the sea-sickness began and his patience had run out long ago. Now he was too weak, tired and ill to feel angry.

When he reached his desk Louis’ eyes were drawn to the central monitor that was counting down the remaining time in big digital figures. At that precise moment the clock showed one hour and 52 minutes remaining.

The launch had been postponed twice. The first time they had attempted to put the cargo overboard, data came through about a rerouted eastern European satellite which was about to over-fly their position. It would pass some 200 miles west of their current location but the top brass had decided on caution and cancelled the launch. The second time rough sea conditions from a lingering weather depression had proved to be too dangerous. Now the swell was subsiding and the skies were free from orbital spies. A green light on Louis’ console showed that the Operations Director had given the signal to proceed.

Louis began to pull up a number of check lists on the main computer. He had to oversee all the communications and computer links with the cargo above; each system had to be checked and doubled checked before launch. As he worked his feelings of sickness and misery began to disappear.

For the next ninety minutes Louis concentrated on the job in hand. Towards the end he became vaguely aware that the winds had abated outside. When all his programs had run their checks and little green confirmation lights showed against each, Louis turned and gave the thumbs up sign to the Launch Manager on the next desk. The manager then began the task of instructing the crew top sides. Lifting a hundred metric tons of tungsten, steel and carbon-fibre into the choppy waters of the southern Atlantic in winter was a manoeuvre they had practised several times before.

Although they were in international waters some two hundred miles east of the coast of Suriname they were well away from major commercial shipping routes. Even so a Boeing 747 AWAC flew constantly overhead, monitoring all movements around and above the Mosquito.

Tod Frazier sat two rows away in the communications bay in constant contact with the aircraft. A high gain radar unit mounted on the bridge fed into Todd’s computer screens. On Louis’ signal he entered the clearance code. Louis now had a twenty minute launch window.

Cables on the upper deck began to creak with the strain as the massive load was hoisted from its cradle. Slowly the crane hauled it above the deck and swung it out over the side. Men on board kept it steady with hawsers at the front and rear.

When everyone was ready the operator lowered the cargo cautiously into the water with the tarpaulin still in place. Cables creaked again with the reduction in strain as it entered the sea, found buoyancy, and eventually rode low in the water. The shroud caught a gust of wind and ballooned out above the massive bulk underneath, still hiding it from view. Divers jumped into the water from two attendant boats and freed all but one of the communications cables. The tarpaulin was untied and drifted away. Already the cargo was beneath the waves, it’s outline obscured in the swell.

In the Operations room Louis adjusted the remote controls to move it a safe distance from the Mosquito. On one of the monitors Louis watched the relative depth and horizon. Figures at the bottom of the screen displayed its depth, speed and direction. Some technicians who had completed their tasks drifted over to stare curiously at the real-time display. Louis continued with the task of uploading the final software packages to the on-board computers. Nearly all of the module transfers went smoothly, denoted by little green ‘traffic lights’ on his monitor.

Abruptly one transfer appeared to hang and it’s orange light refused to turn green. Louis pulled the relevant manual and flipped through it furiously, looking for the appropriate troubleshooting section. He started to follow the suggested procedure to track the fault, all the time keeping an eye on the launch window timer as it counted down remorselessly. He had just over 6 minutes to complete the upload or the launch would have to be aborted again.

Five minutes ticked away while Louis checked circuits but the light stubbornly refused to change from amber. Louis reached for the abort switch. The Launch manager looked concerned — if Louis delayed any longer he would jeopardise the project. He flipped up the safety cover on the switch. One, two… As if the system knew what he was about to do, the light changed colour to show a healthy green.

Louis stared. He’d not made any change to fix the problem — all his efforts were focused on finding where the fault lay. Perhaps it was just a one-off he thought. The remaining transfer went well and the last green light lit up.

Apart from that one blip Louis was happy that everything had gone well. Turning around he looked to the Launch Manager for permission to move to the final phase. The manager indicated agreement and Louis clicked the button which would confirm the mission plan into the computer memory of the submerged vessel. Louis watched the console tensely for the next two minutes as on board computers double-checked the loaded modules and registered them on the system. The green light for phase two appeared and Louis smiled for the first time in a fortnight. All thought of sea sickness vanished as he spoke into the intercom.

‘Houston, we are go!’

* * *

Sir Anthony dutifully knocked on the oak door. He wasn’t looking forward to this meeting with the British Prime Minister.

‘Come in’.

Sir Anthony had to strain to hear the voice. As he pushed the door open he saw Prime Minister Terrance Ashdown seated with two other men around the table. He recognised them immediately: Martin Dinsdale, the Prime Minister’s deputy, and Howard Stern the Foreign Secretary. Sir Anthony had caught them in an amiable mood, chuckling over a joke. Dinsdale beckoned Sir Anthony to sit around the table.

‘Morning Anthony, how is the world treating you?’ the Prime Minister enquired lightly.

Sir Anthony brushed back an errant lock of silver hair. ‘Problems, Prime Minister.’ When Sir Anthony was troubled he always came straight to the point. ‘Do you recall a short while ago one of our sleepers in the States asked to return — said he wanted to share some info about a new project?’

The PM shook his head. ‘No, not really. Why?’

Sir Anthony looked down at his notes. ‘We sent a small team to help get him out. He was seriously injured before they arrived and now he’s dead — even though he was being protected at the time. The police are involved.’

‘Do you know if the police are aware of our interests in the matter?’ Howard Stern had a good knowledge of how America’s authorities worked.

‘We’re not sure.’ Sir Anthony was keenly aware of Howard’s dread of mission exposure.

The Prime Minister looked at Howard. Before either could say anything, a red-faced Martin Dinsdale interjected loudly.

‘Get the bloody team out as fast as you can then!’

* * *

The computer booted up past the first stage and Sean saw the CD Rom start whirring busily. He had successfully installed the hard drive from Ben’s flat into the laptop he bought from the store. After a minute the screen settled down and a prompt appeared: ‘Insert key.’ Sean had no idea what key was required but he knew that he would get no further with the software he had. He was just about to shut down the computer when he heard the sound of Lomax’s car pull into the drive.

‘Busy day?’ Lomax enquired as he came in.

Sean briefed him on recent events including the murder of Ben at the hospital.

‘You lost an opportunity there’ was Lomax’s glum reply.

Sean gave him a considered look. ‘I was busy trying to resuscitate him!’

‘From what you told me Ben was probably gone anyway.’

‘You would have left him to die, just to get information from his attacker?’

Lomax shrugged. ‘He wasn’t my friend.’

‘But his return to the UK was the whole point of the mission!’ said Sean, annoyed.

Lomax gave Sean an appraising look but remained silent.

Sean shook his head disbelievingly but there was no point in pursing this now. He saw Lomax glance at the laptop. ‘I’ve tried to hack Ben’s machine with the standard tools, but it’s secured to the eyeballs. You were right — we need a geek.’

Lomax grinned. ‘Just as well I insisted — I’ve got a student at MIT on standby. He’s had some basic training.’

‘What’s the quickest we can get him over then?’

‘I suggest we pick him up at Boston airport. It’s only a ten minute drive for him and it’ll give us a chance to check him for tails.’

‘Right let’s do that. Do you have anything else on Ben’s work colleagues?’

‘Yep, I was working on that.’ Lomax handed over a type written sheet. There appeared to be about twenty five or thirty names on the list. Sean saw Natasha’s name halfway down the page.

‘Who did he report to?’ asked Sean.

Lomax’s mobile sounded and he answered.

Sean didn’t have long to wait. Less than a minute later Lomax ended the call and looked squarely at Sean.

‘What’s up?’

‘Signal from London’ Lomax said slowly. ‘They’re calling it off.’

Chapter 6

Looking through his binoculars across the water Louis could make out the riding lights from the Arabesque, a converted trawler equipped with long range radio and radar. Further away the navigation lights from the Tribune — the group’s refuelling and provisions ship — twinkled in the wintry gloom.

‘Feeling better?’ Long John came to stand next to Louis by the rail.

Louis inhaled the cold salty air deeply. The results of the sea trials in the next few days could be a defining moment in the history of US naval power. Thinking about it this way made his sea sickness seem like a small price to pay.

Louis grimaced. ‘I’ll be really happy when I’m home on dry land.’

Long John gestured towards the spot where the object they had launched rested below the surface. ‘Funny name for the project. Who decided on calling it Cetus?’

‘The guy who should be here — Anthony Tate, my co-director.’

Long John waited for Louis to continue but he wasn’t forthcoming. Long John persisted. ‘How did he come by such an unusual name?’

Reluctantly Louis turned his attention away from the sea. ‘Anthony has a passion for Greek mythology. He named it after a mythical ‘Sea Monster’ called Cetus.’ He wiped some salty spray from his forehead. ‘The monster would carry off those who made their living by the seashore. Some other stories told about a pestilence falling on the people and total destruction of their crops after a visit from Cetus.’

‘Seems an appropriate name then’ remarked Long John with a grin.

Louis agreed sombrely.

‘How did it end?’

Louis searched his memory. ‘The people thought the only way they could save themselves was to offer the King’s daughter as a sacrifice. The stories tell how the daughter was chained to some rocks on the shore to be offered up to the beast.’

‘And did it work?’

Louis wasn’t sure. ‘According to Greek mythology Perseus turned it to stone by showing it the head of Medusa. But biblical references have Cetus as the whale that swallowed Jonah. Take your pick.’

* * *

Sean looked at Lomax as he concentrated dodging in and out of the lanes but his face remained inscrutable.

‘Don’t ask’. Lomax’s remark seemed to anticipate Sean’s question.

Sean thought through recent events. The fact that the mission had been pulled without consulting Lomax could only mean one thing in Sean’s mind. Something had happened that exposed the mission profile though not necessarily the mission itself.

‘Do they know we’re on our way to collect the IT guy?’

Lomax glanced at his watch. ‘Nope. And we’re not about to tell them.’

‘Do they know about the lead with the laptop?’

Lomax shook his head. ‘They don’t want to jeopardise things with the Americans. They just feel it’s simpler this way.’

Sean thought for a minute. ‘You know that letter I photographed?’ Sean waited to see if Lomax registered interest. ‘I think Ben was working on something to do with it. I think the opposition found out and murdered him. The motorcycle thing was no accident and they had to follow up in the hospital to be sure.’

‘I’d worked that bit out already’ remarked Lomax.

Sean understood the implied criticism but felt no need to defend himself. He had debated with his own conscience at length since it happened. Could he have got to Ben sooner? But Ben was very ill and something told Sean that he would not have made it anyway — even if they hadn’t tried to suffocate him. Whatever the outcome Sean kept his anger to himself. There would be time to grieve later.

Sean mulled over the conversation. ‘There’s something else you’re not telling me.’

Lomax shrugged.

‘What?’ It was like trying to get blood out of a stone. Sean couldn’t understand why Lomax was being so reticent.

At last Lomax spoke.

‘It’s the girl. I think she’s a plant.’

‘A plant for whom?’ Sean had no idea of Lomax’s sources but if he suspected the girl then there probably was a very good reason. Even so he couldn’t bring himself to believe she was working undercover.

‘Our allies, or possibly the opposition.’ Lomax’s statement seemed so ambiguous as to be almost meaningless.

‘OK, let’s assume she is a plant. What then?’

‘Then you will need to be extra vigilant’ Lomax replied.

Sean didn’t respond. He guessed Lomax had been briefed about his fiancé. If so he would know Sean had had little to do with women after she died. Lomax couldn’t possibly think that Natasha might be affecting his work, or could he?

‘I’ve arranged to collect Ben’s things and take them back to his parents. The least I can do is stay for the funeral.’

They arrived at the airport and Lomax found a short stay car park. He left Lomax to look after the car. The arrivals lounge was particularly busy, perhaps because it was the start of the working week. Sean waited until he was sure he was not under observation.

He watched as arrivals made their way through a gauntlet of waiting family, friends and colleagues. A tall thin young man arrived with a trolley stacked full of cases. Sean recognised Daniel immediately with his dark hair and lean features. He jerked his head to indicate the man should follow him. In the car park Sean was surprised to see Daniel’s trolley piled high with so many large camera-style cases. They loaded them in the back as best they could and didn’t speak until Lomax had pulled away.

‘Good to see you Daniel. How was the drive?’

The young man turned to Sean. ‘Not bad. I’ve left my car in one of the long stay car parks.’

‘What’s with all the luggage?’

Daniel grinned. ‘My stock-in-trade. When do I get to work?’

‘Right away. As soon as we get back I have a laptop for you to crack. The hard drive is a bit dented — it comes from someone who worked for the American DoD. The programs I have couldn’t hack it.’

‘Oh’ came the uneasy reply. ‘That’ll be a tough cookie. How much time do I have?’

‘I need it tonight, if possible’ replied Sean. ‘What’s your legend?’

The young man handed over his passport. ‘Name is Daniel Davis — DD to my friends. I’m currently studying for a post graduate degree at MIT in Ontology-based Navigation in Large Information Spaces. I’ve just started my second year and I’ve fixed up a house swap with an American student who is studying at London University.’

Sean smiled. ‘Good.’

‘OK. Do you have anything else lined up for me?’

‘Take a look at this.’ Sean handed over a page he had copied from Natasha’s letter. ‘What can you tell me about it?’

DD looked at it carefully. Sean explained where he had got the note. He sat back to see what DD would make of it all.

For a whole five minutes they sat quietly. Then DD spoke up. ‘Well if this is about archives, it looks like a record of computer backup tapes. The dates go back eight weeks. Again, I’m guessing, but the code in the second column probably identifies the tape. But without knowing what the code stands for I can’t tell you what’s on the tapes.’

DD indicated the last column. ‘But there is a clue in the description column. That tells me that some of the tapes were OK, but I am surprised at the number of blanks that appear. Normally you would only expect to get a bad copy once or twice a year, but here we have six in the space of six weeks.’

‘OK’ said Sean. ‘Anything else you can tell us?’

‘Well there are only two ways you can get a blank tape: when you first buy them in, or when you erase them. Both are different.’

‘Can you tell me in English?’

‘Sure — when you buy a tape it is completely blank. Before you can use it in a computer to copy data you have to go through a process called formatting.’

‘Like you have to before you install an new hard drive?’ asked Sean.

‘Exactly the same. You tell the machine to format the tape and it writes a special sequence of codes, so when the computer is asked to start copying data it knows where to start and stop for example.’

DD fished out a packet of cigarettes. ‘Anybody mind?’ he asked.

Sean wound the window down. ‘So what do you think is happening here?’

DD lit a cigarette. ‘If you ask me, I would say that someone is stealing to order.’

‘How do you mean?’ Sean asked.

‘Once a backup has been made the tape needs to be taken off-site. If the computer room burns down you don’t want the backup tapes to burn with them. Most firms have off-site storage or a company to collect and store the tapes for them. If you look there is a pattern of blank tapes, one for each of the different codes. Either someone is substituting blank tapes before they are taken off-site, or the substitution is being done at the off-site storage facility.’

‘Why would anyone do that?’

‘If someone from outside the organisation had access to these tapes they would be able to restore the information onto another computer and access a copy of the system just as if they were in the office. However to access all the systems they would need a tape for every server. According to this list there are eight servers and six of the tapes are blank or missing.’

Sean thought this made sense. ‘But wouldn’t someone notice?’

‘Not necessarily. Normally you would only need those tapes if there was a disaster and the place went up in smoke. Occasionally you might need to retrieve the odd file if someone got careless and deleted a document accidentally. So you might get away with it for a long time before someone noticed.’

‘Well someone noticed’. Sean indicated the list. ‘I think Ben became suspicious, started to investigate, then found out there was a problem. Soon afterwards he was killed.’

DD blanched. ‘Bloody hell’ he muttered as he opened the pack for another cigarette.

Lomax pulled in to the rented apartment he had arranged for DD and they helped him in with all his cases. Sean gave him the laptop containing Ben’s hard drive and DD promised to let Lomax know as soon as he had found anything.

On the way back Sean spoke. ‘If someone was stealing those tapes then I think I have a pretty good idea who.’

‘Go on’ replied Lomax.

‘You remember the messages I found on Ben’s answer machine? One of them was from Jack Langham. He was arranging to meet Ben to discuss something about the archives. He might have meant tape archives.’

Lomax shook his head. ‘So?’

‘I need to pay him a visit.’

Lomax didn’t sound convinced. ‘You remember we’ve been recalled?’

‘They know we can’t go back just yet’ responded Sean.

‘But they are expecting us to lie low until we can.’ Lomax looked at Sean intently.

Sean indicated he understood and waited.

‘Ben’s death has changed things’ continued Lomax. ‘We don’t want the police to switch the focus to us and London doesn’t want Ben’s extracurricular activities to be discovered.’ Lomax glanced at Sean. ‘That is something they are very particular about.’

Sean didn’t respond.

‘You must be very careful’ said Lomax finally.

* * *

Louis’ eyes swivelled to an empty coke tin discarded on one of the steps. It buzzed and slithered around, seeming to move of its own accord. Rattling, the can fell down to the next step and then the next.

Some engineers who had accompanied Louis to the deck slapped his shoulder in a good natured way, pleased that Cetus had launched successfully. Louis put out a hand to the rail to steady himself — and jerked it back again as if the metal had burnt his fingers. He stared curiously at the bar — it seemed to be conducting vibrations from the ship’s engines. He touched it momentarily once more and immediately felt the vibrations again. He glanced at his colleagues but no-one seemed to have noticed anything untoward.

The coke tin reached the last step and skittered along the deck. This was not like any other vibration Louis had experienced from ship’s engines — this was a much more penetrating frequency.

Louis began a halting run towards the operations room. On the way he grabbed the nearest engineer’s shoulder and motioned him to be quiet and listen. Both men stood transfixed. Just as the engineer started to pull away from Louis’ grasp they both heard a high keening sound which appeared to come from the depths of the ship.

There was no longer any doubt. ‘Goddammit!’ gasped Louis as the full realisation dawned. He dashed for the stairway, barging into crew members in his way. As he yanked the door open he felt the strange high pitched vibration fill the large room. Several of the engineers were holding hands to their ears to block out the noise.

Louis flew to his work bay and stared at the main console. The display showed that the sub was armed.

‘Impossible’ he seethed. Frantically he keyed in the instructions to load diagnostic programs to check the validity of the data and at the same time shouted across to the DARPA team for help. The section looked puzzled but did not seem unduly alarmed. Louis’ patience snapped at their lack of understanding.

‘The bastard is making an attack run — on us!’ he screamed.

The fear which now gripped him was something he had never experienced before. And along with the fear came the dreadful thought that he would die at sea — the worst way to go he could imagine.

The display did not lie. All the diagnostic programs were complete and all showed that the sub had become armed. Louis thought it was impossible but the programs showed something else too — the sub had started an attack run on their own ship.

Engineers around Louis clutched their ears as the pounding vibrations increased in volume.

He snapped out of his reverie. There was a way to turn off the attack; one slight chance that they might all survive.

Louis gave his computer systems a last despairing look to see if there was any change. There was none. Louis used the keyboard to start the self-destruct sequence.

He unlatched the cover over the red switch on his desk. Memories raced through his mind of the last two years he had devoted to the project. The waste of all that effort caused him to hesitate, finger poised above the red button.

One of the monitors in another bay imploded from the escalating volume of the vibrations. Fragments of glass shattered and flew in all directions. One sliver caught him on the chin and a drop of his own blood fell to the desk.

Galvanised, Louis jabbed the button.

A few seconds later he realised the dreadful truth. The increasing noise and vibration in the floor plate beneath his feet told its own story — the self-destruct signal had failed and the most powerful underwater weapon of modern times was no longer under his control.

Chapter 7

Louis grabbed a nearby microphone. ‘Captain, the sub is making an attack!’ he yelled. ‘Give the order to abandon ship. Repeat, you must abandon ship.’ He threw the microphone down and yelled the same message to colleagues nearby. No-one seemed to grasp the idea because most were holding their ears in an effort to exclude the intense high pitched sound. He ran to a nearby technician and pulled his arms away.

‘Abandon ship’ he shouted in his ear.

The man immediately clapped his hands back over his ears but made no move to go.

‘Follow me’ Louis shouted pulling him along.

The ship’s alarm bells started to ring adding to the clamour. One or two others took the hint and stumbled after him up the stairway. When they reached the deck the vibration was so intense it completely drowned out the Captain’s announcement. Louis saw some crew manning the lifeboat davits, presumably because they realised that it would be better to escape with their lives than to try and save their unprotected ears.

At that moment the vibration stopped. Louis glanced around to see the reaction of the men. One or two started back to the operations room.

‘Don’t stop!’ he yelled. ‘We have to abandon ship.’

As if on cue the vibrations began again but this time at a much lower frequency. Louis could hardly hear it but he could sense it through the soles of his feet. The deck plates began to vibrate with a kind of rippling effect. Louis looked at them, finding it difficult to keep his balance. When he looked up he saw several of the men on the far side begin to dance a horrible gig as the deck trembled and shook. Some had blood streaming from their ears and one tripped over the railing and fell like a stone into the sea.

The ship began to list to port. Louis presumed that a section of the hull nearest Cetus had vibrated so intensely that the welds had started to come apart. He knew it would just be a matter of time before pressure from the sea water flooded the front compartments.

The tilt of the deck worked against the thirty or so seamen and technicians struggling to make their escape on the starboard side. The lifeboats scraped along the side of the hull and in one case a lifeboat tipped right over, spilling people and contents into the sea below.

Senior members of the crew quickly began to establish discipline above the panic and technicians and sailors obediently donned their life jackets. Parties were assigned to help launch the lifeboats on the port side. A rating thrust a life jacket at Louis before hurrying away. Louis tied it on quickly and was immediately ordered into one of the remaining lifeboats. He saw Long John in the same boat and raised a hand in recognition.

By this time the list to port was much more pronounced. The ship literally shuddered as deep pulsing beats pounded the hull. The downward journey of the lifeboat stopped suddenly as the pulley jammed. Louis knew then that they had run out of time. Their only chance would be to detach the lines from the lifeboat before the ship sank and dragged them under. He shouted across to Long John and they took up stations at the stem and stern. The moment the lifeboat was level Louis and Long John released the davit lines and the boat fell the last few feet into the water. For a few seconds it rocked dangerously then it settled down. Immediately four of the crew unshipped the oars and began rowing like fury.

Two minutes later they were fifty metres from the ship. Louis turned back to watch the ocean washing over the Mosquito’s deck.

* * *

Natasha stared at her screen, then jabbed at a few keys. She lost patience with it.

‘Stan’ my PC has frozen again.’

When there was no reply she looked over to where Stan sat hunched over his own computer. He appeared not to have noticed.

She had decided to come in to work today and try to put Ben’s death to the back of her mind. Now she wished she had stayed at home. Of course Stan was only a nickname. Everyone had given up trying to pronounce his full Polish name and it was quickly shortened to just plain Stan. It was unlike him to ignore a question from one of the staff. Maybe she complained too often she thought. But it wasn’t her fault that she had been supplied with a PC that seemed to work only part time.

‘Stan, my screen is kaput’ she said, louder this time. Stan took no notice. Natasha walked to his desk to peer over his shoulder. ‘What’s the problem?’

At last Stan looked at her. His normally pleasant face looked grim. He started to say something, stopped then started again.

‘Our comms link to the Mosquito is down.’

‘Well can’t we use the backup?’

‘No’. Stan shook his head. ‘You don’t understand — the link is down and there’s no way we can get it back.’

‘Why ever not?’ Natasha was exasperated with his terse reply. Why did senior managers find it so difficult to give full information?

‘Just a minute.’ Stan checked his computer monitor and shouted over to the nearby desk of software engineers.

‘Any of you guys got what I’m getting?’

One technician turned round, looking grave. ‘We’re seeing it too.’

Stan looked at her again. ‘The ship is sinking.’ He said this so quietly that she wasn’t sure she had heard him properly.

‘Stan?’ When he didn’t respond she searched the faces round the room. In all, eleven technicians worked at SeaTek Research. Most were at their desks, crowded around banks of computers, communications and radar equipment.

She drew a sharp breath. ‘Stan, how do you know that?’ she asked incredulously.

‘Because they just sent a distress signal on their emergency frequency which was relayed by the AWACs. We’ve just received it.’ Stan clicked on the screen and his printer leapt into life.

Her stomach suddenly felt hollow. ‘Let me see it.’

Stan handed her the slip.

MGRS [40N EN 00000 73749] EST 19:21:40

Mosquito taking on water. Abandoning ship. All aid required.

Natasha read the note quickly. ‘Is there anything we can we do to help them?’

‘Yes, yes’ Stan muttered distractedly. Natasha shook him by the shoulder. She faced him directly and spoke slowly to ensure the message was getting through.

‘Stan, what can we do to help?’

‘We have to follow procedure, that’s what we have to do’. Stan turned back to his desk. He reached for a file on a nearby shelf and scanned the index. Then, flipping to the correct page he began dialling the numbers listed. First he spoke to the project director, then to the Dept of Defence — the government agency that was sponsoring the project.

While Stan was on the phone the rest of the team gathered round his desk. As soon as finished he turned round in the chair to address them. ‘That’s it, I’m afraid’ he said.

‘What about the supply ships?’ asked one of the team.

‘The distress signal didn’t mention any of the supply ships so I think they must be going to the rescue. Tribune’s radio isn’t powerful enough to be heard more than a few miles away’ said Stan. ‘But I guess that the AWAC will already be in touch with the DOD.’

‘How many were on board Stan?’ asked one of the technicians.

‘Fifty seven, including the Captain and crew’. Stan’s voice was almost a whisper.

The phone rang and everyone waited while Stan spoke. He wasn’t long.

‘That was the DOD. They’re organising a flight from Vieques in Puerto Rico. The nearest ship is 350 miles north east — she picked up the same message we got so they are already on their way. ETA is seven to eight hours, by which time it will be dawn.’

‘The Arabesque or Tribune should be there much more quickly’ pointed out Natasha.

‘Do we know what happened?’ enquired the technician.

Stan shrugged. This was by far the most puzzling part. ‘The seas were reasonably calm and the winds moderate. The only thing I can think of is a collision, possibly with one of the supply ships — but we’ve not had any information from them, just the Mosquito’s message relayed by AWACS.’

There was a break while everyone digested the news.

‘There is nothing else we can do’ said Stan. ‘I’ve alerted everyone I can think of.’

Natasha voiced the thoughts of the team. ‘I just hope everyone managed to get to the lifeboats in time.’

At last Stan managed to patch a comms link to the flotilla. The Arabesque’s signal was temporarily routed through AWACS, from there to the Defence’s Security Cooperation Agency in Arlington, and then to the base at SeaTek Research near the Naval Undersea Warfare Centre on Rhode Island. The speakers crackled and a background hiss could be heard.

Stan picked up a desk mike. ‘SeaTek to Arabesque, what is your position?’

‘Arabesque to SeaTek, we can see survivors in the water. Can’t count the number of lifeboats but there are several. Changing course to intercept.’

Natasha jolted upright. ‘Wait’ she shouted across to Stan.

The team turned to look at her. Even Stan turned around this time.

‘Nat, what’s the matter?’

‘Just a minute, let me think’. Natasha messaged her temples. ‘Something isn’t right here. I don’t know what it is but it just doesn’t feel right.’

The speakers crackled into life. ‘SeaTek, we’re over the area where Mosquito sank. We can see four lifeboats in the water. Preparing to..’.

The broadcast from the Arabesque died in mid sentence. There was a confused jumble of noise and Natasha could make out a seaman in the background asking anxiously what was happening. The humming grew louder and the voices more distant. After a minute it reached a crescendo, then stopped altogether. Only the hiss of static could be heard from the speakers.

The Arabesque was off the air.

Stan and two other technicians continued to try raising the Arabesque but after ten minutes they realised it was hopeless. The loudspeaker blared.

‘AWACS to SeaTek.’

Stan switched on the mike. ‘SeaTek, go ahead.’

‘We’ve lost radar trace for Arabesque. Conditions are worsening. We’ve also lost Arabesque on visual.’

There was a stunned silence in the room.

Stan thumbed the mike. ‘AWACS, run a search pattern over the area.’

‘Understood SeaTek, will do. But without a radar signal their chances are slim to nothing.’

‘Thank you AWACS. We have to try.’

Stan switched off the mike and addressed the room, choosing his next words carefully. ‘Look, right now there is nothing more any of us can do. You’ve all had a long day. I suggest you go home, get some sleep and we’ll pick this up again tomorrow. If there’s any news in the meantime I’ll call you.’

Natasha could see no-one wanted to leave. But Stan was right and there was nothing any of them could do right now. A night’s rest would do them all good.

‘One last thing’. Stan surveyed the team.

‘We don’t know for sure what has happened. But whatever it is, I want you to keep it to yourselves. You all know how secret this project is and I shouldn’t have to remind you about that. But some of you know people out there and I don’t want you to talk to any of their relatives or friends. If you receive a call from the media just refer them to me.’

The speakers blared again and the technicians leapt with the tension.

‘AWACS to SeaTek. We’ve lost Tribune on radar. We’ll continue to run the search pattern but it now looks like all ships are lost.’

Chapter 8

Natasha’s clock read 4:37 am as she switched on the bed-side light. She heard her mobile ring again and picked it up from the bed side table.

‘Hi Nat. No news yet. AWACS completed a full sweep.’ Stan was obviously tired.

‘Didn’t they find anything at all?’

Stan cleared his throat. ‘Nothing really. No sign at all of the flotilla but it picked up a distress signal from a lifeboat.’

‘Couldn’t it rescue them?’

‘Sorry Nat, the aircraft isn’t designed to do that. But it did drop off supplies, including some communication packs and a marker buoy. I’ll be keeping a watch on those frequencies.’

‘Any news about Arabesque or the Tribune?’

‘No, none I’m afraid.’

‘How long until the air rescue arrives?’

‘It’s due in about half an hour but I’m not expecting anything new. The weather is deteriorating rapidly so the rescue will be touch and go.’

‘I’m coming in Stan — wait for me.’ Natasha felt she would rather to go to work than be left to left on her own.

‘No — no need Nat. You get back to bed.’

‘I’m already up Stan, it’s not a problem.’

‘You can come in the morning if you like and take over from me. I’m bushed.’

‘OK Stan,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I’ll see you first thing.’

* * *

‘Sorry to wake you sir. The Secretary of Defence is waiting in the green room.’

The President put the phone down and looked at the clock which registered 4:16 am. His wife was still asleep so he padded across to the built in wardrobe, trying not to disturb her while he dressed.

Before he came to office it wasn’t his custom to check the mirror. But since he started in politics his aides impressed on him the importance of dress sense and grooming. He saw a tall, middle aged, clean shaven figure in the glass. The man staring back possessed a photogenic face, topped by a head of dark blond hair. The media were always referring to his Norwegian ancestry even though he was third generation American.

Five minutes later a tousled President Donahue made his way to the green room. He blinked in the harsh light. ‘Bit early in the day, Harris.’

Brindle Harris was already seated and didn’t get up. This was not out of disrespect but he had tiny pieces of shrapnel embedded in his spine from his time in the forces. And the President was not one for standing on ceremony; Donahue had known Brindle Harris longer than anyone else on his staff. They had met in college but went their different ways after graduation.

‘What have you got?’ Donahue said, settling down into the armchair opposite. He helped himself to a freshly brewed cup of coffee.

‘Sir, about seven hours ago we learnt that one of our experimental submarines disappeared.’

‘Isn’t that a minor matter — especially at this time in the morning?’

‘Well sir, the submarine is unmanned. At first we didn’t think there was any loss of life.’

‘And now you’re telling me there are fatalities?’

‘We’re not sure. Initially we thought there had been a collision and the sub had sunk. If that was all there was to it, it would have been written off as an expensive mistake.’

Harris popped a pill into his mouth and swallowed it down with some water before continuing. ‘Then we heard that somehow the main support ship was taking on water. The order was given to abandon ship while they were transmitting a MAYDAY signal.’

Donahue looked carefully at Harris but nothing in Harris’ expression betrayed the constant pain he felt from the shrapnel.

‘About an hour later a support ship went missing. Shortly after the second disappeared as well. There was a communications aircraft overhead, and according to their reports the support ships just vanished from their radar screens. We sent out a search and rescue aircraft immediately but it only managed to find some lifeboats.’

‘Casualties?’

‘We don’t know. We estimate there’s around forty six survivors so far. We’re sending a frigate to pick them up.’

‘So, what are the chances that all the ships were involved in some sort of collision?’

Harris stirred uneasily. ‘Slim to zero I’d say.’

‘Well, what about some other explanation like weather, or sea state?’

‘There was reasonably good weather at the time and the sea state was moderate.’

‘Enemy action?’

Harris shook his head. ‘We don’t have any reports of other ships in the area.’

‘Ships maybe, but what about another submarine?’

‘We’d completed a sweep the day before. If another sub did approach we would have picked up a trace. It’s not guaranteed of course, but it’s unlikely we would have missed anything like that.’

‘How do you explain it then?’

Harris looked the President in the eye. ‘I can’t right now. We should know more when we interview the survivors.’

‘Have any of the families been informed?’

‘Not yet.’

President Donahue re-filled his cup and stirred sugar into the black coffee. ‘What’s so special about this particular sub?’

‘It’s experimental. It’s called Cetus and she carries an unusual weapon. Our Defence scientists have been working on it for the last two years. The weapon generates powerful sound waves in water.’

‘What does it do — blast the enemy with Rolling Stones records?’ the President asked, trying to lighten the mood.

‘No — nothing like that’ replied Harris, straight-faced. ‘I’m told that all objects — including the biggest ships we have in the navy — have a natural frequency. That is, a frequency which will cause them to resonate.’

The President flicked the rim of his cup. ‘You mean like the opera singer and the wine glass?’

‘Precisely’ replied Harris. ‘When the singer reaches a certain pitch the wine glass starts to resonate at its natural frequency. If you have a loud enough note and the right pitch the sound can shatter the glass.’

‘We’ve developed a weapon that can do that — to a ship?’ the President asked incredulously.

‘That’s exactly what I mean sir.’

The President let his coffee go cold, thinking through the implications. ‘Have you tried this out?’

‘We’ve done some testing with a sound cannon in the lab, but not anything full scale. Cetus was on her sea trials when we lost contact.’

‘So that weapon could just have been stolen out from under our noses.’

Harris shook his head firmly. ‘We’ve no evidence of that.’

‘Suppose the sub turned its weapon on its supply ships?’

Harris looked shocked. ‘That’s not possible sir’ he said carefully. ‘For a start, the weapon system was locked down. It’s not possible to activate it.’

‘Well something must have caused the disappearance of the ships.’

‘We’re launching a full investigation when we pick up the survivors.’

‘Were there any communications before the sinking took place?’

Harris grimaced. ‘We’ve had some confusing reports that don’t make a lot of sense.’ He coughed lightly before continuing. ‘On one of the tapes we heard a loud buzzing noise while the crew were preparing to abandon the ship. It sank about five minutes later.’

‘Isn’t that the sort of thing that would happen if that sound cannon was aimed at them?’

Harris shook his head. ‘At that stage of the test the safety lock was on. The cannon and its ancillary systems could not be fired without an authorisation signal. That signal was never given — we have proof of that.’

‘Well, I want to know what happened.’ All trace of humour had left the President. ‘Get a task force down there, find the sub, and bring it back.’

* * *

Stan looked like a ghost. Natasha packed him off home and sat for a long time twiddling her thumbs waiting for any information about the rescue operation. After a couple of hours with no news she decided to pop down the corridor to see the System Manager. He was a big man and he waved a large gnarled hand at the only chair in the room that wasn’t piled high with printouts. ‘Has there been any more news recently?’

‘Some good, some bad, I suppose. The rescue aircraft from Costa Rica had to turn back due to poor weather. But a rescue ship from the naval base at Guantanamo is on its way.’

‘Guantanamo? You mean where the camp is?’

‘Yep, the same. Most people only know the place because of the camp, but the Navy has had a base there for over a hundred years.’

John sighed and rested his beefy arms on his desk. ‘I was really sorry to hear about Ben. I gather that you and he were, well…’

‘It’s come as a big shock’ she replied sadly. ‘You know Ben didn’t have any relatives here and his parents are too infirm to travel. So I guess I’m the one who will have to arrange the funeral.’

‘Aw, I’m sorry to hear that. Well don’t feel you have to do this on your own. I’d be glad to help in any way I can.’

Natasha smiled. ‘Thanks John, I always know I can count on you.’

‘It’s a sad day, Natasha. I couldn’t get over your email — suspected murder in a hospital of all places. What are these crack-heads coming to?’

‘I don’t know John’ she replied sadly. ‘The police are beginning to think that the hit-and-run accident on his motorbike may have been the first attempt on his life.’

‘God — I can’t believe it.’ John shook his head in surprise. ‘I mean it Natasha, let me know what you need me to do to help.’

Natasha looked around John’s office. ‘What’s happening here? I saw someone packing up their desk downstairs.’

‘I’m afraid so. There’s a big enquiry on and we’re being shut down in stages. Non-essential staff have already been told to take a holiday until it’s all over.’

‘I suppose there isn’t anything else for us to do anyway’ said Natasha glumly.

I’ll give you a hand if you need any of your stuff moving.’

‘Thanks John’. Natasha didn’t get up. ‘Actually I wanted your advice on something else.’ Natasha fished the envelope out of her pocket.

‘I was given this letter at the hospital. They found it on Ben and they let me have it as it was addressed to me.’ Natasha handed the envelope to John. ‘I wondered if you might be able to tell me what it’s about? She indicated the second column. For instance here is a list of codes, but I don’t recognise them. If they were anything to do with the navigation software I think I would know.’

John scanned the sheet. ‘They look like the codes we give our backup tapes. The column on the left is probably the date when the backup was made and the end column must be Ben’s notes on whether he was able to retrieve data from the tape.’

‘I see. Why do you think he would be interested in backup tapes?’

‘Well, you know how it is. Occasionally the staff forget and delete files they shouldn’t. If we didn’t keep backup tapes then they wouldn’t be able to get the file back. It may be that Ben was searching for a particular file and couldn’t find it on one tape so he tried several others.’

Natasha shook her head. Something didn’t seem right. ‘There are more than twenty tapes listed here — why would he need so many if he was just looking for one file?’

It was the manager’s turn to look puzzled. ‘Perhaps he wanted more than one file. It looks like he tried tapes going back over a month or more. Perhaps when he discovered the files weren’t on the first few tapes he needed to go back in time. But you’re right — it sure does look funny. I can’t think why he would need to try so many tapes.’

He opened a booklet on his desk. ‘I’ve got a list of our servers here and each one has a series of tapes coded to it. Let me see’ he said running his finger down the list.

He looked up. ‘I’m beginning to get an idea. This doesn’t look like he was searching for one particular file — it’s too systematic for that. It looks like he was trying a selection of backup tapes from all the servers to see what the results might be. It’s like he was doing an audit of the backup tapes.’

‘Why would he do that?’

John made a face. ‘I’ve no idea. It does look as though some of the tapes weren’t good backups. Maybe he was trying to get to the bottom of that? But if so he would have talked to Jack Langham. He’s in charge of backups and archives and anything to do with security. You should try him.’

‘Thanks John. I might just do that.’

* * *

Back at home Natasha opened up her laptop and wondered if she could still access the network at work. Although some staff had been told to leave she thought the company’s server farm might remain accessible for the time being.

She found the USB token located on her key ring and pushed it into a slot on the side of her laptop. The computer would not log onto the network without it. She typed in the eight digit number that was currently showing on the token and the laptop went through a long rigmarole of assigning her a computer profile and granted her the permissions she needed in order to access her workspace. Eventually she was in and Natasha breathed a sigh of relief.

She created a new folder to contain all the log files from Cetus. Then she began the process of finding them and copying them into it to make it easier to search through them. After two hours Natasha’s eyes were beginning to droop and she started thinking of going to bed. She forced herself to concentrate and complete one more test before shutting down her laptop. She had run several scans on the files already but this time she configured the program to list the names of the modules together with the time they took to upload to Cetus. Privately she hoped that one of the modules had somehow miss-loaded.

But the long list that scrolled down her screen told her nothing. Everything looked normal and each module had loaded correctly. She decided to look at one more aspect before going to bed. Copying the list into a spreadsheet, she sorted them in alphabetical order. Sometimes modules did not load properly and needed to be reloaded. If that was the case she would find a duplicate.

But there were no duplicate lines to see. Then her eye leapt to a summary line at the end of the report which showed that the total loading time for all the modules was 37min and 45 secs. Rubbing her eyes Natasha checked the total loading time from the master list. This showed 32 mins 40 secs. For some reason the upload took over five minutes longer, but there were no reloads which might explain the extra time it took.

Bed beckoned but Natasha knew that the puzzle would keep her awake. She made another coffee and came back to her computer. If no extra modules were loaded and each one took its allotted time, then there should be no difference. There was nothing for it but to look at how long each module took to load and compare this with the master list.

Natasha groaned. There were over 700 modules and it would take her forever to check the loading times for each one — that was if she had to finish the task manually. She knew from experience the quickest way would be to load all the information into a database which she could create just for this particular task.

Half an hour later she had the answer. The database had compared the loading times of all the modules with the actual time they took. Every single module loaded within one second of its specification, except for one called SM_itinerary_pack. This took 5 min 22 secs and accounted for the difference in total time barring a second or two.

Natasha now had the bit between her teeth. What made the itinerary module take much longer to load? She used her own filter software to find the detail in the upload log. The size of the file was 4,532,784 bytes in length but normally the modules were around 20,000 bytes long. Puzzled, Natasha looked up the correct file size from the master list. This showed that it should be 25,476 bytes.

But that was as far as she could go. The logs gave no clue as to why it was nearly 200 times its normal size. Waves of exhaustion crashed over her and she just made it to bed before her eyes closed.

She woke four hours later and sat straight up. Her subconscious must have been at work while she was asleep because now she knew the answer to the problem that had been troubling her.

She reached for the bedside phone and rang Stan’s home. It picked up after the fifth ring.

‘Hi, Stan — it’s Natasha. I think I’ve found something.’

‘Nat, what time is it?’ Stan sounded tired.

‘Seven thirty. Listen, I think there was a problem. I’ve been going through the logs and I’ve found an anomaly.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Just before Cetus launched there was a hitch.’

‘What sort of hitch?’ Stan sounded intrigued.

‘Well, one of the packages took a long time to upload. I’ve been going through all of them and one of them was much bigger than it should have been.’

‘How could that happen?’

Natasha collected her thoughts. ‘Stan, I think I’ve discovered a virus.’

Chapter 9

Twenty metres below the surface of the southern Atlantic, Cetus’s computers ran a full system check. Starting with the nuclear plant, moving on to the engines and then the condition of the hull, sensors in each section reported a healthy status. Next it inspected the sonic cannon running along the keel of the boat. Whenever the cannon was fired nearly all of the energy went into the sound waves it produced. An unfortunate side effect was that a small amount of the energy caused the cannon to heat up. Although it had been fired just three times it was necessary to pump cooling sea water into the heat exchangers.

Lastly the computers turned their attention to themselves, churning through long checklists to ensure they all were operating optimally. The whole process took less than 5 seconds.

Cetus began to move slowly, unreeling a long towed sonar array aft. The array contained two hundred and fifty six sensitive microphones that picked up the sounds of the ocean. Cetus could ‘hear’ the Tribune as she made her way to the bottom. The sound of internal bulkheads collapsing, boilers exploding, even pockets of air that found their way out of the stricken vessel could be detected. Cetus followed her progress through crush depth where the pressure from the ocean depths squeezed the hull, forcing out any remaining air.

Now that the first part of its mission was complete and all three ships in the flotilla had sunk, Cetus turned its attention to the wider submarine environment. There were the usual noises from marine life but Cetus could also detect the tiny splashes made from the oars of the lifeboats as crews struggled on the surface. Now that there was no immediate threat, Cetus loaded the next part of its mission plan and set a northerly course.

* * *

Two hours after taking to the lifeboat Louis shivered with the cold and wet. Where was the Tribune and the Arabesque? The crew blew their whistles and waved flashlights but there was no sign of rescue.

The waves had been growing in strength and height for over an hour now and Long John and several others started to bail water from the scuppers. One of the sailors tied a flashlight to the spare oar and lashed it upright to the gunwale. Two other lifeboats had done the same and they could see each other’s lights bobbing up and down in the darkness.

Slowly the three lifeboats crept closer and at last Long John was able to throw the nearest a line. The remaining lifeboat eventually did the same so all three were roped together. About an hour afterwards a fourth lifeboat appeared and soon it too had a line securing it to the rest. As there was little hope of an immediate rescue they decided to turn off the flashlights for now to save batteries.

Then the nightmare really started. The wind began to blow in strong gusts bringing frequent bursts of rain. It was pitch black. The wind strengthened again, mixing rain and sea spray and driving it horizontally across them. The combined wind and current pushed them further from the mainland. Louis relieved one of the sailors and began to row. He shivered constantly but despite the cold he settled down to the steady rhythm.

He heard thunder and ten seconds later jagged lightening flashed on the horizon. During the brief time it lit up the boat Louis caught a glimpse of his missing gold watch, the gold expansion band glimmering for a split second in the light. He feathered his oar and looked hard at the man wearing it. It was impossible to make out who it was in the dark.

A hundred thoughts crowded through Louis’ head. Surely it couldn’t be the treasured watch he had lost when he first came on board the Mosquito? He stood up suddenly, intending to make his way towards the man. He staggered, almost fell and was grabbed by several sailors who pushed him back into his seat.

Louis shook his head, disbelievingly. But the image of the gold band burned in his brain. He had to make sure. He stood up again and weaved his way unsteadily down the boat. The man saw him coming and hunched against the gunwale. But Louis would not be stopped when he was so close. He grabbed the man’s sleeve and jerked it up, uncovering the man’s wrist. There was no doubt now — that was his watch. He clutched the strap and started to pull it off the man’s hand but a large wave rocked the boat, throwing Louis against the side. The man heaved and Louis was in the water.

The shock of the cold water caused Louis to inhale and he gagged, ingesting a mouthful of seawater. He was under the waves and didn’t know which way was up. He lashed out with his fists in a blind panic as the terror of imminent death took hold.

At the end of his strength a calm descended over his mind and he stopped thrashing. He felt himself ascending and as soon as his head cleared the surface he coughed violently and gulped a huge lungful of air. He coughed again, sucked in more air, grateful he still wore the life jacket he was given on board the Mosquito. Still coughing, he looked around.

There were no lights anywhere.

‘Over here!’ he yelled.

He was barely a minute in the water and his voice held a note of fear. He felt his heart hammering away and he knew with certainty that if he was not found soon he would die.

For a second he stopped shouting and tried to relax. He felt something hard in the palm of his hand. With his other hand he explored the band that circled his fist. In a brief flash of lightning he saw gold. Turning it over he realised he was still clutching the watch that had been stolen from him.

The discovery gave him new strength and he slipped the watch over his wrist. He explored his life jacket with stiff cold hands. His fingers slithered over a hard plastic dome which turned out to be an emergency beacon. When he gave it a twist it began to flash. Next he found a whistle dangling by a short chord. The first few tries were dismal, but after shaking out the water it gave a piercing sound.

Louis began to feel hope.

* * *

‘Is the sub still at large?’ Clarke never wasted any time.

Schaeffer sat in the nearest chair as ordered. ‘Sir, that part of the operation was successful — the sub is still at large and it is completely under our control.’

‘Good — but what do you mean by “that part of the operation”?’

Schaeffer shifted in his seat. ‘You remember we had to send someone in to finish off Campbell?’

‘I remember — you thought he was dead.’

‘Our man Mike did kill him. But I didn’t get a chance to explain on the phone that he was interrupted.’

‘Oh?’

‘He was jumped as he was smothering Campbell. There was a guy waiting in the bathroom. Mike managed to get free from him and escape without being seen.’

‘But Campbell is dead?’

‘Yes, definitely. There’s to be a funeral for him on Thursday.’

‘Any clues as to who the guy was?’

‘No sir. That’s the most puzzling thing. He fought hard. If he was from the local police or FBI he would have stopped Mike with a firearm.’

Clarke leaned over and selected a cigar from a humidifier on the desk.

‘See what you can find out about him. Anything else I should know?’

‘We intercepted a call from one of the women techies…’

‘And?’

‘And now she suspects a virus.’

Clarke studied his cigar and lit it. ‘How come they got onto that so fast?’

‘We don’t know. It’s only a suspicion at the moment — it’s impossible that they could know what the virus is actually supposed to do.’

‘Really’ muttered Clarke, puffing a cloud of smoke across the desk. ‘And why do you find it impossible to believe?’

Schaeffer considered his reply carefully. ‘Because it happened so fast — they wouldn’t have had the time to get into any detail. And in any case they have no access to the source code so they couldn’t even begin to guess what it was supposed to do.’

‘So what are you doing about it?’

‘Don’t worry, we will see to her. We know from the phone tapes she has a minor personality disorder — she’s depressive. So it should be easy enough to drive her away.’

‘I want her dealt with permanently. Nothing comes back to me.’

‘OK, I’ll sent a unit round to deal with her.’

‘Not the same bungling crew that failed to nail Campbell the first time?’

Schaeffer heard the alarm in the man’s voice and moved to placate him. ‘No sir. But don’t worry, I will see to her personally.’

‘Be sure that you do. Report back to me when you have finished.’

* * *

‘Morning’ said Stan. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying this Natasha, but you look like you need a good night’s sleep.’

Natasha flopped into the seat opposite Stan’s desk.

‘I’ve had a lot on my mind, Stan.’ She glanced at him. ‘You know, having to arrange the funeral, the missing ships, not to mention all the turmoil at work..’.

Stan held up his hand. ‘I know, Nat. ‘I’m not saying that to criticise. I just think you need some time off, that’s all.’

‘Maybe you’re right Stan. I’ve got some leave owing. I might get away after the funeral.’

‘Good idea’ said Stan shuffling some papers. ‘Now what’s all this about a virus on Cetus?’

‘Stan, I think I know what happened out there. I’ve been checking through the upload logs, just before the Mosquito went off the air. One of the packs Louis transferred was much larger than the spec.’

Stan pursed his lips. ‘Could be some last minute changes Louis made. You know how it works — he makes some changes and then forgets to send back a copy.’

Natasha shook her head. ‘This was the Itinerary pack. It’s nearly 200 times larger than it should be. Louis couldn’t possibly have made that number of changes!’

‘Sounds like it might be a corrupted file to me. If there was some problem with the transmission the receiving end just keeps adding zeroes to the file until the glitch is resolved. The receiver picks up the end of the file so it looks like it finished the transfer correctly.’

Natasha shook her head. ‘I checked that. I looked through all of the binary code.’

Stan gave her an appraising look.

‘Really, I did Stan. I ran anti-virus over the whole file — nothing. I also ran some specific searches and none of that code has any padding in it at all.’

Stan was apologetic. ‘I’m sorry Nat, that still doesn’t prove a thing. Could be the transfer was over a noisy line. It doesn’t have to be padded with a long string of zeroes — it might be just random noise.’

Natasha sighed. ‘Then how do you explain what happened to those three ships?’

‘I can’t Natasha. Nobody knows what happened out there except the survivors. By the way, they were going to drop some communication packs for the lifeboats. I wonder if they’ve picked them up yet?’

They walked to the large communications room. Stan saw a technician wearing a pair of monitor headphones. ‘Any contact yet?’

The young man looked up, then leaned forward to flick a switch. Immediately the overhead speakers burst into life.

‘Hello SeaTek. Did you receive my last transmission?’

Stand reached for the mike. ‘Hello, this is Stan. Who are you and what’s your status?’

The speakers crackled. ‘Excuse me a minute, they’re retrieving a man from the water in the next lifeboat.’

Stan glanced at Natasha and they waited a minute.

‘Sorry about that — they’ve just pulled a man out of the water. Looks like he’s suffering from hypothermia — they’re using some of the survival gear the plane dropped earlier. When are we being picked up?’

‘A ship is on its way to you now.’ Stan glanced at his watch. ‘It should be there in the next hour.’

‘OK, thanks. We’re pretty exhausted out here. It’s nice to hear that someone will be with us soon.’

‘Can you give me your name?’ Stan asked.

‘Tod Frazier, comms team.’

‘Listen Tod, we’re very concerned about what’s happened. We need to understand how your ship came to sink. Can you tell me anything about that?’

The speakers were quiet for a minute, then a burst of static obscured the first words.

‘… peculiar. We all heard a kind of high pitched note. It got so loud you had to shut it out. Then the deck plates started to quiver. It was like the ship was shaking itself to death. The captain ordered us to abandon ship and that’s when we made for the lifeboats. The ship started to list and by the time we were hauling away the ship was going down.’

‘How many in the lifeboats Todd?’ Stan looked at Natasha.

‘Fifty four. We thought we’d lost one overboard a few minutes ago, but he’s back now.’

‘That’s pretty much everyone on the Mosquito’ muttered Stan.

Natasha mouthed the word ‘Arabesque’.

Stan keyed the mike again. ‘Any information about the Arabesque or the Tribune?’

‘None, sorry. We hoped that they would rescue us but there’s been no sign of them.’

The sadness in his voice was apparent from three thousand miles away.

‘We’ll call you again in fifteen minutes.’ Stan closed the mike.

‘You can’t argue with that Stan,’ Natasha said reproachfully.

‘No, you’re right. It does look like the weapon was activated and Cetus used it to sink its supply ships.’ Stan pushed his fingers through his hair. ‘But that doesn’t mean a virus caused it. It still could be just corrupted software.’

He looked at Natasha. ‘The alternative just doesn’t bear thinking about.’

Chapter 10

The phone vibrated silently in Sean’s jacket pocket. It was Lomax.

‘Just got a call from DD. He says he has something for us.’

‘That’s quick — I wasn’t expecting a breakthrough so soon.’

‘Well maybe it’s not the breakthrough we’re looking for, but I believe he’s on to something.’

Sean thought for a moment. ‘I’ll pick you up on my way.’

Twenty minutes later they were at DD’s apartment. DD showed them into the bedroom. Sean looked at Lomax and received an understanding glance in return.

‘Well guys’ DD enthused, obviously pleased to meet them. ‘Wait ‘til you see what I have to show you!’

‘Before we get to that’ said Lomax grimly, ‘didn’t you have to pass a personal security and survival course?’

DD was taken aback. ‘Yes, I went on a week’s course. What of it?’

‘Didn’t they teach you to at least lock your door and use the chain?’

Sean put his hand on Lomax’s arm and spoke quietly. ‘We’re not playing games here DD. By not following the routine you’re putting your life in danger. If we were the opposition you would be dead by now.’

DD looked visibly paler. ‘I’m sorry, I just thought I would crack on with the job — you said it was urgent.’

Sean looked at DD steadily. ‘You can’t help us if you’re dead.’

DD held up his hands. ‘OK, OK, I get the message.’

‘Well just so that you do, after we’re done here you and I are going to go through and secure this place and I’m going to give you a quick refresher about security procedures.’

Sean understood why DD had chosen this room to work in. It was the largest in the apartment and over the bed and bedside tables sprawled a tangle of computers and cables. There were three laptops and on the bed Sean recognised a satellite phone — presumably non-Government issue.

DD had brought up the kitchen room table and chair and placed them right up against the built-in wardrobe. On top of the table he had another two computers and a printer. Sean thought he had no place to hang his clothes, but then he probably hadn’t brought any.

‘So, what have you got for us?’ asked Lomax impatiently.

DD turned a laptop around to show Sean and Lomax. ‘I’ve managed to break into Ben’s laptop. It was a tough job because the hard drive had taken such a knock. I got as far as opening some of the files.’ DD showed Lomax some printouts. They contained various lists of work items and to-do lists. Lomax scanned down the pages quickly but could find nothing of interest.

‘Only some of the files?’ Lomax’s disappointment was obvious.

‘Yeah — well the most interesting ones will be those Ben accessed at work. But in order to get into them I need a user id and a password and an authentication device.’

'What sort of authentication device?' Lomax asked.

'About the size of a USB memory stick' replied DD. It would probably have a small window showing a row of numbers which change every 30 seconds or so.'

Lomax scowled. ‘You mean to tell me that you can’t access his work files without this gadget?’

DD shook his head. ‘Unless you have a couple of years to spare, the answer is no. This gadget is synchronised to the computer systems at Ben’s work. You have to type in the number that shows up in the little window. If it matches the number at work you are let into the next stage. That’s when you need to type in your password. The number on the device changes at set intervals to a different number and so does the one at Ben’s work.’

‘Suppose you made a note of the numbers that changed — you might be able to type in the correct number without having the device’ said Lomax.

DD shook his head again. ‘The numbers don’t ever repeat. And you have only three chances to type in the correct matching number during that 30 second window before it changes. It’s impossible without the authentication device.’

‘What would happen if you were unsuccessful the third time?’ asked Sean.

‘The computer system at work would lock you out for a long period of time — and set off the equivalent of an alarm bell. So you could only try a couple of times a day. In any case there would be a file of all your unsuccessful attempts to log in — and they would be bound to pick up on that.’

‘Does it have to be the one Ben owned or could we get a replacement?’ Lomax asked DD.

‘You can get a replacement from the company that makes them — but that’s very difficult. They will only give them out to an authorised representative. Strictly speaking it doesn’t have to be the one Ben owned though.’ DD thought it through. ‘But it would have to be the same type and it would have to have been previously matched to the computer systems where Ben worked.’

‘Would everyone at the company need one if they wanted to work from home?’ Sean asked.

‘Yes, if you were able to borrow someone else’s, I could use that to access the network. Once I’m on the network I’m pretty sure I could get to Ben’s area.’

‘Can you get a USB token that to all intents looks exactly like the one Ben had?’ queried Sean.

‘Yep, if you knew what it looked like’ replied DD. ‘In fact I brought some with me. Hang on a sec.’ DD moved the table back to open the door of the wardrobe, pulled out a tattered rucksack and fished out a plastic lunch box. He tipped out the contents onto the bed. There were different types of connectors, plugs, some tiny cables and a variety of USB sticks and plastic cards. Sean sorted through them and picked one that looked like the one he had seen Natasha using in her apartment. He placed it in DD’s hand.

‘That’s the one.’

* * *

Natasha jerked into wakefulness. One quick look established that the outside light was on. In itself this was not surprising — she had known the light to come on several times during the night, mostly in response to a prowling cat or a stray gust of wind. Struggling to pull on her jeans, Natasha hopped over to her bedroom window and looked out. There was no sign of anyone.

The apartment faced a courtyard which was surrounded on three sides by other apartments. It was in a quiet area so any unusual noise would alert the neighbours; some of them were very nosey. The apartment had an external door light which came on when anyone approached. An alarm sat high up the wall in the eaves.

Cautiously she made her way to the front hallway. The external light was still on. Just before it timed out she saw a movement through the opaque glass door. She stood absolutely still while a shiver ran up her back. She heard a soft metallic noise as something was inserted in the lock.

Passing back through the hallway she stumbled over the bike, hurting her shin in the process. The thought crossed her mind that the bike could be useful in making a quick escape.

She carried it through the hallway to the stairs at the back, opening the rear door with one hand while holding the bike with the other. She looked carefully up and down the alley. Nothing stirred.

She ran alongside the bike and quickly mounted the machine. That’s when the bike reminded her of the squeak that she had been meaning to fix. Looking over her shoulder she could see no signs of pursuit. She turned into the street from the alleyway, intending to make for Stan’s house a couple of miles on the outskirts of town. She knew the route well in the car. Natasha slowed down as she came to the next junction, pulled into the shadows and waited. She looked both ways.

A dark coloured car emerged from a street several blocks away. It crept forward slowly and Natasha pulled back, flattening herself against a doorway. The car turned towards her on the main road and her heart went into her mouth. Had she been spotted?

The car continued to move slowly towards her. She froze in the darkness. It pulled abreast but thankfully carried on down the main road.

Natasha took several big gulps of breath to try and steady her racing heart. Building up her courage she pushed the bicycle round the corner, remembering to lift the back wheel to stop the squeak. She peered back down the main road. The car had stopped just ten feet away! She quickly pulled the bike into a doorway but even as she did she could hear the car doors open and people spill out.

Without hesitation she turned the bike around and ran with it back the way she had come. There were no shouts from behind but she could hear the sound of leather shoes hitting the pavement just behind her. Without pausing in her stride she put one foot on the pedal, swung her other leg across the bike and started peddling like mad. A burst of adrenalin helped to increase the distance between herself and her pursuers.

She eventually realised that though she was peddling furiously the bike was hardly moving. In a panic she thought the chain had broken; then she realised that she was still in the lowest gear. She flipped the lever several times to take it up through the gears and the bike gained speed, putting even more distance between her and the men behind. The sounds of pursuit gradually died and she felt a huge wave of relief. Her breath was sawing in and out of her throat, her legs ached with the unusual amount of exercise, and her heart hammered at high speed. She slowed and stopped the bike, intending to look around to check that they had really gone.

That’s when she heard the squeal of tyres as the car first reversed, then careered around the corner, engine revving.

There was no time to look back. Natasha cried aloud with fear and frustration and began to pedal again. At the next corner she turned left and then right further on. Although her body was screaming for a rest she managed to control the panic and think about an escape plan. She had seen a sign for a small shopping mall set back off the main road and she started heading in that direction. By now she could no longer hear the car. She had probably lost them with the twist and turns she had taken. But this time she was determined not to underestimate them. At last a sign for the mall appeared and Natasha steered the bike towards it. Thankfully the area was flat and she was able to pick up some speed.

She felt her stamina fading. Natasha looked all round her for signs of pursuit before deciding to dismount. She held on to the bike as she tried to regain her breath and as her chest heaved for air, she promised herself that when she got out of this situation, she would re-join the gym.

The stillness of the night was broken by the roar of an engine and the squeal of tyres. Natasha jerked her head around but couldn’t locate the sound. Then out of the corner of her eye she saw the car appear a hundred yards away.

With a groan she hopped on the bike and started peddling hard. The car soon caught up but just as it was about to make contact she swerved the wheel onto a ramp and through some metal bollards designed to prevent cars entering the pedestrian precinct. She had stopped at this mall a few months ago and was unable to park where she wanted to because of the bollards. If she remembered correctly there were several sets of these around the corner.

Behind her she heard a loud crumpling noise. She turned around and saw that the car had attempted to ride over the barriers. Either they thought they could crash through or perhaps they had not appreciated how narrow the barriers were. Either way the results were the same. The car had mounted the kerb and lay between two of the bollards. Steam was escaping from under the bonnet. At that moment Natasha prayed that this was the end of the chase. Surely they would need to leave the car. If they had to resume the chase on foot Natasha had the advantage.

As she looked the car reversed off the bollards to the sound of tearing metal. The engine revved and the car reversed, the driver hunting for another entrance to the mall.

Natasha watched unbelievingly and desperately started pedalling again.

* * *

‘Morning, Sir Anthony — you have fresh news?’

‘Some, Prime Minister. A laptop from our sleeper was retrieved just after the order was given to cancel the mission.’

Sir Anthony looked at the Prime Minister and saw the slight hesitation. The Foreign Secretary, Howard Stern, cleared his throat. The Prime Minister was all too aware that Howard had made mistakes in the past, but he made the least number of mistakes of anyone else in the cabinet. The PM sometimes wondered if his foreign secretary would make a better PM than himself.

‘Carry on, Howard’ he said.

Howard looked at Sir Anthony. ‘Tell me a little about our people on the ground’.

‘Well we have a team of two very experienced operators’ began Sir Anthony. ‘We also have a technical guy who is helping out with the IT and security side of the operation.’

‘I didn’t mean that’ said Howard. ‘I mean, what are they like? How resourceful are they in a crisis? How likely are they to break under pressure? I just want to get a feel for the men whose lives we are putting at risk.’

Sir Anthony glanced down at his papers then closed the file and put it to one side. He knew the contents by heart. ‘I picked this team personally. Our agent is a Royal Marines vet of seventeen years; he’s been in the usual tough spots: Belfast, Bosnia, Sierra Leone. He’s worked with 22 Squadron on a number of occasions but he never wanted to leave the marines. Technically he’s still on their payroll, though we lend him out wherever he’s needed. We discovered he was born to the job of undercover operations. He has always preferred to work alone or in small teams. We had the usual problems with his general lack of respect for authority in the early days but since then he’s mellowed a little. He still has a reputation for being difficult though, but he always brought the right results — sometimes not in the, ah, expected manner.’

‘He seems quite a character — I’d like to meet him some time’ said the PM. ‘What about his manager or whatever you call them these days?’

‘The executive for the operation is someone who has a great deal of experience and has worked his way up the ladder, so to speak. He began as an agent in the field on shows like this. I won’t bore you with his past successes, but he was a top agent.’ Sir Anthony reopened the folder. ‘I won’t hide the fact that he was traumatised on his last op and had to take some time off. However he has recovered well and is proving that his experience in the field will make him one of our best executives.’

A pugnacious deputy Prime Minister Martin Dinsdale leaned forward across the PM to face Sir Anthony. ‘You mean the guy who is running our most important operation on American soil is a fruitcake who has just come back from a nervous breakdown?’ he asked bluntly.

Sir Anthony winced. ‘No, with all respect, I do not mean that’ he replied. ‘You have to know the man to understand the depth of his skills. The recent leave of absence has been his way of coping with extreme stress.’

Dinsdale leaned closer and the veins on his neck stood out. ‘Pressure — you should try this job for pressure.’

Sir Anthony remained stock still and replied in a cold calm voice. ‘Sir you don’t know the meaning of pressure. You do not face your executioner every day and stare death in the face. You’re never forced to make split second decisions that might mean life or death!’

The Prime Minister interceded quickly, fearing another outburst from his excitable deputy. ‘Gentlemen, we’re discussing the suitability of the agents in the field.’ He turned to Sir Anthony. ‘Tell us about the third man — your technical specialist.’

Sir Anthony paused before replying, knowing he was treading on thin ice.

‘We call him DD. He’s had experience in Saudi, Yemen, Iraq, and South America. He has training in field craft and is one of our of best IT specialists. He is currently studying at MIT but broke off to help at short notice.’

‘Has he ever been in a crisis situation?’

‘Yes’ Sir Anthony replied. ‘He’s faced problems in his work’ he said, not altogether convincingly.

‘Like what?’ enquired Dinsdale.

‘Well his mission has always been to assist the main operation. He’s never been a principle.’

‘You mean he’s never had to look after himself?’ asked Dinsdale bluntly.

Sir Anthony looked Dinsdale in the eye and replied carefully. ‘Sir, with respect, that’s not his job. His job is to provide intelligence from the opposition’s IT infrastructure, not to provide the heavy lifting. In his field, he has a track record as good as anyone here in London.’

Martin Dinsdale was not placated. ‘Well I think it stinks!’ Dinsdale turned to the PM. ‘Look, Terry. What we have here is the most delicate operation we have undertaken since the Second World War. If the Americans — our allies — get a whiff of what we are doing on their soil, it will compromise our special relationship for the foreseeable future! This mission is crazy, it should never have begun. The person who conceived the operation should be put back in the asylum!’

The PM replied smoothly. ‘Martin, what you say is probably true. But we need to weigh up what we might achieve if the operation is successful. I repeat, if the operation is successful. Besides, I have been reliably informed that some of the technology the Americans are deploying actually originated in our own laboratories. Sir Anthony, is that true?’

‘That’s true sir, the propulsion technology came from the University of Suffolk.’ Sir Anthony turned to look at the deputy PM. ‘And there is always plausible deniability.’

Dinsdale smirked. ‘You mean deny the story if it ever surfaces?’ Dinsdale’s smirk took a sarcastic edge. ‘Once the press get wind of this, there will be no stopping them. It will be one of those stories that will run and run.’ Dinsdale looked at the PM to emphasise his next remark.

‘It could even bring down this government.’

The PM returned his stare. It was quite clear that the previous discussion had not altered Dinsdale’s mind and nothing he nor anyone else could say would change him.

‘There is nothing else for it’ replied the PM thoughtfully.

‘Good’, replied Dinsdale. ‘At last you are beginning to see sense.’

‘Em’, coughed the Foreign Secretary. ‘Aren’t we all missing something here?’ he asked.

‘F**k, we’ve dealt with it, now let’s move on!’ said the red faced Dinsdale, unwilling to become involved in further discussion.

‘Let’s hear what you have to say’ said the PM, giving Dinsdale a reprovingly look.

‘Aren’t we about to make a mistake that many governments make in circumstances like this? We are making a tactical judgement without listening to the people involved on the ground. What have the agents got to say — surely they are the people most closely involved in the operation? Surely they are aware of the potentially terrible consequences of their actions? Of all people they are best placed to assess the risk and reward and make a decision on whether the mission should continue or not — not a small group of politicians like us — three thousand miles away from the action?’

‘Oh Jesus’, complained Dinsdale. ‘Here we go again. We are the people with the power and responsibility. Whether they continue their mission or not is not a tactical decision — it’s a strategic one! If we are going to abdicate that, then we might as well not have been elected in the first place!’

The PM raised his hand. ‘Martin’, he said gently, ‘it is my wish to see this through, as long as there is no direct impact on our relationship with the Americans. I think we should follow our Foreign Secretary’s advice and allow the team on the ground to decide just how far they may pursue their mission.’

Dinsdale’s face grew redder with embarrassment. But before he could remonstrate, the PM held his hand up for the second time. ‘I understand all your arguments Martin, but I believe we need to give our team the best opportunity they have to follow their mission — just so long as it doesn’t compromise the relationship with our allies.’

Sir Anthony bowed his head slightly, acknowledging the point. That single act alone appeared to seal the decision.

‘Thank you sir. We will do our best to comply with your wishes.’ He gathered his papers quickly and headed for the door.

‘I’ll remember this’, Dinsdale snarled. ‘When a wheel falls off, as it surely will, I will remember this.’

* * *

The door chime sounded again, and Stan grumbled. ‘OK, OK I’m coming!’

He opened the door and saw Natasha slumped against the wall. Her hair was wet and bedraggled and she looked exhausted.

‘Dear God! Whatever happened to you!’

Natasha could barely move. She managed to stagger indoors before her legs gave way and she fell.

Stan picked her up, carried her in and laid her out on the sofa in front of his wife Maddie. Maddie took charge immediately, ordering Stan to fetch a glass of ‘something strong’. She bent to undo Natasha’s coat and loosen the collar of her dress. Natasha’s forehead felt hot and clammy and her pulse was very high.

Gently Maddie wiped Natasha’s face with a tissue and Natasha opened her eyes.

‘Maddie?’ She started to get up, but Maddie pushed her back gently.

‘Best to rest just now. Take a drink of this.’ Maddie guided the glass to her lips. Stan looked on helplessly.

Natasha took a sip and spluttered, then swung her legs around and sat upright. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Whatever happened?’ asked Maddie consolingly.

‘Burglars’, Natasha gasped. ‘I tried to get out, but they chased me.’

Maddie lifted Natasha’s legs back onto the sofa and helped her lie back against the cushions. ‘Tell me what happened’, she asked. ‘Take it from the beginning.’

Natasha closed her eyes, reliving the experience. ‘I woke because I thought I heard a noise. The outside light had come on and I went to investigate.’ She continued, starting to shake when she described how the car that had been chasing her had tried to mount the concrete posts in its quest to run her over.

‘Oh my poor girl’, Maddie fretted. ‘What happened then?’

‘I cycled through the mall.’ Natasha weaved her hand in and out, as if describing an obstacle course. They couldn’t follow me in the car. They started chasing me on foot, but I cycled through some side streets. That was the scariest time in my life.’ Natasha looked up at Maddie. ‘You won’t believe how relieved I felt when I arrived at your door.’

Maddie clucked in sympathy.

‘We’d better tell the police’ Stan said.

‘The police!’ gasped Natasha. ‘Yes — do you mind if I use your phone?’

Maddie helped her up and through the hallway to the house phone, before making a discreet retreat. She looked directly at her husband. ‘Do you know what all this is about?’

He lifted his eyebrows and murmured quietly: ‘Not really. We had a project go dreadfully wrong. Some people have died and she took it badly — we all did — but she thinks it wasn’t an accident.’

‘You mean it was deliberate?’

Stan sighed. ‘I don’t think she knows. She just has this hunch that there’s something going on.’ Stan glanced at Maddie. ‘Now she thinks there’s somebody after her.’

‘You think she just made up that story about being chased through the streets?’ Maddie asked indignantly.

‘Maddie’, Stan’s tone was serious. ‘Her boyfriend has been murdered and we’ve been through a disastrous time at work. These things affect different people in different ways.’

‘But that poor woman has just had the fright of her life’, started Maddie.

Stan held up his hands to stop her in mid-stride. ‘I know. The best we can do for her is to keep her here where she feels safe.’

Natasha entered the room and looked from one to the other. ‘The police will be here in the next half an hour. I’m sorry to have put you through all this.’

‘You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,’ Maddie offered. ‘We’ve a spare room. I’ll just need to go up and air the bed for you.’

Natasha flopped back onto the sofa. ‘I’m so grateful to you both. Thank you.’

Stan disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a hot chocolate drink. ‘You know, when the police arrive you won’t be able to talk about work.’

Natasha wrapped both hands around the mug. ‘Of course, I know that. But now I think about it, it’s possible there’s a connection. I only told you yesterday about the virus and early this morning I have burglars.’ She shivered when she thought back to the shadow she saw through the glass of her front door.

‘It’s a bit early to connect your ideas about the virus to the burglary. It could be just a random burglary.’

‘How many burglars do you know that chase people through the streets?’

Stan shook his head. ‘Anyway, we’ll just have to let the police sort it out when they get here.’

‘Well you know what I think.’ Natasha was adamant. ‘I think all of this is a deliberate act to sabotage the project. Someone is after me because I know the truth.’

Stan glanced at Natasha.

‘If that is true, then now they will be after me too.’

Chapter 11

‘Can someone tell me precisely what is going on?’

The senior military commanders around the table looked at each other in surprise — it was rumoured that the President had occasional bouts of anger, but only one person in the room had actually seen it before — until now. The Secretary of Defence was first to break the silence.

‘Robert, please calm down. You have the latest situation reports — there is nothing more we can add.’

‘Bullshit Harris’, snarled Donahue. I have ten people dead or missing on the first count. And now no-one knows where this f***ing sub has gone!’

Although Brindle Harris was used to the occasional angry exchanges from his friend, the strength of the outburst and the fact that it was so public shook him. ‘I know how this looks, Robert’, he proceeded warily. ‘But for all we know, Cetus might be at the bottom of the ocean. For all we know, the same calamity that affected its support ships might have affected the Cetus as well.’

His long time opponent CIA Director Henry Alfred Jones turned to face him, as though lining him up in the sights of a rifle. ‘Do you expect us to believe that?’ Jones appealed to the audience around the table. ‘Do you expect us to believe that Cetus sank three ships and then just sank itself without a trace?’ He voice rose a notch. ‘I’ll tell you what’s happening. That experimental sub is off on a jaunt of its own!’

Harris stared at his hands laying flat before him on the table, looking for the slightest tremor that might betray the fear inside. At last he sighed reluctantly. ‘We don’t know for sure that the sub sank its support ships. All the evidence we have cannot confirm what happened down there. But — one of the managers was called by a member of the sub’s project team last night. Name of Stanislaswski. He says that one of the team thinks the sub has downloaded a virus.’

‘You mean, like a computer virus?’ asked an alarmed President.

‘Yes sir, just like a computer virus Robert.’ Harris held his hands up. ‘Before you say anything though, you should know that Stanislaswski himself doesn’t believe that’s what happened. He thinks the software on-board the sub got screwed up — he thinks it was corrupted. He also thinks that’s what caused the sub’s weapon to be activated and why it was fired — indiscriminately — at the other ships.’

‘Jesus, Harris’ stormed the President. ‘What the f***king hell does it mean?’

Jones tried to interrupt.

‘Hear me out Director’, Harris commanded sternly. ‘If the software wasn’t corrupted, that leaves us with just one possibility. Someone ordered the sub to unlock the cannon and line it up on its supply ships. But this project has been conducted at the highest level of security of any black project in the last five years. Every member of staff of every company engaged in this project has been checked, double checked and triple checked.’

Harris turned to Jones. ‘I believe your organisation was totally involved in the vetting process.’

Immediately Jones clammed up. Harris continued. ‘There is no way the project could have been compromised. Mr Jones will tell us that the security was watertight from beginning to end. Our best guess is that there was an internal hardware failure and as a result part of the software has been corrupted. It would have the effect of making the sub do random things, such as diving and surfacing and speeding up and slowing down.’

‘But not attacking and sinking three ships?’ the CIA Director shot back.

‘Listen.’ Harris was aware of the growing swell of disbelief around the table. ‘This submarine we created was made to do just that. Inside that submarine there is more electronics and computing power than in one whole floor of the pentagon. Every part that could fail has at least one backup. We needed to know that once it was programmed with a mission it would carry it out.’

‘If that’s right, then any faulty components should have been replaced — right?’ The President remarked.

‘True’, replied Harris. But we think that part of the mission software got screwed up. If this part is corrupted, no amount of redundant hardware will put it right.’

Donahue regarded his friend. ‘Could it have been corrupted by another country’s agents — we’re having to keep a real close eye on our Chinese counterparts these days and their technology is nearly as good as our own.’

Harris pursed his lips and looked over towards the CIA Director. ‘What do you think Henry?’

‘If they are in on this, then we’ve not caught a whisper.’

‘That won’t be the first time’ remarked Harris quietly.

‘So how do we find it and stop it?’ the President asked at last.

Harris looked over his notes. ‘We have in-built safety features which..’

‘Which didn’t work!’ interrupted Jones. ‘My information is that an abort sequence was sent during the first thirty minutes when the sea trial started to go wrong.’

The President looked shocked and turned to Harris. ‘Is this true?’

Harris looked grim. ‘Yes, it’s true. It didn’t work, obviously, but we think that this was due to the corrupted software. There is another safety system which is more reliable than that.’

‘Which is?’

‘At weekly intervals, or as soon afterwards when the sub is able to, it must surface and send a coded request to base. When we receive this signal we need to send an acknowledgement back so the sub can continue its mission. If the sub fails to receive authorisation, or if it receives a signal which is incorrect in any detail, the sub fails safe.’

‘Which means what?’ enquired the President.

‘The sub aborts its mission, shuts down its weapon systems and finds the quickest way home’ responded Harris.

There was a short break while everyone thought about that.

‘What if the signal was intercepted or a different signal was sent?’ asked Jones.

‘Then the sub would fail safe and return home.’

‘When does the sub surface next?’ enquired the President.

Harris cleared his throat. ‘It should come up before midnight tonight. We programmed in some latitude in case the sub was otherwise occupied when it needed to confirm its orders. The window is up to 6 hours long. So by this time tomorrow, Cetus will be on its way home.’

The President breathed out slowly. He noticed one or two people around the table looking as relieved as he felt. But something still troubled him and he could not let it rest.

‘How certain are you that this system will work as planned?’ he asked.

‘As certain as I can be, Robert’ affirmed Harris. ‘If this doesn’t work, you can have my resignation.’

‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come that’ said the President gently. ‘Otherwise I will lose a friend as well as a colleague.’

* * *

‘No sleep for the wicked — are we all powered up and ready to go?’ Stan enquired. He surveyed the team. There were various nods amongst the staff and some of the more experienced technicians replied to his question with less than polite humour.

‘OK team, we are recalling Cetus when it surfaces. It’s due any time from now until six this morning. Chan, are you ready to respond?’

Chan indicated he was ready. He was the technician with responsibility for initiating the communication signals. Stan took one last look around and made his way to his desk.

* * *

In the southern Atlantic Cetus scanned its environment continuously. There were no indications of ships or submarines in a 10 mile radius around the submarine. It continued to scan for a whole hour until it was clear there was no threat.

Then it started to rise slowly until it reached a depth of two fathoms. A hatch opened quietly on the top of its short conning tower and a black buoy the size of a tennis ball slid out, rising rapidly to the surface. As it rose it trailed a thin wire connected to the communications centre in the submarine.

Bobbing on the inky waves in the dark of the night, the buoy was impossible to spot. Cetus sent its first broadcast back through the aerial attached. The electronic signal was encrypted and compressed and lasted no longer than three microseconds — too short a time for any surface ships to gain a fix.

* * *

‘Coming through’ yelled Chan.

‘Let’s see.’ Stan looked over Chan’s shoulder. ‘Yep — it’s the real thing. OK, send the pre-recorded recall sign’. Stan’s voice betrayed the tension they were all feeling.

Chan clicked the send button on his screen. ‘Signal sent!’ he reported a second later.

They waited impatiently.

‘Acknowledgement received!’ shouted Chan as soon as he saw the message appear on his screen.

The room erupted. Stan went round the technicians, shaking hands, hugging and backslapping.

‘Well done everyone!’ he shouted above the noise. ‘Well done!’

* * *

Natasha paced Stan’s office. ‘You remember I told you earlier I thought the sub had downloaded a virus?’

Stan nodded. How could he forget?

‘You know the main aim of all viruses?’

‘Replication’ said Stan without hesitation. They need to find another host, otherwise they die.’

‘Right Stan. Nearly 90 % of all code in a virus is written so that the virus can be sent to another computer and from there to another and another. That’s how millions of computers have become infected in the past.’

‘OK, we agree — but so what?’

‘Apart from that, what else do they do?’ asked Natasha.

‘Well, most also carry a payload. Usually a set of instructions that cause some problems for the computer that is playing host. Files could be deleted or renamed, or the registry is hacked — there are lots of nasty things a virus could do.’

‘Right again’, replied Natasha. ‘I think this virus carried a particular payload.’

‘Well, if it did, the sub is surely on the bottom’ replied Stan. ‘If it interfered with any of the on-board computers, the sub couldn’t last long. The operating systems would freeze up and with no control there would be no power and no navigation. The sub would sink.’

‘I don’t think this virus was like that. I think that the virus wasn’t meant to disable the sub, but to activate its weapons system.’

Stan thought for a minute. ‘Supposing that’s true, how did the virus come to be there in the first place?’

‘I think it was embedded in the Itinerary pack, but I don’t know how it got in there.’

‘One thing is for sure. Our systems are so highly customised, no ordinary virus would be able to affect them.’

‘Yes’, mused Natasha. ‘That’s probably why none of our anti-virus programs picked it up. They only catch viruses that are already known to exist. Which means…?’

‘Which means’ continued Stan, ‘that the virus was never released anywhere else. It was designed specifically for the project, for this one time only, and for one purpose only.’

Natasha agreed. ‘It’s more devastating than I first imagined. I just hope I’m not right. I keep thinking there is something else I’m missing, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.’

‘You’d better try and get some sleep’ said Stan. ‘You’ll need all your strength for tomorrow. I’ll inform the DOD.’ Stan started back to his office.

‘Oh Stan’, Natasha got up. ‘I’ve remembered.’

Stan turned back.

‘You agreed that nearly 90 % of virus code is there just so a virus can move from one host to another.’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘You agreed that this virus could have only been meant for the sub’s computers — just the computers on board.’

‘Natasha, I don’t see what you’re driving at?’

‘Well, this virus doesn’t need 90 % of its code to infect millions of computers — only the few that are on-board.’

‘OK, but I still don’t see your point.’

‘Stan, if 90 % of the code is not needed to infect other computers, what is it designed to do?’

Stan halted at the door, stunned as the thought sank home.

Chapter 12

‘Jack Langham?’

In the background the wail of a burglar alarm could be heard.

‘Yes, who is this?’

‘Police Officer Daniel White from the Patrol Division. Are you the key holder to 1170 Edes Street?’

‘Yes — why, is there a problem officer?’

‘Not really a problem, no. We were alerted by a neighbour that your burglar alarm had gone off. We’re at the property now, but there’s no sign that anyone was trying to break in. We think it’s just a fault on your alarm, sir. Problem is, we can’t switch it off. Can you come to the property?’

‘We’ve only just left on vacation.’

‘Well, you’ll have to turn it off sir, it’s disturbing the neighbours. When can you get back?’

‘Look officer, could you do that? There is a spare key under the plant pot in the drive. I can give you the alarm code.’

‘Well, that would be very unusual.’

‘I would be really grateful if you could officer.’

‘Very well, let me have the code and I’ll make sure we include your house in our patrols for the next week or so.’

When Langham gave him the code, Sean thanked him and closed the call. He signalled for DD to turn off the fake alarm.

‘Not a bad American accent’ said DD.

Sean grinned. ‘Looks like we’re on.’ He drove around the area slowly, noting possible escape routes, then parked two streets away from the house. They both slipped on dark rubber gloves before getting out of the car.

The house showed no lights and they crunched over the gravel drive as quietly as they could. A plant pot stood by the door with a fine spray of pampas grass. Lifting it up Sean found the key. An external security light came on before he could get the key in the lock.

They entered quietly and DD headed straight for the burglar alarm in the hallway. It was ticking like a grandfather clock. When DD pressed in the code, the ticking stopped.

Sean looked around in the gloom. All the curtains were closed, but light trickled from the street via the front door transom. He turned on a flashlight and started a search, going quickly from room to room. The kitchen and living areas didn’t take long to check. Off the hallway he entered a large room which looked much more interesting. This was an office, holding a desk, filing cabinets and bookshelves. High up in a corner of the ceiling opposite the door a web cam overlooked the room. It was possible that Jack had wired this up separately to the security system and Sean pointed it out to DD.

Amongst the collection of papers and pens on the desk was a desktop PC. The screen was blank, but DD could tell the PC was switched on because of the green tell-tale lights on the front. DD nudged the mouse and the screen lit up. Jack had not bothered to password protect the PC when waking from sleep mode. DD shook his head, sat down in front of the computer and turned on the desk light. He began by opening a browser and typed in the address of an Internet site. Immediately the site responded with one line of text.

Current IP Address: 84.12.141.72

DD made a note of the number and then cleared the browser history so that the owner would not suspect someone had been using his computer. From his rucksack he produced a hard drive which he connected into the back of the desktop PC.

While DD was copying the drive, Sean checked out a sturdy looking grey filing cabinet. It was locked but he found the key amongst a pile of papers on the top. As far as he could tell the files in the cabinet all related to domestic matters.

Sean looked more carefully at the papers on the top. He found a letter from a holiday park for a 10-night stay, dated three days earlier. He looked through the waste bin and then the rest of the room, but found nothing more of interest. He went back to the desk and started checking through the drawers. In the topmost one he spotted a USB key. He took it out and examined it under the light of the desk lamp. He showed it to DD, who gave him the thumbs up sign. He swapped them over, substituting DD’s key for the one in the drawer.

DD signed that he needed five more minutes to complete the disk copy. Sean went upstairs and found a gym in one of the bedrooms. The only item of note was a small semi-automatic in the bedside drawer in the master bedroom.

On the way out, DD re-armed the alarm.

* * *

Even with the USB key, cracking Jack Langham’s password was proving difficult. DD’s first job was to find the password Jack used to log in to his home computer. Once he found that he would be able to find his work password and credentials.

He fished around in his rucksack and brought out a half dozen CDs. On one laptop DD loaded a program that automatically tried various combinations and permutations of letters and numbers in case the password was not an English word found in the dictionary. On another laptop DD started to load the information he knew about Jack — his name, address, telephone number, family names and names of work colleagues. These items went into a database which the program would use to find a password match. DD used different password cracking programs on the remaining laptops, leaving one computer free to keep in touch with base and for access to the Internet.

He looked around the room. In a way it reminded him of a circus performer spinning plates. DD needed to check each computer in turn to see how far it had got with its program.

Half an hour later one of the laptops bleeped. DD pounced on it. Flashing on the screen was the password Jack used for his home PC. Quickly DD typed this in and was rewarded with access to all the files on the disk. Using the same password he opened Jack’s email account and whistled. He picked up his mobile and dialled Lomax.

‘Lomax. Receiving you strength ten. How’s it going?’

Strength ten meant that Lomax was clear.

‘I’ve just got in to Jack’s private email account. You ought to see some of the pictures I’m looking at right now — they’re pornographic!’

‘So?’

‘Well Jack’s featuring in all of them — one way or another!’

Lomax considered the information. ‘Could be someone’s blackmailing him. Can you trace the sender?’

‘I’ll have a go, but don’t hold out much hope. It’s just too easy to mask email identities.’

‘Give it a try anyway. What about Langham’s work access?’

‘I should have more for you later today.’

‘Give me call when you do. Oh, one other thing’ continued Lomax. ‘London called. They changed their minds — or possibly had their minds changed for them. We’re clear to continue, for now.’

‘Thank God for that’, said DD. ‘But why?’

‘They didn’t say’ said Lomax. ‘But you need to be cautious. Remember your security procedures.’

‘I’m not likely to forget now, am I?’ said DD.

* * *

‘Explain’ said the President curtly.

‘Sir, the sub raised its buoy shortly after midnight. We squirted a pre-prepared acknowledgement, after which the sub sent back a code. Initially we didn’t look at the code too closely until later this morning — the fact that it had acknowledged our signal and responded in the correct sequence was good enough for the programming team, so they told the military that everything was OK.’

The President kneaded both temples with his fingers. ‘So now you’re going to tell me it’s not alright?’

‘This is the message we got back.’ Harris handed him a slip of paper with a word written in capitals.

OMWH

‘Well, what does it mean?’ asked the President.

‘The message stands for On My Way Home. It’s what we were expecting. But what the science team forgot was we should have also received a second string. It should have signed off with CET, standing for CETUS of course. At the moment, we don’t know why we didn’t get that second string.’

The President looked at Harris curiously. ‘Well, it’s not that obvious to me either — enlighten me.’

Harris looked down at the slip of paper. ‘I think it’s telling us that we are no longer in control.’

The President turned away and walked over to the window. He looked out at the green expanse of lawn and the breeze blowing the last of the autumn leaves. It was hard to imagine that a substantial threat lurked in the depths of the sea some several thousand miles away. But he knew better than to ignore it.

‘There is something else…’ Harris tailed off as the President turned around.

‘Let me have it Robert — I need to know everything.’

Harris steeled himself. ‘It means that somehow the computer systems aboard have been infected with a program which has forced it to ignore our instructions. The sub has turned rogue.’

‘We know that, for God’s sake’ said the President, voice raised. ‘What I want to know is what are we doing about it?’

Harris ticked off each item on his fingers. ‘First, we formed a high-level crisis team, which is in permanent session. Two, I’ve sent my best man to join the Anti-Submarine Warfare task force we sent earlier. We’re turning it around and having more assets join further north. Three, we involved the FBI in trying to track down how the project team security was breached. Obviously, if we get a handle on that, we might trace the person responsible.’

Harris glanced at the President. ‘Four, we have called in a few favours with strategic space command and have re-scheduled four of our military satellites to try and track the sub’s position.’

Harris cleared his throat. ‘Five, we have alerted all our military shipping in the southern Atlantic.’ Harris gauged the look on his President’s face. ‘We are close to the time when we need to alert all commercial shipping in the area.’

‘What would the effect of that be?’

‘Chaos Robert’, said Harris quietly. ‘We would need to keep every ship in port — even then there could be no guarantees’, said Harris despondently. ‘That sub could slip into the most heavily guarded ports in the world.’ Harris was startled at his next thought. ‘Could be, it might even move in on us. If that happened we would need to start protection measures at all of our naval ports on the Eastern seaboard. As of now.’ Harris looked at the President for his reaction.

‘Just let me get one thing straight, Harris’ questioned the President. Is this a random virus which it picked up somehow, or… something else?’

Harris twisted his hands. ‘None of us believe it’s a common computer virus. For one thing, the computer systems on the sub are not standard and anti-virus security on the project was tight. No. Stanislawski says his team leader believes it was made especially for the sub. Someone wrote this virus specifically to rob us of our most advanced underwater weapons system.’

Paradoxically, the President appeared to become calmer as the news grew worse.

‘If that’s the case’ said the President, ‘what is the object? Is it going to roam the ocean, attempting to sink every American ship and submarine in its path, or is there something else?’

‘That’s a possibility Robert’, said Harris. ‘If it’s a foreign power they might have wanted to snatch it from us. I don’t need to remind you of the importance of the weapon system. If we lose it to China, say, we can kiss goodbye to the billions we have already spent on this project and hand them a ten year lead in underwater stealth technology.’

The President seemed to make up his mind. ‘Right Harris, since only ships belonging to our navy have been attacked, I want you to take all necessary measures to protect them. Your number one priority is to find and stop that sub — by whatever means you feel necessary. Next I want you to alert the CIA and the Pentagon to a possible Chinese angle to this. If there’s any covert operation in chain, I want to know. I want an update at 8am every 24 hrs from now on. Meanwhile, I have some calls to make.’

After the door closed, the President picked up the phone.

‘Any progress on your investigation?’ he asked. He listened for a few moments, then replied ‘OK, keep looking.’ The President listened some more, then muttered under his breath. ‘What in God’s name are the Brits doing in all of this?’

Chapter 13

‘Five minutes to landing sir,’ shouted the flight engineer over the roar of the engines. He indicated McIver’s harness. ‘Can I give you a hand?’

Rear Admiral ‘Jock’ McIver reached for the safety strap and gripped it tight to prevent him pitching forward into the vast and largely empty body of the Chinook. In his other hand he clutched a briefcase and a sheaf of papers — operational orders for his upcoming assignment. God knows why they had decided to send such a big transport for just one person.

McIver tucked the papers away into his brief case and struggled to get up from the floor with the engineer assisting. When he was on his feet the engineer looked more closely at McIver before backing away.

‘Sorry sir, I thought I recognised your face. Are you the guy that saved a helicopter crew from drowning — about two years ago?’

McIver grunted. It was more like three years ago and it had been on board another Chinook like this one. The flight engineer was careless in doing up the buckles of his harness. He hadn’t pulled the cinches tight and he failed to test them.

That was when powerful alarm bells went off in McIver’s mind and he insisted that they delay arrival on the target by 15 minutes. As expected both pilot and navigator kicked up a fuss, but McIver outranked them. In the end he had to give them an order. Then he went over each of his own team’s kit with the engineer, making sure that he pulled all the straps tight. He insisted that they wore life jackets on top of the rest of their gear. He gave them a pep talk and when he had finished he had his second in command check over his own kit. That, more than anything else, had saved his life and the lives of his team and the crew.

The crew had objected when he insisted that they wore their life jackets too. But they were forever grateful he did. Five kilometres away from the drop zone the main engine started to give trouble and the pilot made to turn back. After two kilometres and losing height, the forward rotor engine spluttered and died all together.

On the way down McIver recited the procedure for ditching at sea, shouting above the roar of the one remaining engine. He ensured everyone’s flashlights were on and that they knew exactly where the exit hatches were. In the last few minutes he told them the order at which they would make their escape because he knew just how devastating uncontrolled panic could be. Shortly before impact the big chopper started to circle in a dizzying spiral. McIver shouted, telling them how to avoid the sense of disorientation. He ordered an exit hatch to be opened and the staff sergeant kicked out an emergency survival pack into the dark of the night.

They hit with an astonishing force. But above the noise of the crash and the surge of water filling up the interior, McIver continued to shout instructions. Thanks to his calm authority they all made it out of the machine and up to the surface. Those out first swam towards the survival pack and pulled the tabs to inflate the life raft. Those out last found it waiting for them.

Later it was discovered that fuel contamination was to blame for the crash and out of five helicopters taking part in the exercise, only McIver’s was affected. Two of the other crews picked them up about fifteen minutes later.

It was rare for everyone to survive a crash over water in those conditions. A few days later, the crew presented him with a signed certificate which still hung in his wardroom.

* * *

Despite the lashing rain produced by a local storm cell they made a safe landing on the rear deck of the lead Cruiser of the Anti-Submarine Warfare group — the USS Port Royal. As he climbed down onto the apron, McIver saw Captain Jim Armstrong waiting for him in the shelter of a stair well. Armstrong hurried over and reached forward to shake his hand. McIver turned back towards the helicopter and waved his thanks to the pilot and crew.

A few minutes later Captain Armstrong held open the door to his cabin and followed McIver in. McIver gave the room a quick glance. There was a tiny conference desk with four chairs around it. Leading off was a door to the bedroom and another to the bathroom. Some family photos were positioned along the shelf around the room. Overall, it looked more like an office than the Captain’s living quarters.

‘Drink?’ Armstrong enquired.

McIver nodded and removed his wet coat, then sat while the Captain poured a stiff measure of Bourbon. He raised his glass in a brief salute.

‘I suppose you’re wondering what’s brought me out this far?’

The Captain pursed his lips. ‘You could say that Admiral.’

‘No need for rank in here Jim. Jack will do.’

‘Jack it is then’, agreed the Captain. ‘I have heard about you.’

‘Not all bad, I hope?’ asked McIver.

‘No — one of our more senior ranks on-board, a Lieutenant commander Wilson, was on a tour with you a couple of years back. He told me there’s some scuttlebutt about possible promotion to a White House posting.’

‘Is that right?’ murmured McIver and swallowed a mouthful of the Bourbon. ‘If he hears any more, I’d be grateful if you would give me advance warning.’

Armstrong grinned as he poured a drink for himself. ‘Well Jack, you know what it’s like. Anyway, you must be in a hurry…’

McIver studied the remains of his drink. ‘It may be a wild goose chase Jim, but the top brass are having a combined hissy fit over this one. I’ve never seen them so… worried.’

‘What can you tell me?’ asked the Captain.

McIver took another sip. ‘Practically nothing Jim, because I know next to nothing.’

McIver sat back in his chair. The warmth of the cabin and the heat from the bourbon made him feel exhausted and the weariness nearly overwhelmed him. ‘You were sent into the southern Atlantic to find an experimental sub.’

‘I was given a rough area to search, but nothing appeared on the radar.’

‘There’s a possibility it has turned north. It might even be on its way to New York.’

Armstrong sucked his teeth. ‘Is everyone serious about this, or is there a chance that this might all blow over before morning?’ asked Armstrong finally.

‘It’s possible’, conceded McIver. ‘But I wouldn’t count on it. Apparently this thing is out of control, so I can’t see it suddenly reverting to its original orders for no reason. I think we are going to have to find it.’

‘We didn’t find it in the southern ocean, so what chance will we have of finding in the north?’

‘True’ replied McIver. But this ASW group is my secret weapon. My instinct tells me the sub is likely to have a pop at anything, so you are my magnet that will help me find the needle.’

‘And then what?’ Armstrong asked. ‘If this rogue sub is as powerful as they say and my group finds itself under attack, it might sink us all.’

McIver finished his drink in one long swallow. ‘If it finds us first, we need to be prepared. That’s why I’m beefing up the task force — another group are joining us in the next 24 hours.’

McIver eyed up the man in front of him. ‘If it finds us first, I’m depending on you Jim.’

* * *

‘Looks like Jack Langham set his web cam up just before he went away.’ DD spoke while tapping on his laptop.

Sean and Lomax looked over his shoulder. The picture was so dark it wasn’t possible to make out anything. Then a light flared. It was the desk light, illuminating the desk and the area around it. A dark shape moved slowly at the periphery of the picture.

‘That’s you Sean, creeping about the room just like a regular burglar!’ chortled DD. ‘I’ll wipe this and disable the web cam drivers. That way it’ll look like a computer glitch.’

‘Go back before then, DD’ said Sean. ‘If you leave any pictures on the computer, Jack might work out that they stop around the same time as the call from the patrol officer.’

‘Sure thing.’ DD turned around to face his audience.

‘I’ve managed to hack into SeaTek Research’s network using the Jack’s USB key and the passwords I found earlier. ‘I’ve had a good look around, especially at Ben’s home area and I found a root kit containing a key logger.’

DD guessed that would need some explanation. ‘This is a program that’s hidden on Ben’s computer. A root kit is very, very difficult to find. How it got there, I don’t know — or who put it there in the first place. The root kit contains a key logger — which means exactly what it says. It logs every keystroke made. The program is designed to report everything that happens on his computer. All the emails that are received, all the legitimate programs that are used, all the data input into the programs, every keystroke that a person types is recorded and all the information is sent on.’

‘Where to?’ Lomax asked.

‘That’s the most interesting part in all this. I haven’t been able to discover its ultimate destination. I can tell you how all the info is being slipped out overnight. It’s disguised as ordinary Internet traffic, so it goes out through the firewall without being stopped or examined.’

‘Could London help?’ Lomax pressed.

‘I’ve been in touch and sent a lot of detail over. It has them foxed too.’

‘Tell me what you do know then’.

‘Well it’s all very cleverly done. The info is sent to a website. I know which one and I know a little bit about it — for instance, I know the server is located in Russia.’

‘Russia!’

‘Don’t get too excited’, replied DD. ‘Chances are it’s not a Russian operation. It could be leased by anyone, located anywhere else in the world. Remember, the Internet is a global operation.’

DD stopped to collect his thoughts. ‘London discovered that the company that owns the server is Italian. But when they ran a company search on who is renting the space they couldn’t find any trace of it. We know the company’s bankers are in the Cayman Islands and it has numbered Swiss bank accounts. Its lawyers are Belgian, yet they cannot tell me any more than what I know already. The lawyers are instructed via emails and you know how easy it is to fake the sender’s address of an email.’

‘Is there nothing more you can do?’ asked Lomax.

DD sounded frustrated. ‘I’ve done everything I can think of doing. There are still a lot of details to follow up on, but it could be days before I make a breakthrough. Even then, it’s possible I’ll hit another stone wall. The person that set this up has done a master job on hiding the real identity of the owner.’

‘OK, let’s look at it from another angle. Can you track down all the calls Langham made? There might be a connection there.’

‘Yes boss, I’ll get right on to it.’ DD didn’t move.

‘Well, what is it?’ asked Lomax impatiently.

‘While I was on the SeaTek network, I took a look around. You know, accounts, payroll, that kind of thing.’ DD grabbed a notebook and flipped through some pages.

‘I checked out the HR database. There is a facility to attach encrypted private notes against staff records. I only found notes against one person — Natasha Moore.’

‘And what do they say?’ asked Lomax.

‘She is the liaison person for SeaTek — with the National Security Agency.’

* * *

Schaeffer pulled the net curtain aside and looked down across the main road to the chapel opposite. He was in a rented third floor office within clear sight of the chapel and its grounds.

Taking out a range finder, he determined the distance to the door of the chapel was 215 metres, well within the operational range of the rifle. He observed the trees behind the wall around the chapel. They would partially obscure the funeral party. On the other hand, he could clearly see the leaves waving in the breeze. This would be a useful telltale, giving him first hand information about wind speed and direction. Even though the distance was relatively short, it would still be important when fine tuning the telescopic sight.

Schaeffer bent down to unpack the rifle from its custom built briefcase. It was a VSS ‘Vintorez’, made in Russia for their special forces. Short and stubby with a wooden stock, it looked more like a cross between a rifle and a shotgun. But Schaeffer liked it for its gas-operated sound suppression system. That meant the rifle was accurate and almost silent in operation.

For the next five minutes Schaeffer assembled the rifle and set about finding the best firing position from the window. When he was comfortable he began to load the magazine with 10 sub-sonic rounds. Although the ammunition was not high-velocity, the rounds were tipped with hardened steel and could penetrate body armour — not that Schaeffer expected anyone to be wearing any.

He settled down to wait.

* * *

Sean drove into the parking area. No-one had tailed him on the way here. Before stepping out of the car, he looked around carefully. There were several people outside a low modern brick building across the road, but from this distance he couldn’t say how many.

After a few minutes he got out and walked over the footbridge to the building which had a small sign indicating the chapel and crematorium. It was very bright and as Sean walked towards the mourners he could feel the warm wind buffeting his face. There were several small groups clustered around the entrance. Sean saw Natasha and headed over to her. She was listening to a man offering sympathy, judging by the way he touched her arm.

‘Good Morning’, Sean said politely.

Natasha turned and introduced him to the group. ‘This is Sean Quinlan, an old friend of Ben’s from England.’ Natasha introduced her work colleagues Bozena Stanislawski, Bill Hayes, Cary Thorn, Jill White and John Castillo the Systems Manager.

Sean saw the hearse draw up and the conversation stopped. Sombrely dressed pall bearers removed the coffin, placed it on a silver trolley and began to walk slowly with it into the crematorium. Before following them inside, Sean checked the parked cars. One caught his attention. It was a compact with tinted windows, parked under a tree which offered some shade. From this angle he could just make out a single occupant in the driver’s position. The car had been there when he arrived and the driver had not moved since.

The pall bearers stopped to allow the mourners form a line behind them. Natasha indicated that Sean should accompany her behind the coffin. Sean caught the faint sound of a car engine revving a great distance away.

The minister came out of the building, together with two altar boys in cassocks. He said a prayer then turned around to lead the procession into the chapel. Sean looked around for the last time. The air was still. A puff of brick dust sprayed the mourners.

Sean leapt into action.

Chapter 14

There was no warning. Natasha collapsed as Sean literally brought her to the ground. She was too surprised to cry out. From that moment on the picture became confused. She saw the procession scatter and the pall bearers quickly abandon the coffin. A bystander fell to the ground, apparently hit. She felt Sean take her under his arms, pick her up and run with her to the cover of some trees.

A moment later he stuck his head above the stone wall scanning the buildings opposite. He stayed there a full minute before leaning over her.

‘Stay put’ he said quickly before sprinting to the car park.

Natasha had a good view of Sean as he ran, crouching low to shield himself amongst the cars. He approached one car in particular and dragged the man out of the driver’s seat. He was so fast the man didn’t have time to respond. She saw Sean dip into the man’s jacket pocket and pull out his wallet. She could she him flipping it over before giving it back. He appeared to give the man instructions, pointing across the street.

The man set off across the road at a run, pulling a gun from inside his jacket. Meanwhile Sean ran to the fallen pall bearer, picking him up and taking him to the cover of the trees. He felt for a pulse and then began to examine the man’s body for signs of gunshot wounds. It appeared that the man had been shot in the ankle and Sean improvised a bandage around the man’s calf. Raising the leg up he placed a rock from the flower border underneath.

For a brief moment there was absolute silence then Natasha heard groans coming from the mourners on the ground. Cautiously Sean began to assist them to the cover of the wall.

Natasha realised that she was breathing rapidly, as though she had run a hundred metres at the Olympics. She was too terrified to move. She could hear a police car siren and a few minutes later Sean was back. Natasha felt his warm hand gently brush her cheek.

‘We should go’ he said quietly.

* * *

As Sean drove, he glanced quickly at Natasha. She looked frightened. Her face was pale and Sean detected a tremor in her hands. He found a tissue and she used it to wipe her face.

‘Have you any idea why this happened?’

Natasha shook her head. Sean pulled up outside the apartment and Natasha blew into another tissue. She seemed to arrive at a decision and straightened herself up.

‘This wasn’t the first attack. I had a bad scare two nights ago.’ Natasha drew a shaky breath and related the story. As she relived the experience she caught her breath, trying to suppress the fear she felt. Sean hesitated, then reached out and drew her to him.

Eventually she sat back up. ‘The policeman said they would keep an eye on the apartment for me. I thought that would be enough to keep them away. I thought I would never see them again. This morning was like a bad nightmare.’

Sean rubbed her shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s go in.’

As Sean got out he saw a car parked further down the street. He could make out a figure in the driver seat, reading a paper. Maybe another watcher from the FBI, or possibly the local police fulfilling their earlier promise?

They went in and Sean busied himself making some tea for Natasha and coffee for himself. When he came back into the sitting room he found Natasha on the sofa. He gave her the mug of tea.

‘Get your chops outside of this.’

‘Pardon?’

‘It’s just a saying we have in England. It means drink up, or get this inside you.’

Natasha smiled briefly and warmed her hands around the mug. Sean sat down on the chair opposite.

‘I know it must be difficult for you to talk about it, especially now, so soon after the cremation. But I don’t have much longer in America and I’m curious. Do you mind me asking if you and Ben were seeing each other?’

Natasha sighed. ‘Yes, recently we started to going out more often. I miss him.’

‘I am sorry, Natasha. Did he ever tell you about problems he might be having?’

She stopped to think about it. ‘He never said anything. He preferred not to talk about work.’

‘Do you know if anything had happened to him before? Perhaps his house was burgled like yours?’

Natasha frowned. ‘No, he would have mentioned something like that.’

‘You told me before that recently he was tired. You thought it might have been to do with the hours he was working.’

‘In the last month or so he was working all hours, but he wouldn’t tell me if there was anything bothering him.’ Natasha reflected. ‘I think that’s about all I know.’

‘OK, I’ll stop asking questions now and let you get some rest.’ Sean got up to go.

‘Well’ said Natasha, recovering her composure. ‘I might have a few questions of my own’ she said with a sad smile.

‘In which case I’ll do my best to answer them.’ Sean sat down again.

‘Tell me about yourself. What do you do in England?’

‘I’m surprised Ben didn’t mention that’ replied Sean guardedly. ‘I work for the government — mainly a trouble-shooter for the Navy, but I get loaned out to various departments.’

‘I see. What sort of work is that?’

‘Anything that comes my way. One time I helped find a gang stealing Navy stores from the docks. A lot of my time is spent writing reports, for example on the amount of stock missing from our bonded warehouses. Mostly it’s really boring.’ Sean gave her a tired smile.

The example he gave Natasha had actually happened. In the very early days Sean had been tasked to investigate an organised gang stealing from the Navy on a grand scale. Under the guise of a Navy auditor he was able to observe some members of the gang at the dockyard. But before he had enough evidence to bring them in, one of the gang grew suspicious and Sean was the recipient of a bad beating. The scars still ached on cold winter days.

‘Tell me about it’ asked Natasha.

Sean opened his hands. ‘I’m afraid I can’t. Look, you’re not allowed to talk about your work in detail to anyone. Well, I’m bound in the same way.’

‘I see’ said Natasha. ‘So you work for the British government? You’re not like James Bond, are you?’

Sean laughed. ‘You mean the girls, the excitement, the double oh licence to kill?’

Sean noticed Natasha was looking at him carefully.

He shook his head. ‘No, it’s nothing like that. First, I’m not a spy. It’s true I’ve been involved in the odd rough and tumble, but I don’t carry a gun. I don’t have a licence to kill, let alone thrill!’

Natasha put her mug down on the table.

‘Natasha, I’m worried about you. Is there somewhere else you could stay?’ he asked.

‘Why would I want to do that?’

‘Your boyfriend was murdered. You were chased through the streets and this morning there was another attempt on your life. They obviously know where you live and they might be back.’

Natasha dismissed his fears with a wave. ‘It’s OK. The police are on the case. They said they would send a squad car to watch over the apartment. I’m sure I’ll be OK.’

Sean was about to speak again when Natasha intervened. ‘I know’, she interjected. ‘Thanks for the your interest in my welfare, but I will be OK.’

‘I am sure you will.’ Sean replied firmly. ‘But right now you’re in shock. You are understandably emotional — who wouldn’t be after what happened this morning?’

‘You may be right’ responded Natasha testily. ‘But I draw the line at a baby sitter.’

‘OK, well at least I tried.’ Sean looked at his watch. ‘I had better be going. Are you sure there is nothing more I can do for you?’

‘No thank you’ she replied dryly. ‘I think you’ve done enough already.’

As Sean drove away he noticed the unmarked car had been replaced by a different model. The new car pulled out into the road and starting to follow him from a distance of two blocks. So much for the police promise to protect Natasha’s apartment, he thought.

* * *

Running at 10 knots, a black shadow glided silently five hundred metres below the waves. Her instruments detected a surface force at maximum range. Immediately Cetus shut down her own active sonar systems. After a small course correction she began to reel out the passive sonar towed array. The hydrophones attached to the array began feeding signals directly to the on-board digital signal processor.

As she drew closer, Cetus began to register the faint signals of a cluster of surface ships. The signal processor collected all sound emissions, filtered out background noises and converted the remainder into digital signals. A huge database of previously recorded material was accessed to lookup a match and tag the source.

At that moment no less than 18 warships were registering: a mix of destroyers, frigates, re-fuelling tankers and an aircraft carrier. Cetus was unable to solve the puzzle why so many ships from different navies were in such close proximity. She had no way of knowing that she had just blundered into a joint exercise between US and NATO fleets.

The first ship to be identified was the HMS Illustrious, the UK’s only remaining aircraft carrier. The digital processor began to identify other ships: the Spanish frigate Adm Juan de Borbón, the German frigate FGS Lübeck, the US frigate USS Taylor and the Polish frigate ORP General K Pulaski.

By now Cetus had identified 11 ships. Like a computerised game of chess, the main battle computer on board mapped out their positions, bearings and speed. As each position was plotted, plans of attack were proposed, considered and rejected or retained for later evaluation.

In truth the computer made these plans out of habit because it was programmed to do so. But none of these targets were on its acquisition list. Nevertheless if any of them threatened Cetus it would know well in advance what counter measures it had to take and it could respond without hesitation.

Even as the signals continued to be filtered and processed, Cetus began to reel in her passive sonar array in preparation for flight or fight.

But Cetus’ main preoccupation was with a target much further north and it was programmed to avoid anything that got in the way. As the fleet was southeast bound Cetus made another course correction south-west in an attempt to avoid them completely. In doing so it failed to detect the last of three submarines assigned to protect the fleet. HMS Astute drew the ‘tail-end Charlie’ position, located four miles south and three miles behind the last frigate. Astute was the largest and deadliest hunter-killer submarine ever built. As long as a football pitch and as wide as a four lane motorway, the UK’s first stealth submarine made less noise under water than a baby dolphin. She was the lead ship of the Astute class of nuclear-powered attack submarines and she lay directly in the path of Cetus.

Cetus picked up the tiny noises made by cavitations of the Astute’s propeller and matched these on its database. Caught between the submarine and the tail end of the fleet, Cetus had run out of options. To add to her difficulty Cetus’ computers knew that Astute’s sonar was so sensitive that she could continue to follow Cetus for up to 3,000 nautical miles.

* * *

‘Ops controller! Passive has a new contact on a bearing of 165 degrees.’

On board the Astute Commander Roger Thwaite also knew the outstanding capabilities of his sonar equipment and could not understand how the new item had only just been detected. ‘Active ping!’ Thwaite commanded.

The Astute sent out a high power sonar signal radiating in all directions. Any sound reflected back would be picked up by the Astute’s computers and converted into a radar-type picture on the scope. But it was already too late.

* * *

As soon as Cetus heard the active ping its own computer systems went into attack mode. On-board computers had already powered up the sonic cannon to low power and the sub aligned itself in advance of its target. Rather like a sportsman on a clay pigeon shoot, Cetus needed to aim in front of the target. Sound waves from its weapon were surprisingly slow in traversing the dense water of the Atlantic. If Cetus didn’t compensate, by the time they arrived the target would have moved on. The computer systems ensured that by using the technique of ‘leading’ the beam in front of the direction of travel, the deadly sound waves would connect with the target.

* * *

The impact of the sonic waves pounding on Astute’s hull created a noise like the sound of a jet aircraft taking off in the room. Loose articles on tables fizzed and jumped about, spilling to the floor.

‘Sir!’ called out the Ship Control. ‘After plane controls are becoming hard to handle! Initiating Emergency Operating Procedure.’

The commander acknowledged. ‘Petty Officer, issue ear muffs!’

Petty officer Saunders opened a cupboard and started distributing headsets to everyone in the control centre. While they didn’t block out all of the sound energy, it protected ear drums from pain and possible rupture. Commander Thwaite began calling out evasion manoeuvres to shake off the attack.

‘Rudder jamming!’ called out the second helmsman.

The volume of noise in the confined space rose again.

‘Sir’ the Chief Petty Officer shouted. ‘Reports from junior ratings in the bunk section. Nearly all are suffering from bleeding from the ears.’

Thwaite turned to his XO. ‘Any ideas about the source of the attack Smithy?’

Executive Officer Smith shook his head. ‘I think it’s time to leave.’

‘Action stations!’ Thwaite ordered immediately. ‘Surface, surface, surface!’ If the hull was breached he wanted to give his men the best opportunity they could to escape.

Above all the noise and confusion came a huge ‘whump’ of an explosion that rolled up and down the narrow gangways of the Astute. Glass smashed in some of the gauges and men were thrown off their feet. Thwaite clung to his chair while asking all sections for damage reports. Many of the seamen were overpowered by the explosion, noise and vibration to report anything meaningful.

‘Hull intact — so far!’ shouted the watch leader.

As HMS Astute powered towards the surface, the senior sonar rating thumbed his mike. ‘Commander, sonar. We have contact bearing 162 degrees. Unable to identify source.’

‘Torpedo room, prepare tubes one and two. Open the outer doors!’ the Commander snapped.

Another huge ‘whump’ crashed through the steelwork and smoke started to pour into the control room.

‘Fire torpedoes one and two!’

‘Torpedoes away and clear!’ The report from the torpedo room was drowned out by a cry from his executive officer.

‘Hull breeched! We are taking on water!’ yelled the XO.

‘Blow main tanks’ the Commander shouted above the din.

The submarine rocked as another explosion ripped through the close confines of the boat.

Chapter 15

The shock wave from the torpedo explosion radiated outward from the centre like an expanding ball. Cetus had little time to manoeuvre or prepare but it managed to face the wave front before it engulfed the submarine.

The effect on Cetus was similar to being hit on the nose: it was slammed back and the aftershocks buffeted it further. Its sonar receptors would have been damaged beyond repair if the overload protection circuit hadn’t kicked in and shut them down the instant before the compression wave hit.

Cetus recovered quickly and re-balanced its sonar sensitivity. Somewhere out in the darkness another torpedo was homing in.

Fifty milliseconds later Cetus boosted power to its electric engine and called the evasion package for another course change. The operating systems driving Cetus acted in full defensive mode. It determined the sub needed to put as much distance between itself and the source of the threat. The preferred course took it directly into the path of the previous explosion, saving it from certain extinction.

Demanding full power from the nuclear reactor plant, the sub put a hundred metres behind it as the second torpedo exploded well to the rear. By the time the wave front from this explosion caught up with the fleeing sub it had covered another 20 metres. It caused the sub to tumble through the water but no lasting damage was caused.

* * *

HMS Astute wasn’t faring so well. The flagship submarine of the British Navy was on her way to the bottom.

‘All fire parties to their stations! Blow remaining tanks. Call out depth!’ shouted Commander Roger Thwaite.

There was a flurry of activity as men ran to their stations and started to report damage.

‘500 metres and descending!’ shouted out Ship Control.

At least the vibrations caused by the unknown enemy had stopped. The Commander turned to his second officer. ‘Check how the team are dealing with the hull breech will you? Anything else they need, make sure they get it.’

‘550 metres’ called out Ship Control.

Although the Commander knew that the maximum operational depth of the boat was 550 metres, no-one really knew what the crush depth was. Thwaite didn’t want to find out either — his life and the lives of the 98 men on board were at stake.

‘Reverse screw.’

‘Reversing screw’ echoed the throttle control-panel operator.

They were still heading down bow first. The Commander calculated that the drag created by reversing the propeller at the stern might slow the descent.

‘580 metres’ sang out the Ship Control.

Was it his imagination or was the rate of descent becoming less? Even so compression noises from the hull were increasing.

The speaker crackled. ‘Executive Officer reporting. Team have breech under control. Water is still entering but it will be contained in the next 10 minutes.’

‘Thank you XO’ replied the Commander. ‘Try to make it sooner rather than later.’

‘600 metres.’ The speaker could not quite eliminate the fear in his voice.

‘Increase revolutions.’

A judder ran throughout the length of the boat and the noise from propeller cavitations could be heard.

‘620 metres’ called out Ship Control. Sharp cracks could be heard as the outer hull compressed under the weight of water.

Commander Thwaite looked aft as his XO arrived back on station. He raised an eyebrow.

‘Water ingress has stopped sir and we’ve patched the breech for now.’

‘Thank you Smithy’ said the Commander dispassionately.

‘630 metres’ called out the Ship Control.

‘Any other suggestions?’ asked the Commander quietly.

The XO thought for a moment. ‘Maybe if we reduced the cavitations we might get a better reverse thrust?’ he said hopefully.

The Commander knew that cavitations were pockets of air created by the propeller thrashing the water too quickly. By slowing its rotational speed the Executive Officer hoped for greater reverse thrust as the propellers increased contact with the surrounding water.

‘I’ll try anything right now,’ said the Commander as he picked up the mike.

‘Reduce revolutions to prevent cavitations.’

‘Reducing revolutions to prevent cavitations’ echoed the throttle control-panel operator.

‘638 metres’ called out the Ship Control.

There was a particularly sharp crack. Some ratings ducked their heads, afraid that the hull was about to implode under the pressure of the ocean depths.

‘640 metres’ Ship Control called out. ‘Descent halted!’

* * *

After Sean had gone Natasha ran a bath. Waiting for it to fill, she wondered if she could trust him. He had appeared just before Ben died, claiming to be his friend. How did she know he was what he claimed to be? Natasha shook her head. No, whatever Sean said he was, he wasn’t a killer. She was sure of that. The timing of his appearance must be a coincidence.

Natasha felt the water temperature, added some more hot water and got in. There was something else that kept nagging at the back of her mind. When the warm water found the grazes she had received she bit her lip. She soaped her elbow where the skin had been rubbed raw during the sniper attack. She touched her bruised jaw where Sean had driven her face into the dirt.

The way that Sean had moved so quickly had taken her completely by surprise. Although everyone was easy prey to the sniper he was the first to realise the danger and take command of the situation. He had tried to save her first and she was grateful for that because she was sure that this time they would succeed in their quest to kill her.

But the speed at which he’d reacted told her that this was a man who had been under fire before. That thought led her to think about his job. If he worked for the British Security Services then Sean’s appearance around the time of Ben’s death might not be the coincidence he claimed it was. If he really belonged to the Service then maybe he was not really Ben’s friend at all? The thought chilled her despite the warmth of the bath. She noticed her hands beginning to shake again. She closed her eyes trying to calm the feeling of panic and helplessness.

Another thought rose unbidden. Suppose it was Sean, not her, who was the object of the sniper attack? The two attacks might not be connected. Surely if Sean were some kind of agent then he was much more likely to be a target. After all what did she know compared to someone who was, frankly, a professional? Thoughts swirled around her head. She decided she was too exhausted to think any further. She put on her bath robe, towelled her hair dry and got into bed.

Two minutes later she was fast asleep.

* * *

After five hours Natasha woke with a jerk. It was completely dark. For a moment she was not sure where she was. With a great deal of effort she pushed the remnants of a bad dream away. She got out of bed and made a cup of tea but it didn’t have the normal restorative effect. Natasha felt a familiar sense of sadness return in the pit of her stomach.

She wondered over to the window and pulled the curtain back a little to look out. She couldn’t see any police cars about. Perhaps they had popped out for a meal somewhere? That decided it: she was going to go away for a few days.

Natasha looked at the clock. She would ring work later and leave a message for Stan. She began to pack a few things into a suitcase and made a sandwich with some leftover salad. As she collected the final few items for her trip she began to feel better at last.

A few minutes later she locked up the apartment and went down to the car. Thankfully there was no-one about but she did wonder why the promised squad car hadn’t returned. She would ring them tomorrow.

* * *

A block further down the road Sean watched as Natasha opened the boot of her car and threw in a suitcase. As she pulled away Sean followed slowly, keeping a discreet distance behind.

* * *

‘So Harris, have you found this rogue sub yet?’

Harris let out a sigh. ‘We turned the task force back from the South Atlantic. I sent my best man to join them — Jock McIver — you might remember him from the Kola incident a few years back.’

‘I do — he’s a good man. What else have you got?’

‘We’ve interviewed everyone connected with the project to see if they are implicated. Nothing imminent there. We also spoke to all the senior technical people to see if they have any more ideas how the sub can be stopped. Unfortunately they’ve come up with nothing.’

Harris looked at the President. ‘There is something else you should know Robert. There’s been a development further north and we think it’s related.’

‘Go on.’

‘We’ve just had a report from a NATO exercise in the Caribbean. It’s a mixed group of surface craft and submarines that are testing their communications and inter-ship procedures.’

‘Why do I feel I’m not going to like what you’re about to tell me?’

Harris coughed weakly. ‘We were told that one of the submarines had to surface quickly.’

‘What’s the connection with our task force?’

‘The submarine was tagging behind the rest of the fleet. She’s a boat belonging to the British Navy called the Astute.’

‘So… maybe our Chinese friends were active in the area?’

‘We have a very full report from the Astute’s Commander via the Admiral of the fleet. The damage came from something the Commander has never experienced before.’

The President looked weary. ‘You’re going to tell me the boat was attacked by that experimental sub, right?’

‘It’s called Cetus, Robert. And yes, I’m afraid that is what it is beginning to look like.’

It was a minute before the President asked the next question.

‘Casualties?’

Harris glanced at his papers. ‘Over forty but none serious. Most reports were about bleeding from the ears. I understand that one sailor broke a leg when he fell. About a dozen sailors are recovering from smoke inhalation. Everyone is expected to recover though.’

‘Thank God for that’ the President said fervently.

Harris coughed again. ‘Unfortunately that isn’t the end of the story.’

‘What, don’t tell me another ship was attacked?’

‘No, nothing like that Mr President. But in some ways it is worse.’

‘What could be worse?’ asked the President, genuinely mystified.

Harris cleared his throat. ‘There was extensive damage to the boat. Everyone got out in time but the hull was breached. It took on water before it reaching the surface. The Admiral tells me there was water ingress to the nuclear power plant and it will require a major overhaul and refit. They’re still checking but some of the crew may have been exposed to abnormal levels of radiation.’

A hush descended as they absorbed the shocking news.

At last the President asked, ‘So you think that Cetus is responsible, but you can’t be absolutely sure?’

‘I wish I could say it happened because of something else’ Harris responded. ‘But in my view Cetus is responsible. We will still continue to keep an eye out in the South Atlantic, of course. But it looks like the sub is travelling north.’

‘Jesus, this just keeps on getting worse!’ The president let out a gasp of frustration. ‘What about those satellites you tasked?’

Harris looked uncomfortable. ‘We’ve not been able to track it via satellite sir. Cetus is smaller than a regular submarine. It’s also built with stealth technology borrowed from the air force. It uses electric engines for propulsion so it’s almost impossible to track, either under, or above the water.’

‘In the meantime what do you recommend we do about the British sub?’

‘Well Robert, basically we have two choices. You can call the British PM, offer your condolences and explain that we have a rogue sub which attacked their boat. You can say that we’re very sorry that it was responsible for damaging their state-of-the-art submarine and causing so many casualties. You can tell him that we’re doing our best to search for the rogue sub, but we don’t know where it is and we’re keeping our fingers crossed that it’s not going to cause any more damage before we get it back.’ Harris paused for breath.

‘Or you can just keep quiet.’

Chapter 16

As Sean followed Natasha he thought about her resilience. Over the last few days she had suffered the loss of her boyfriend, had been hunted in the streets where she lived and fired on at the funeral. He was not surprised that Natasha might want to break out.

Wherever she was going Sean felt she knew something she hadn’t told him. Perhaps she knew why Ben had been killed? Perhaps she had found out whatever Ben had found out before his murder? Whatever it was the only way Sean was going to find out was to stick to her like a leech.

Sean plugged in his ear-piece and called Lomax.

‘Natasha’s on the move, travelling north. I’m following but I’ve no idea where she is headed just yet.’

‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you’ replied Lomax. ‘That woman’s trouble.’

‘You’re starting to repeat yourself’ replied Sean dryly.

‘DD’s found out she’s the liaison person for the National Security Agency.’

‘Understood’ responded Sean.

* * *

‘Putting you through now Prime Minister.’

The PM waited a second before speaking. ‘Good morning Robert. I hope you are well?’

‘Hi Terrence, never felt better. How’s the family?’ replied the President breezily.

‘Fine’ replied the PM, referring to his notes. ‘I hope you don’t mind the intrusion but I heard some disturbing news recently. I hope you might shed some light on it.’

‘Glad to help in any way I can, Terrence’ replied the President.

Those around the table saw the PM wince at the President’s use of his full first name for the second time. No-one in the cabinet, let alone the country, used his first name in full.

‘I’ve been told there’s a project called White Shield. It’s a fleet of NATO ships sailing from the Caribbean to Gibraltar as part of an exercise.’

‘Sorry, the name doesn’t ring a bell. But please carry on.’

‘Bear with me Robert. One of our submarines was accompanying the fleet and had to surface quickly. She came up because she thought she was under attack.’

‘Did you say “thought she was under attack”? How come you’re not sure?’

‘Well it wasn’t like any other attack — you know — torpedoes, depth charges or anything like that. The boat was subjected to a massive vibration that started to shake it apart. If the Commander hadn’t taken the emergency action he did the hull would have split and ninety eight people would have died.’

The PM paused. ‘Thankfully all 98 crew were rescued but there were a number of casualties. Some of the men came into contact with radiation.’

‘Good grief Terrance. Just remind me of the name of your boat.’

‘Astute, Robert. HMS Astute.’

‘Right, thanks. I’ll get someone onto this immediately. Were any other ships harmed?’

‘None that we are aware of. The fleet continued after the men were successfully rescued.’

‘OK, gotcha. Were there any other non-friendly ships in the area?’

‘That’s why I’m ringing you. I hoped you would be able to tell me.’

‘Well, I’m afraid I’m very light on details. But I can find out for you. I appreciate how you must feel about your boat. I’m glad that no lives were lost. As I recall Astute is an expensive piece of kit.’

‘Quite right, Robert. But I’m more concerned about who carried out this unprovoked attack.’

The PM waited for the President to respond.

‘Terrance, I wondered if you have considered the most obvious cause of the accident?’

‘What’s that?’

‘Well you say that the boat suffered from vibrations and that there were no other ships or submarines in the area.’

‘Correct — as far as we know, apart from the fleet, the Astute was alone.’

‘Well it would seem obvious to me’ continued the President. ‘If there was no sign of another ship in the area, the vibration came from the Astute.’

Quiet fell as the PM and people around the table thought about that.

‘Terrance — are you still there?’

‘Yes, we’re all still here. Just considering your suggestion.’

The PM looked around at the baffled set of faces.

‘We’re not sure what you mean Robert. How could the vibrations be coming from the boat itself?’

The President could be heard talking to an aide. ‘You may know I served on a few surface boats in my time’ he continued. ‘My first posting was Ensign on the USS Garcia. She’s an old-style frigate. The propeller shaft came out of alignment on my second berth. The stresses resulted in damage to the struts and the hull. The noise was incredible and because no-one realised what was happening in time, the shaft bearings went. That caused the engine shaft assembly to go and by that time the external seals were compromised and we started to take on water.’

‘Oh’ said the PM, quite taken aback with the President’s technical knowledge. ‘We’ll bear that in mind.’

‘Well the noise from the vibration was unbelievable’ replied the President. ‘If you still want to, I’ll get my staff to pass on all the reports we received. This might help you collate your information and get a better idea of what happened out there.’

The PM was fully aware the UK depended heavily on the communications facilities provided by American satellites and AWACs systems. The offer was no doubt given in the expectation that Britain would reciprocate at some later point.

‘Thanks, very much appreciated Robert.’ The Prime Minister replaced the receiver and looked round the table again for reactions. His minister of defence was the first to speak.

‘Sounded very accommodating to me Prime Minister. And he did offer all their info to us.’

‘I suppose we should be grateful for small mercies’ replied the PM. ‘Pity though — he was lying through his teeth.’

* * *

‘Lomax?’

‘Yep, receiving strength ten.’ Lomax thought DD sounded tired.

‘Got a bit of a breakthrough. London’s been helping me trace Langham’s phone calls. There’s a couple of pointers to an outfit called AMA — Advanced Marine Agency. They’re located near the Naval Undersea Warfare Centre at Newport.’

‘OK, what do you know about them?’

‘Next to nothing.’ DD checked his notes. ‘It’s almost impossible to find out who they are. Ownership is via a complicated structure of offshore companies.’

‘Let London take care of that one’ advised Lomax. ‘Anything else?’

‘I’ve tried breaking into their network. It’s as tight as a drum.’

‘Well keep trying.’

‘I have been trying for the last two days.’ DD sounded exasperated. ‘There’s only one other way I can think of — accessing their Wi-Fi network.’

‘Well do what you can. And get some rest — you sound exhausted.’

Lomax ended the call. Five minutes later he snatched the phone and dialled back, but there was no answer. He had made a mistake. Asking DD to try and access AMA’s Wi-Fi network meant he would have to get into range of the company’s buildings. Damm! He fervently hoped DD had taken his advice and was resting, but he needed to make sure. Lomax dashed to the car.

As he drove north he saw DD’s car coming towards him. Lomax flashed his lights but DD was too intent on the road to take any notice.

Lomax slammed on the brakes as DD passed by. Lomax smacked his hand against the wheel. What a cock-up. This was the last time he would involve DD in a mission he was controlling. The man was a disaster. Short of overtaking the car and forcing him to stop Lomax had no way of getting through to him. He executed a U-turn and put his foot to the floor.

After several anxious minutes Lomax caught up close enough to see the car. DD was heading for Newport. Lomax lost sight of him briefly at the outskirts but by the time he found him again the car was parked. There was no sign of DD.

Lomax parked nearby and made a quick search of the area on foot. He spotted DD’s figure about a hundred yards away. Lomax assumed DD was homing in on AMA. It looked like DD was listening to music because he was wearing a set of ear buds and holding an iPod. Lomax started towards him.

* * *

DD looked around. Nearly all companies used Wi-Fi alongside their computer networks and they had a tendency to leak outside onto the street. But he wasn’t expecting to access Advanced Marine’s network right away, knowing just how tightly they guarded their non Wi-Fi networks.

He would need to record the traffic passing in the air for a while and take it away to analyse. To collect enough data he would have to return with the car and park in the vicinity of the building. The car would give the necessary camouflage and protection while he made the recording.

Then the MP3 player he was holding was snatched from his hand. DD’s first thought was that he was being mugged. Next he felt two arms under his shoulder. Two men, one on each side, lifted him effortlessly and carried him quickly to a waiting van. In seconds he was forced inside.

DD saw a man waiting in the back. The man forced him to sit while a bag was shoved over his head. The van took off rapidly.

The speed of the kidnap shocked and surprised him. DD flicked his tongue around his mouth and started to yell. A massive blow to the side of his head rocked his body to the floor where he lay. A man tied his hands together behind his back. It made it very awkward to sit up while the van was moving at such a high speed but eventually he managed to squat on the floor without receiving any more blows.

‘Hello’ DD ventured, cringing in readiness for the next strike. ‘Hello, I just want to talk?’

He should have known better he thought as the next blow sent him crashing back. For half an hour he sat, tensing himself against the turns and changes in speed of the van. Eventually they ascended a ramp and soon he felt a rocking motion as if they were on a boat. The van was stationary because the engine wasn’t running. He stayed where he was, feeling very weak and powerless. From the small conversations around him he thought there were at least two men in the front with the driver and one man in the back with him. He didn’t have much hope about his chances for escape.

At last his training took over and he tried to determine the general direction they were going. Thoughts of an old Hitchcock movie flitted through his memory. The victim listened to various sounds along the route, such as the chimes of a particular clock and had been able to retrace his route by remembering when they occurred.

DD felt the right side of his face becoming more painful as the bruise swelled. He guessed they were on the boat for around twenty minutes. Then he heard the sound of the engine starting. The van slowly moved off and DD could feel it descending a short slope, presumably the ramp as it came off the ferry.

The van continued for thirty minutes or so before it stopped and the engine was turned off. A few seconds later the back doors were pulled open and he was brought out into semi-darkness. He was escorted by one man on each arm through a door and into a room.

He was made to stand with his legs apart and arms stretched wide while he was searched by an expert. His watch, mobile, belt, wallet and pocket contents and rucksack were taken from him. He was pushed roughly into a chair. Someone grabbed his arms and tied them to the sides and his ankles were tied to the legs.

DD’s heartbeat started to trip hammer. He wasn’t panicking just yet but he guessed what was coming. He remembered the sick feeling he had had during training when he was the centre of a mock interrogation. Though he knew it wasn’t for real then, he still couldn’t stop the sweating and the fear.

The bag was removed from his head. He blinked in the harsh light from two bare bulbs hanging from the rafters of the barn. There were two men in the room. One sat opposite behind a metal desk and another stood a few feet away facing him. There were puddles of water on the bare stone floor.

The man behind the desk cleared his throat. He was not wearing a balaclava and DD feared the worst. If he could see his face he could identify him later. DD knew that he couldn’t be allowed to leave the building alive. Now was the time he reminded himself, to follow the lessons he had been taught. Nothing else but his own wit and cunning could possibly get him out of this predicament. A grim thought flashed through his head that he had already broken one of the first rules he had ever been taught — always tell the executive before going anywhere. He deserved his fate he thought grimly.

‘Your name?’ the man behind the desk enquired. He had a sharp hooked nose and deep powerful voice. He could be middle-European, or even Eastern.

DD’s throat was dry and his mouth felt like the Gobi desert. ‘I’m Daniel Davies. People call me DD. Look, I don’t know what I’m doing here. You’ve got the wrong guy…’ DD babbled on until he was stopped by the man behind the desk.

‘Just answer the question I ask. I don’t need anything more than that. If you do that you will not be harmed. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, yes’ responded the frightened DD. ‘But I shouldn’t be here. If its money you want…’

DD felt something like a sledgehammer strike him in the stomach. He shut up straight away. The man who delivered the blow stood back and DD was mildly surprised to see he carried nothing in his hand. If he can do that to me just with his fist what would he be like with a baseball bat, thought DD. Then the pain kicked in and he doubled over, retching. When he had finished the man behind the desk began again as if nothing had happened.

‘Tell me what you were doing on the street.’

DD thought furiously. It would be obvious to them what he was doing since they had his rucksack and all his Wi-Fi detection hardware. During training DD was taught that it was OK to let the opposition know what they knew already. The trick was to find a story that would provide them with the facts yet hide the true purpose of his reconnaissance.

‘Snooping on Wi-Fi networks.’ DD decided to follow the man’s advice and to only answer the question he was asked.

The man appeared to accept this answer. ‘Why were you doing that?’

‘Because it’s what I do. I’m a bit of a computer hacker. I do this stuff all the time — it’s a hobby.’ DD lurched back with the force of the blow.

It looked like they weren’t going to accept his story.

Chapter 17

Sean checked his mobile — it was Lomax. ‘Yep’.

‘DD has been taken outside the offices of Advanced Marine Agency in Newport. I’ve got him in sight now and I’m following the van they used. Two men lifted him straight off the street.’

‘Where are you headed?’ asked Sean.

‘West on 195.’

‘Did he have his mobile with him?’ Sean enquired.

‘Don’t know, the silly bastard wasn’t answering. But I know what you’re thinking. As soon as I stop I’ll do a check through GPRS.’ Each of their mobiles had additional circuitry which transmitted its location once a special encrypted request was sent to it.

‘How come he was on the street — what was he doing, shopping?’ asked Sean.

‘It looked like he was carrying an MP3 player and listening to music, but I think he was checking out AMA’s Wi-Fi network.’

‘Hmm.’ Sean didn’t know quite what to say. ‘Do you know anything about the company?’

‘Only what the kid told me. London traced some of Langham’s contacts to AMA. Then DD just took off from the safe house and drove to their offices.’

‘Well look after the kid — we can’t afford to lose him’ said Sean.

‘Just wait until I catch up with the bugger. If there’s anything left of him, I’ll bloody well finish him off’ said Lomax crossly.

Sean grinned. ‘You’ll have to catch him first.’

* * *

Lomax took out a large scale map of the area and unfolded it on the passenger seat. He keyed a pin number into his mobile and navigated the tracking menu, selecting the locate option. Keying in DD’s mobile number, he waited while his mobile sent a request to DD’s phone for a location report. Even if DD’s phone was switched off the set was designed to respond to this request. Three minutes later Lomax’s phone vibrated with the arrival of a text. There were no words or explanation, just two strings of eight digits representing the grid reference location of DD’s phone. Lomax peered over his map and worked out the exact spot. It was in the middle of the Vineyard Sound showing DD’s phone was on the Ferry.

* * *

The crossing was uneventful and on the other side Lomax went through the location routine again to get another fix. Thirty minutes later he made another location fix and noted that the phone had stopped moving.

Lomax drove half a mile beyond the coordinates and stopped the car. According to his calculations the building where DD was being held was an abandoned farmhouse. There were no other buildings nearby except some outhouses.

He made his way carefully on foot towards the nearest outbuilding and looked around slowly. Squatting on his haunches he listened intently. There could be no doubt where DD was — the unmistakable sound of yelling emanated from an outhouse to his right. Lomax had heard those sounds many times before as some poor human soul was being tortured for information, or sometimes just for sadistic pleasure. Carefully picking his way around the back of the building he looked for a window or another entrance.

He found a sash window which had some remaining chips of paint sticking to the rotten wood. Cautiously he tried to lift it up but it was obvious that it had not been opened for many years.

Lomax removed a penknife and ran the sharp blade around the sill and sides of the window. He tried moving it again but it refused to budge. He put his shoulder behind the effort and heaved one more time. The sill came unstuck and lifted slightly and the sound of yelling became suddenly louder. Lomax put both hands underneath and quietly forced the window upwards until there was enough space for him to slip through. That was one good aspect of the screams, thought Lomax. At least it masked the sound of his entry.

He found himself in a dark corner of a barn. A wooden lattice was still in place indicating that this had been a stable at one time. As he listened the shrieking stopped, replaced by the sounds of sobbing. Lomax stood back in the dark shadows and squinted through a gap in the wooden lattice.

There were three people in the room including the seated figure of DD. The light from the bare bulbs made the blood appear garish and Lomax noted how DD’s head had slumped forward onto his bloodied chest.

Lomax removed his gun and found a silencer in his pocket. Carefully he screwed it into place.

* * *

DD blinked back his tears. The pain overtook all other sensations. But for a few seconds the pain receded as he looked into the face of the man behind the desk. It was slack with shock.

The second interrogator came into view, twisting around to look towards the darkened corner of the barn. Just for a split second everything seemed to stand still as if in a photograph. The second man slumped slowly to the floor. The man behind the desk began to reach across the desk for his gun but he never completed the action. His hand was blown away by the force of the bullet and the wall behind him sprayed red with blood.

It seemed so surreal. There was no loud gunshot noise and his interrogators did not have time to utter a sound. DD could not see behind him but when Lomax eventually came into view his heart raced and he felt faint with relief.

DD looked down at his trousers. He had wet himself and he was disgusted that Lomax should find him in such a state. He was also covered in blood from wounds on his face and mouth. During the brief interrogation they had broken a front tooth and his body was aching all over.

DD watched Lomax step over the fallen man and quickly search the rest of the room. Lomax examined the man behind the desk. Blood was pooling out from his right arm. Lomax fashioned a temporary tourniquet from a handkerchief to staunch the loss of blood. He then swivelled the man around and produced some plasti-cuffs. Lomax first cuffed his hands behind his back then tied his ankles together.

At last Lomax came over to DD and undid the tape holding his arms and legs to the chair. DD felt a rising tide of nausea engulf him. His stomach heaved and he was violently sick over Lomax.

Lomax seemed unperturbed, as though nothing DD could do would surprise him any longer.

* * *

DD came round slowly. The relief from terror coupled with the improved circulation after Lomax undid his bonds, was followed by a brief period of unconsciousness.

What woke him was the sound of a bellow. In his fuzzy state he thought the sound was coming from himself. But when he looked around he saw Lomax leaning over the man behind the desk. The man was tied to his chair just as DD had been only minutes before. This time however Lomax was conducting the interrogation and he wasn’t as gentle about it as they had been.

DD heard the groans of disbelief and pain and saw blood streaming down the man’s face. ‘No!’ he shouted. ‘That’s enough!’

Lomax turned to see what the fuss was about.

‘Jesus, please go easy on him!’ DD pleaded. He hated violence, especially when he was forced to watch it meted out to others — even to his own tormentors.

Lomax turned back to the man on the chair. ‘I need to know now’ he said in a quiet voice.

‘OK, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know’ said the man listlessly.

DD slumped back in his chair. If the man had refused he had no doubt that Lomax would finish him off.

* * *

Lomax made sure that his live prisoner was tied up securely before searching him thoroughly. He didn’t expect to find much. None of the men had any form of ID and their wallets contained only cash: no credit cards or driver’s licence. Lomax collected the guns, ejected all the cartridges and threw the pistols out of a window. Next he went to DD to check he was comfortable before going over to the main house. He wanted to find out if the men had occupied any other rooms, even if only on a temporary basis.

He found two ground floor rooms side by side that were locked. He broke in. One room was a living area where the interrogators cooked and ate while the other was kitted out with camp-style beds. He made a thorough search and found only a short-wave two-way radio, a pile of porno mags and some mouldy cheese and dry bread. Lomax took time to look on the first floor but there was no evidence any of the rooms were occupied.

* * *

Natasha felt tired. She passed a sign for a motel and decided to pull in. After registering she made her way to the diner where she ordered tea and a burger.

‘Make that two burgers and a coffee’ said a voice behind her.

She turned around to see Sean coming towards her. She was so shocked she could hardly speak.

‘Why are you following me?’ Natasha asked indignantly.

‘You need a guardian angel. I’m it.’ Sean responded evenly as he took the seat opposite.

‘Look Sean I really appreciate what you did yesterday. But all I want is some peace and quiet.’

‘The trouble is’ said Sean ‘violence tends to follow you around.’

The food arrived and they stopped talking.

Sean glanced at Natasha. ‘We’ve spoken before about what our respective governments allow us to say. I’m going to tell you as much as I can without breaking confidence. Will you do the same?’

Natasha was too tired to argue. They began to eat.

‘I’ve been sent to find out what happened to Ben. I have a personal interest too because we were good friends. We didn’t see each other very often but when you’re in the forces you come to rely on your friends a lot.’

‘Ben was in the forces?’ asked Natasha.

Sean shook his head. ‘No — I’m referring to me.’

‘You didn’t have a family?’

‘Not for a long time — but you come to rely on your friends.’

‘Comrades in arms?’

‘Something like that.’

Natasha looked at him. ‘What do you want from me?’ she asked.

‘I think you and Ben shared a secret.’

A brief look flickered over her face.

‘Something happened, probably at work. Perhaps a project that you and Ben were involved in — or even something you and Ben discovered about a project?’

‘You’re fishing.’

‘You’re right, I am. I’m determined to know why Ben was killed and who is responsible.’

‘Why would you think I know?’

Sean drank the rest of the coffee. ‘Because of the connection between you and Ben.’

They finished the meal.

‘Come on, we have things to discuss’ said Sean as they walked out. He stopped outside his room and opened the door for Natasha.

She hesitated. ‘I’m really tired Sean.’

‘I haven’t told you everything yet’ Sean replied. ‘And then you’re going to tell me what you know too.’

Reluctantly Natasha entered the room.

‘Nightcap?’ Sean showed Natasha a bottle of Southern Comfort he had brought from the restaurant.

‘No thanks, I don’t drink strong liqueur.’ She sat in the chair. ‘Sean, I know you have been very protective towards me. But how do I know I can trust you? I only met you a few days ago.’

Sean took a sip of the bourbon. ‘You’re right not to trust me. Trust needs time and I haven’t got much of that left.’

‘I haven’t much time left either.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They’re closing down the company until the investigation is completed. Some of the staff have left already and it’s only a matter of time before I go too.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. What will you do?’

‘I planned to get away for a while and think things through.’

Sean swirled the bourbon in his glass. ‘Is there anything you can tell me about Ben that could help me?’

Natasha got up and walked around to stretch her legs. ‘I think I will have a drink after all.’

Sean found a second glass. For a moment there was an awkward silence, then Sean raised his drink. ‘To absent friends.’

‘To absent friends’ she echoed. She sat on the bed keeping a distance between them. ‘How did you two meet?’

‘He was very bright. We met after he’d completed a masters degree at Cambridge. We got on like long lost brothers. Similar interests, young, crazy.’ Sean finished his drink.

‘He always wanted to work in the States and he went out there looking for work. He wasn’t able to get the job he wanted even after getting his citizen papers. I spoke to one of my superiors back home and they wangled him a job working in the defence industry.’

Sean poured himself another shot. ‘I think there was some quid pro quo. He got the job and occasionally he would report back on any interesting developments.’ Sean looked at Natasha. ‘He didn’t like it but there’s no other way to dress it up — he became a spy.’

Natasha looked surprised. ‘I never thought he could do that.’

‘Don’t get me wrong’ Sean began. ‘I don’t think he was passing on any detailed information — plans, maps, documents, or anything like that. Just general information about the projects he was involved on.’

He topped up her drink. ‘Still, it doesn’t make it any more comfortable.’ Sean glanced at Natasha. ‘Would you be comfortable in that position?’

Natasha gulped her drink and put it down. ‘No’ she said at last. ‘I don’t think I would be comfortable.’ She looked straight at Sean. ‘I know because I am doing something similar.’

Sean looked curious. ‘What’s that?’

Natasha looked away. ‘I’m not sure I should say anything more.’

‘You have another role at SeaTek?’

Natasha turned to face Sean. ‘I’m not very good at it. I report to the National Security Agency every now and again. The NSA is supposed to protect national security systems, and our company is classified as being a security system. I’m just supposed to let them know if there’s anything going on that might compromise security.’ She held her glass up for a refill.

‘Isn’t that Jack Langham’s job?’

Natasha looked at him curiously. ‘What do you know about Jack?’

Sean shrugged. ‘He left a message on Ben’s answer phone. Said he could see Ben at the weekend.’

‘You’ve been to Ben’s apartment?’ she said, surprised.

‘I went to see if there was anything of Ben’s that his parents might want to keep.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

Sean filled her glass. ‘So your role is separate to Jack’s?’

‘Yes.’ Natasha sipped her drink. ‘Only the Directors know about my NSA involvement. They wanted it that way.’

‘I see. Do the NSA know about Ben?’

‘Only what I know.’

‘I suppose you’ve told them about me?’

Natasha nodded. ‘Why did you arrive when you did — just after Ben was involved in the motorcycle accident?’

‘I got a message from him out of the blue. It didn’t say much just that he had come across a problem which he couldn’t discuss with anyone else. It wasn’t like Ben at all. It felt like he couldn’t confide in anyone at work.’

Natasha thought she knew the reason. Ben couldn’t talk to anyone at work because he didn’t know who he could trust.

‘So you came out to bring him back’ she said simply.

‘Ben wanted to come back to the UK for a period and I was asked to bring him back safely.’

Natasha attempted a brave smile. ‘I’m sorry — I’m just tired.’

Sean took her glass and put it down. ‘I know. Why don’t you go to bed?’

‘There is something else. I’m wondering why you have been following me. Oh — I know you have been protecting me, but what is it you want from me?’

Sean poured them both another stiff drink. ‘Just information. I think you must know something and someone wants your silence — one way or another.’

Natasha took a sip. ‘Something did happen at work’ she said tentatively. Several people lost their lives as a result. But it happened after Ben was killed.’

‘Could it be that Ben discovered something before? Maybe the list he was working on was related to it?’

Natasha shook her head. ‘I don’t think so’ she said slowly. At first I thought that it was an accident on the project — that people had lost their lives because of some kind of communications problem — and the rescue people weren’t able to reach them in time.’

‘And what do you think now?’

‘It wasn’t an accident. I found… some evidence that proved the project was sabotaged. Since then I’ve been hounded to death.’

Natasha took a deep breath. ‘Listen I need to ask you for a really big favour.’ She looked directly at Sean. ‘I’m bushed but I don’t want to go to bed in my own room. I won’t sleep at all if I do.’

Sean turned. ‘You’re welcome to the bed. I’ll take the chair — no funny business, I promise.’

‘It’s no problem if you want to share the bed, honest.’

Sean thought for a moment. ‘It’s not that I don’t like you Natasha.’

‘Sean, I’m just talking about somewhere to sleep — not about making love.’

‘I might not be able to resist’ Sean said with a mischievous grin.

‘Well I certainly can.’

The words hung in the air. She made a big effort and smiled. ‘I’m sorry, I’m tired. If you want to sleep on the chair that’s fine with me.’

Sean visited the bathroom first. While Natasha was in the bathroom Sean went outside to call Lomax.

‘Someone’s on to Natasha. Oh, she also confirmed she reports back to the NSA. I have an idea about that.’

‘Yes?’ queried Lomax.

‘Well we might be able to use her reporting channel to our advantage.’

Lomax thought about that for a minute. ‘OK, when can I expect you?’

‘No idea. I’m planning to stick with Natasha.’

‘Think they will try again?’

‘Definitely.’

‘Make sure you use the opportunity wisely.’

Sean closed the call abruptly.

Instinct and training required one more patrol before he could rest and he made his way back out to the parking lot. He walked over to the hire car and looked around casually. The car park was nearly deserted — the few guests staying the night were already in their rooms.

Sean bent down and felt behind the chrome bumpers with his finger tips. He moved on to feel underneath the sills. Pulling a small flashlight from an inner pocket he lay down on the tarmac to inspect underneath the car. He could not find any kind of tracking device attached.

He walked over to Natasha’s car, brushing the dust off his clothes. Pulling out a spare mobile, he punched in a code and bent down once more. This time he fixed the spare up under one of the sills. The mobile had a strong magnet that would keep it in place however bumpy the ride.

‘What are you doing?’ Natasha called from the doorway.

‘Just checking your exhaust — I noticed it blowing on the way here.’

When he returned Natasha was already in bed. He slipped off his shirt and trousers but before he could make himself comfortable on the chair she flipped the covers back on his side of the bed.

Sean got in. Natasha was turned on her side facing him. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world for Sean to put his arm around her. But he resisted, past memories preventing him. Finally she turned away.

Chapter 18

‘Ow!’ DD yelped as Lomax prodded his chest. DD was laid out on the bed at Lomax’s safe house, doing his best to relax as Lomax tried to find the extent of his injuries.

‘No broken bones — so far’ said Lomax cheerfully. Now let’s have a look at your eyes. Lomax produced a flashlight and shone it into each eye, noting the rate of contraction of the pupils. ‘Mmm. They’ll probably do.’ Lomax took DD’s pulse. For fifteen seconds there was quiet. ‘Your pulse is a little high but that’s only to be expected. I can’t find anything wrong with you — nothing that a rest won’t cure.’ He gave DD some tablets. ‘These will reduce the pain and the swelling and help you get a good night’s sleep.’ Lomax watched as DD swallowed them with a glass of water. He was relieved DD had not suffered any major physical injuries.

Now it was time for Lomax to get tough. ‘What happened?’

DD struggled to sit up. ‘I gave London two names. London found they were being paid by the same corporation.’

‘You mean Advanced Marine Agency?’

‘Yes. I thought I might be able to hack into their wireless network, but two goons grabbed me before I managed to get in.’

Lomax shook his head. ‘I saw it happen. How often have you been told that everything you do, you check with me first?’

DD looked shame faced. ‘I know — I just forgot. I’m sorry. Believe me it won’t happen again.’ DD’s voice was noticeably drowsier as the drugs began to take effect.

‘You’re damn right about that’ said Lomax. ‘It won’t happen again’.

Outside the room Lomax listened as DD’s breathing settled into a rhythm. Lomax took out his cell phone and called Sean. ‘OK I have DD back, safe and sound. He won’t be going off on a jaunt again. He’s a bit roughed up but sleeping it off now.’ Lomax listened briefly. ‘You remember the company where DD was snatched — the Advanced Marine Agency — well I know for definite they’re involved. I’ve also got a name for you: Christopher Schaeffer. He’s the guy DD’s snatch squad reported to. I’ll work on his background.’

* * *

‘Does that sound like our target?’ asked Captain Armstrong.

‘Yep’ replied McIver. ‘I don’t know how he got there so fast — let me see a chart will you?’

The Captain looked at the Ensign who immediately fetched a map and spread it out over the table.

‘He’s covered a lot of ground in what — four days?’ said McIver, tracing a line between the original sea trials off the coast of South America and the incident with the Astute in the Gulf of Mexico.

‘Where do you think he’s headed?’ asked Armstrong.

McIver looked up. ‘Beats me Chris. If he carries on up the coast he could go all the way to the arctic.’

‘Or he could turn into any of our ports on the Eastern seaboard.’

‘God help us’ replied McIver. ‘Anyway we need to get ahead of him. We’ve got an idea of direction and speed, so let’s estimate where he’s going to be and have a surprise waiting for him.’

McIver made his way out onto the deck as two helicopters were being readied. The squally rain had lifted leaving a thin sea mist that still clung to the wave tops. Steaming north at full speed for 24 hours they had been joined in the night with the additional resources McIver had promised. Two new frigates lay off their port bow, a new supply ship brought up at the rear and a hunter-killer submarine made up the rest of the combined group. He returned to the bridge.

‘I want to cover as much ocean as possible’ said McIver, leaning over the plot table.

‘Each frigate has a compliment of twenty four helicopters’ said Armstrong. ‘We could rotate four from each ship. That would keep eight helicopters in the air round the clock. If we form two lines of four we could keep each helicopter in line 200 yards from its neighbour.’

Armstrong sketched out his strategy. ‘The second line of four follows a quarter of a mile behind and covers the gaps from the first line. What do you say?’

McIver agreed. ‘If we work to a predefined search pattern we can sweep a path half a mile wide.’

‘We would need to have a pretty accurate estimate of its position — half a mile is nothing in these waters.’

Captain Armstrong gave the orders and they watched as the first helicopters took off. Soon they established their lines, dipping sensitive sonobuoys into the water at different intervals. On board each aircraft a seasoned sonar man listened with a huge pair of earphones. The sonobuoys relayed the faintest sounds back up the helicopter and from there to the sonar room on Armstrong’s cruiser.

McIver knew just what a punishing schedule they were keeping, having been a helicopter pilot himself more than ten years previously. And he knew just how difficult it was to separate biological from mechanical noise when listening to the cacophony of sound that came through the sensitive microphones. He sat next to two men on the sonar desk, clamping a spare set of headphones over his head.

The signals were collated from all the helicopters aloft. They were then filtered by computer and tagged and checked against a database of known shipping. The list included all surface ships and most underwater subs. Armstrong was right, mused McIver. This really was like trying to find the proverbial needle in a haystack. How are we going to find something in this vast ocean, when it’s beyond the range of our instruments to detect?

McIver shook his head. Only the US Navy could have cut orders like this.

* * *

‘I’m dying’ said DD putting a hand to his ribs.

Despite the pain killers and sleeping tablets DD woke up in the night with a splitting headache and a fierce pain in the ribs. He managed to lever himself up and just made it to the bathroom in time to be sick. Lomax came in to see him.

‘Dan, I know that you’ve been through a traumatic time. But it’s what you signed up for and why HM Gov pay you a handsome cheque each month.’

DD crawled back into bed. ‘I didn’t sign up to be tortured by sadistic brutes!’

‘If you hadn’t been such an idiot you wouldn’t have been snatched — you’ve only yourself to blame for that’. Lomax was losing patience. ‘Look take another painkiller.’

DD gulped the capsule down with some water. ‘I want to go back’ he said simply. ‘I know I’ve been a stupid fool but I really want to go back home.’

Lomax sat on the bed. ‘You’re not going anywhere until the mission has been completed. What do you think we’re doing here — a holiday with all expenses paid?’ Lomax decided he needed to take a firmer grip.

‘Now you listen to me. We all have to work together — as a team — to get the job done. When the job is done, then we all get to go home.’

DD held his ribs. ‘Thanks for the pep talk Dad, but I can’t work when I’m in so much pain.’

Lomax picked up a small flashlight and checked DD’s eyes again for signs of concussion. There was a slight indication but not enough to call the medic.

‘Do you think Sean would complain and ask to be sent home the first time he has to endure a little rough stuff?’ asked Lomax.

‘I’m not like Sean. I feel things differently and I haven’t had the training he has.’

Lomax got up and pulled up a chair. ‘Before Sean became a marine he had to go on a number of training courses. One time he and a group of other recruits were being lead by two instructors in the Dolomites. One of the instructors was leading on an ice climb. He fell. The rope caught under the legs of three of the trainees and one of them fell 600 feet. They thought he’d died. The second instructor who was at the rear didn’t see what was going on until it was too late. Two trainees managed to grab the rope and dig in and the first instructor was rescued by the second. By the time they had sorted themselves out it was dark and too late to go looking for the fallen trainee. They sent a mayday but the rescue helicopters didn’t fly in the dark. The group camped out and they started looking at first light the next day, but found nothing. They were joined by a mountain rescue team and a helicopter but there was no sign of him.’

DD found himself becoming interested. ‘And I suppose the fallen trainee was Sean?’

Lomax nodded. ‘It turned out that he’d fallen much further than they thought. He landed in a snow drift and was unconscious for several hours. He didn’t realise it then but the fall had ripped his helmet off. He had hit his head against a rock on the way down and hurt his shoulder. When night fell he thought the group had given up searching, so he effected a self-rescue. But because of the shoulder he couldn’t climb very well. What’s more he developed a bad concussion. It was dark before he stopped climbing. He spent the night on a ledge in a snow hole and reached the top early the next morning. By one of those quirks neither the rescue team nor the helicopter spotted him and they abandoned the search on the second day because of bad weather.

‘How did he get back?’

‘Sean came down and had to trudge through almost white-out conditions. It took another two days to reach the main party.’

‘My God!’ exclaimed DD. ‘Why did he carry on to the top — why didn’t he just go back down to camp?’

Lomax sipped a glass of water. ‘That’s what the instructors wanted to know when he got back. Sean told them that his orders were to reach the top. He thought they had given up the search for him so going on alone — although foolhardy — wasn’t going to put anyone’s life at risk.’ Lomax glanced at DD. ‘He told them he wanted to test himself. He had survival gear in his rucksack and as the concussion wore off he started to feel stronger.’

Was he alright afterwards?’ asked DD.

Lomax shook his head. ‘When he arrived back at camp he had the start of frostbite in several toes and the small finger of his left hand. Next time you look at it you’ll see the skin is paler and yellower than the rest. The concussion lasted for several weeks afterwards. It wore off eventually.’

DD looked sheepish. ‘I know why you’re telling me this.’

Lomax remained quiet. The story was one of the less harrowing episodes in the file.

‘What you’re saying is I shouldn’t be such a wimp.’

‘That’s it, basically.’

‘Right — I’m tired now. I’ll get straight back on the case tomorrow morning.’

‘Good’ muttered Lomax. ‘Now get some sleep.’

Chapter 19

DD sweated in the non-air-conditioned van. He had succeeded in persuading Lomax to try penetrating Advanced Marine Agency’s network again. But Lomax insisted in taking no chances. He rented a van and ordered art work with the name and logo of a local telecoms company. DD helped Lomax stencil the livery on the sides of the van and they had both donned blue work overalls before driving out to a junction two blocks from the corner of the Agency building.

DD waited inside the van as Lomax got out. Through the darkened rear window DD could see him setup the various pedestrian signs around a small road-side communications cabinet. He watched as Lomax laid out a variety of tools on the pavement then went over to the cabinet and used a ‘slim-jim’ to pick the lock. Lomax pretended to be working on the junction box having previously promised DD a thirty minute window in which to eavesdrop on the Agency’s Wi-Fi network.

DD started work but soon found it hard going. He managed to record some packets over the Wi-Fi network, but they must have been double encrypted. He shook his head in admiration that the organisation had taken so much trouble to lock down their systems. He tried a few other software tools on his laptop. One appeared to work but only got him so far.

In next to no time there was a knock on the rear door. DD opened it and let Lomax in.

‘Any luck?’

DD shook his head dismally. ‘The security they have in that place is phenomenal. From what I can see the company have a Chinese wall between their commercial systems and the private part of their network. I also discovered that they have a honey pot for people like me.’

‘What’s that?’ Lomax asked.

‘It’s a part of the network that looks really tempting to a hacker. But it’s a sham — there’s nothing important there. The trap is sprung once you enter the honey pot. You’re followed everywhere from that point on. The company can track where you go and find out what you are looking for.’

DD caught Lomax looking at him and answered the unasked question.

‘No, I didn’t get caught. I know enough about honey pots to know what they look like — and how to avoid them.’

‘But not enough to stop you being picked up in the street.’ Lomax grinned at DD's embarrassment.

‘The point is’ said the exasperated DD, ‘there is no way I can get to the areas I need to.'

‘Have you seen anything like it before?’

DD shook his head. ‘Not in any commercial organisation I’ve known.’

‘But you have seen this type of security somewhere?’

‘Only in government and government sponsored organisations.’

‘AMA could be a government sponsored company.’

DD looked thoughtful. ‘It would certainly explain why their systems are so tough to crack.’

‘Any idea which government?’

‘Not really’ replied DD. ‘They’re several you could choose from: US, UK, Israel, Russia, China. Take your pick.’

‘Mmm, China. Was there anything that might point to one in particular?’

‘No, sorry. If I could break into their security I might be able to give you a better opinion.’

On the way back to the safe house Lomax thought things over. When they arrived DD spoke to London but they weren’t able to help either. Lomax poured them both a stiff drink. ‘Tell me again what all this Chinese wall is about?’

‘They’ve set up their security in such a way that the really sensitive parts are not connected to any other part of their network.’

‘Sort of like a closed loop?’ asked Lomax.

‘Exactly. No part of it is connected to anything else. So any information they have can’t get out and nothing can get in.’

‘Have you ever met a system like that before?’ asked Lomax with a trace of sympathy.

‘Nope — not one so tightly locked down — there just isn’t any way we can break into that system’ said DD in a resigned voice.

‘Maybe not — but you’ve given me an idea’ replied Lomax. ‘If we can’t break in using a computer, we can break in using this.’

DD looked up. Light glinted from the dull black metallic object Lomax held aloft.

It was a jemmy.

* * *

Sean opened his eyes slowly. There was no sign of Natasha. His watch said 6:37 am, so they had slept for around four hours. Now it looked like she was leaving. Sean listened carefully and could hear Natasha’s subdued voice outside as she talked on her mobile. When she came back in he noticed her face was wet and shiny with tears. He watched as she quietly padded around the bedroom, putting the rest of her clothes into a carry case. He would never forget that moment last night when he held her.

‘Hi’ he said and saw her freeze momentarily. ‘Planning to leave without me?’

Natasha swept a lock of hair behind her ear. It was a familiar gesture; one she often made when dealing with an unexpected problem.

‘Where are you going?’

Natasha wiped her face with the back of one hand. ‘Please don’t follow me this time.’ She shook her head, too distraught to elaborate further. She hurriedly gathered the last few things into her case.

Sean sat up as Natasha went to the door. She stopped and turned around. ‘I’m sorry Sean. I have to go. I can’t talk about any of it just now.’ She wiped her face again, then turned and left.

Sean got up and moved to the window. In the early morning light he saw Natasha open the trunk and put her case inside. He watched as she got in and drove out of the car park. Long after she had gone he wondered to himself what it might feel like if he never met her again.

* * *

Natasha stifled a sob as she drove away. She was leaving a man she had come to trust, but her trust was misplaced. Now she felt devastated. She went over the words her contact had used again and again. ‘He is a spy. He is here with a team. He came to steal the project you are working on.’

‘If that’s true, why don’t you deport him?’ she had asked, thoroughly confused.

‘We want to find out who else is involved in the conspiracy.’

On the face of it his answer was plausible, but something about it didn’t feel right.

‘Why would the British want to steal our project?’ she asked. ‘Surely they are our allies?’

‘It’s just business’ said the man. ‘The Brits are always on the lookout for American developed technology. Spying is a relatively cheap way of procuring it.’

Natasha felt that in a certain twisted way, this made a kind of sense. Shortly after the call she saw Sean asleep in bed. Surely he could not be so underhand? Should she go back with Sean, or follow her instincts to get away somewhere quiet where she could restore some calm and sanity into her life?’

Natasha glanced in the mirror. Back that way was turmoil and confusion. The only way was forwards.

* * *

Half an hour later Sean keyed in the pin code to his mobile. He went through the procedure to request the GPS location of his spare phone, still attached to the underneath of Natasha’s car.

While he was waiting for the response, he drummed his fingers absentmindedly on the dash. He recognised that there was something about Natasha he had rarely felt for another human being in all his time working for the agency. For one thing, he was used to dealing with agents, either from his own side or the opposition. These were men and women who had a number things in common — they all tended to be highly skilled in their trade, committed to their current mission, and ruthless in the execution of every task.

But although Natasha might be committed to helping her government in her own way, she was relatively inexperienced in field craft. So much so, Sean doubted whether she ever had been given any training. No, Sean felt that what drove Natasha was her innocent belief in her job and her duty to her country. But without the training and experience she was a minnow in a shark infested sea.

His cell phone vibrated silently to indicate the receipt of a text message. He pulled out the road map from the back seat and quickly located the grid reference on the map from the text. It looked like Natasha was about 10 miles north of New Bedford, in an area where several lakes were surrounded by heavily forested woods.

Sean started the engine and drove out of the motel car park.

* * *

Lomax unfurled an architect’s drawing onto the table and used a notepad and a book to stop it curling back up.

‘This is a map of the ground floor.’ Lomax scanned the large scale diagram. ‘I don’t see the computer room — where is it?’

DD shook his head. ‘We’re not going after the computer room.’

Lomax looked bemused. ‘I thought that’s where you would need to go to get access?’

DD shook his head. ‘No. It would take too long. They will have that room locked up safer than Fort Knox. From the information I gathered over their Wi-Fi they have a telephone network which uses the same cabling as their computer network. That could be their Achilles heel. No-one thinks to lock down voice systems with the same level of security as their computer network. There's a strong possibility I can use the voice network to make a bridge to their private computer network. From there I could find a way in through a back-door.’

‘OK’ said Lomax in a perplexed voice — what sort of back door are you talking about?’

‘I mean a back door in software — it’s a way into the system through a little known entrance. Normally the entrance is left there by engineers working on the system — they’re the worst when it comes to security. If they’re having to constantly login and log off when they need to test things, they can’t afford the time to go through the usual security procedures.’

‘So?’ asked Lomax impatiently.

‘So they leave a back-door — a way into the system that only they know about — but the back-door bypasses all the normal security checks, so they can get in and out straight away.’

‘But surely the company wouldn’t permit that — it wouldn’t make sense!’

‘The company wouldn’t know about it. I’ve known lots of computer engineers — they all have a story about someone who has left a back door. Normally engineers set it up because getting the normal clearances takes time and often the clearances they are given are not enough, so more time is wasted going back through the channels to increase their access. But once they are logged on the first time, it’s easier for them to configure their own access and use that for the duration of the job. They don't tell the company because the good ones remove the access when they finish the job. Some forget and some bad ones leave the access there deliberately. In any case, none of them would tell.’

‘Supposing the company find it — they would haul the engineer over the coals.’

‘The company could look for a back door for years and never find one — they’re too difficult to detect.’

‘So what makes you think you can find one in the time you’ll have?’

DD looked at Lomax and for the first time in ages, a smile crept around his still puffy lips. ‘That’s what you pay me for, isn’t it!’

Lomax thought it through. ‘OK, but how do you propose to get from a telephone system to their computer system — it just doesn’t seem possible?’

‘Like I said — the telephone system uses the same cables to transfer calls as the computer network. All I need is to be able to ‘lift’ the traffic on any telephone wire and I’ve got all the computer traffic as well. I can then feed that information into an analyser program I have on my laptop and look at the individual packets of information that are passing over the network. It still won’t be easy, because login and password information is always encrypted over a network — but at least I’ll be onto the right network and with the software tools I have it shouldn’t take me too long to figure it out.’

‘You’ve done this type of thing before then?’ asked Lomax.

‘Kind of’ DD replied evasively.

‘In the States?’ pressed Lomax.

‘Um, no. Serbia and Montenegro.'

'Yes?'

And India.’

'India?'

‘Mm — I can't go into details, but the principle is the same — even in the States.’

Lomax looked at DD. Despite his black eyes, broken teeth and puffed up face, he had all the youth and enthusiasm of a schoolboy who has just been asked to raid the sweet shop by the headmaster. As least, thought Lomax, he would be with him to make sure he was not bothered by any more heavies.

‘When do we go?’ asked DD brightly.

Chapter 20

Before Lomax got into the car he memorised the street scale map around the Advanced Marine Agency buildings. There were three altogether, all within a distance of half a mile. The largest was a tall high rise office block situated on the main commercial street. Lomax drove past the main building entrance noting the reception area immediately inside the lobby. There was an underground car park at the back. The other two buildings did not seem to have reception areas and there were no other obvious entrances. Lomax carefully noted the location of security cameras at the corners of the buildings and parked the car in a multi-storey car park.

He came back to a nearby cafe opposite where he took a long latte to the window. While idly looking through a local paper he observed the comings and goings of the few people entering and leaving the building. After five minutes his cell phone rang. It was DD.

‘I’ve managed to track down the firm that looks after the buildings for Advanced Marine.’

Lomax grunted. ‘Anything else?’

‘I hacked their computer systems and managed to trace all the pass codes and security procedures they have in place.’

As DD began to reel off the list Lomax began to reappraise DD’s true value. DD had even managed to download a copy of the utility firm’s letterhead stationery and could print off an exact duplicate letter of authorisation. He had taken it one step further and logged a call on their systems as if emanating from Advanced Marine about an intermittent problem on one of their telephone handsets. DD created and assigned a non-existent engineer to the call so that although it would look genuine to the Advanced Marine Agency, no-one in real life would be prompted to attend.

After twenty minutes Lomax left the cafe and walked several blocks, noting the type and positioning of security cameras both sides of the street. Lomax decided the best method of entering the building would be through the front door — but that called for a little subtlety.

* * *

The receptionist studied the man in blue overalls and looked at his pass. She picked up the phone and spoke quietly, then told Lomax to wait. Two minutes later a smartly dressed man in a white shirt and puzzled expression came out to meet him.

‘I didn’t know we had a faulty point?’ he said.

‘Would you like to check back?’ enquired Lomax, holding out his work sheet.

‘Oh, no — that’s OK’. The man flicked his hand. ‘Where would you like to start?’

‘I need to start at the switchboard, run some diagnostics there, then I’ll have to check a few handsets in the building’ replied Lomax.

‘OK I’ll take you to the switchboard first — follow me.’

Lomax carried some genuine testing equipment in his bag. Some three years previously he had taken a course in telephone system repairs and was feeling quietly confident. The course covered the basics, plus some theory, and Lomax was grateful that telephone technology hadn’t changed as rapidly as computers.

His escort showed him the main console. He waited quietly while Lomax unpacked his gear and began to check over the system. While pretending to make progress Lomax chose a few extension numbers at random and one in particular on the ground floor near the back entrance. He asked the escort to show him where they all were and spent five minutes at each one, leaving the one at the back entrance to last.

When the man brought him into the empty office to look at the final suspect handset, he asked to be excused, promising to return in five minutes. Lomax smiled. This was an opportunity not to be missed. He took out the top section of his tool box and fished around for a small rectangle of thin flexible plastic. Moving over to the window he tested the handle. It was locked as expected. He took out a thin pick and inserted it in the lock. It turned easily after a few tries. Gradually he opened the window, checking for electrical contacts. There were none. He opened the window fully and examined where the catch locked into the frame. Carefully he inserted a small plastic block into the casement recess and began to close the window.

‘Hey! What are you doing?’ The man had returned.

* * *

McIver took the phones off his head wearily and rubbed his ears where they were hurting.

For the best part of 24 hours the combined Anti Submarine Warfare group followed the standard search pattern established by long experience. The initial track was east at right angles to the anticipated path of the target. At the end of the leg the group turned south for half a mile before turning west and running the next search leg. They turned south for half a mile and repeated the procedure all over again. McIver wasn’t sure just how many box squares they had been round, but he was starting to feel dizzy with the effort.

Armstrong thrust a cup of steaming coffee in front of him. ‘It’s harder than you think’ he said.

McIver sighed. ‘If we carry on like this we’ll soon end up in the major shipping lanes.’

‘Well what do you suggest?’ asked Armstrong.

‘We could move further north — try and box him in off the coast of Nova Scotia.’

‘It can be busy there too — lots of fishing off the seaboard and they can screw up our sonar systems’ observed Armstrong.

‘I know Chris but I can’t think of any other strategy — for all I know that bloody sub could be lying low waiting for us to clear out before it continues on its way. If we do this right we might just surprise him by lying in wait further north.’

Armstrong thought about it for a few moments. ‘OK Jack it’s as good a plan as any other.’

Captain Armstrong called out orders to retrieve the helicopters and prepare the group to sail north at top speed.

‘I’ll map out a killing zone. I just hope to God he comes into it!’

* * *

Lomax turned slowly.

‘Just wanted a breather — its stifling hot in here.’

‘All the windows are locked — no one is allowed to open them’ the escort said testily.

‘Sorry — I didn’t know’ apologised Lomax. The man moved over to the window and reached up to test the handle. He waggled it a couple of times to confirm it was locked.

Meanwhile Lomax was undoing the leads to his meter and beginning to pack away the tools. ‘Well, I’m finished here’ he said. I traced the problem to some faulty wiring in this extension’. Lomax pointed to where the cable for the telephone point came out of the wall. The cabling there looked obviously new and there was a cable extension point neatly tucked in behind the voice socket.

The man muttered a curt ‘good’ and escorted Lomax to the reception area. He took Lomax’s card, signed his worksheet and promptly walked back into the office without saying a word.

‘Thank you’ said Lomax to the man’s back.

‘Oh, don’t worry about him’ said the receptionist. He’s always like that to tradesmen. But you should see him suck up to his boss — ugh, he makes my skin crawl!’

Lomax smiled and bid the receptionist goodbye.

As he left he pondered the situation. The cable extension was more than just a way of joining two wires together. If anyone thought to look beneath the plastic cover they would see a tiny printed circuit board. Its job was to sample any voice or data traffic that travelled over the wire.

Lomax reflected it was just possible that the circuit board could be discovered. Americans were particularly sensitive about illegal surveillance ever since 9/11. It was possible they would be charged under terrorism laws if they were found.

According to Lomax’s sources there was a strong possibility the authorities already knew there was an active mission from London. When Lomax arrived at the safe house he checked his computer screen to read the latest email from London.

Dear Larry,

Hope you are well. I’ve been away for a few days for a much needed break in Paris. Meanwhile HQ have been weighing up the pros and cons of opening a new store in the States. You’ll be glad to know that Peter and the guys still have great faith in your commercial acumen and are counting on you to provide our first income stream in this brand new market.

Peter wants you to know that there will be no expense spared in this venture. He has an experienced team that are just finishing off in Italy and he wants to know if you need their assistance.

Take care, whatever you decide.

Regards,

Paul

Lomax considered the message. The reference to HQ meant that decisions had been taken at the highest level — but what decision? The following sentence was a little ambiguous and had to be interpreted carefully. On the face of it London were getting the jitters over the mission and wanted to put more men onto it. Yet they seemed to want to listen to Lomax’s suggestions before making a final decision.

Lomax mulled over the situation. Pursuing the investigation might finally convince the Americans about the British interest. The cautious approach would be to pull out now. But Lomax knew it would be difficult to call off Sean. He knew from the files just how tenacious that bugger could be.

* * *

As the car breasted the rise Sean could see the first direct light of the sun amongst the trees. For the last half hour the road twisted through a large plantation of fir. He spotted the odd log cabin perched on the hillside and the map indicated the town of Lakesville nearby.

Lakesville turned out to be a combination of shops and houses serving a permanent collection of loggers and a more transient group of vacationers. The town was laid out around the main road but several side streets showed the town had more to offer than just shops and bars. Even though he felt exhausted Sean detected a true local spirit of community. A big logging truck halted in the main street to let an elderly man cross the road. Friends waved to each other across the street and a couple of women were engaged in animated conversation.

Sean parked the car right outside a hardware store. He was surprised at the old fashioned layout. Rubber boots, galvanised watering cans, garden implements, wooden posts and fencing wire hung from the ceiling, and a plastic vase of flowers sat on the wooden counter.

Sean dodged between the hanging objects. Eventually a short red-faced man arrived behind the counter.

‘Morning.’

‘Hi — I’m up here on a last minute vacation and forgot to bring a few things’ replied Sean. “I need some water bottles, a sleeping bag, a map of the area, ground sheet, a trowel and a light nylon net, some binoculars and a rucksack. Can you help?’

‘Desperate to leave the rat race?’ the man laughed quietly. ‘Well, I can understand that.’

He went off to collect the items shaking his head and chuckling to himself.

Next Sean went into a mini-supermarket and bought bottles of water, boiled sweets, candy bars, biscuits and toilet paper. No time to worry about the diet he thought.

He slung the shopping in the trunk and filled up on diesel on the way out of town, buying a spare can and filling that too. He had deliberately not asked anyone for directions because he knew that in such a small community word would soon get round.

Finding the cabin proved to be easier than he imagined. The grid reference from the GPS indicated it was five miles outside of the town. He came to a signpost leading up a muddy track to a ridge. Sean’s car slipped and skidded around the corners and for a time Sean thought he would need to get out and walk the rest of the way. About three quarters of the way up the hillside he pulled into a passing place, locked the car, and began to explore.

By now the sun had risen well into the sky and the air felt warm and smelt of resin from the pines and the soft scent of fir needles. For the first time in his mission the familiarity of the trees, the springiness of the ground underfoot and the smell in the air gave Sean a feeling of being at home. It was seductive but also dangerous. This was no time to let down his guard.

Quietly Sean walked along the path which lead in the general direction of the cabin. According to his map he was about half a mile away from the ridge. Sean knew the cabin was close to the ridge but the contour lines indicated it was set in a hollow. The map also showed a few tracks that meandered over the ridge and down to the next village some six miles away. Sean guessed that these might originally have been deer tracks as they all converged on water at some point.

Shortly Sean glimpsed the cabin amongst the trees. Between the tree line and the cabin there was a cleared area of two hundred yards. This ground was covered in heather and gorse and the odd clump of trees and bushes sprouted in between. In the afternoon sun the colours and scent became almost heady and Sean yearned to be home once again amongst the hills and glens of Scotland. The cabin sheltered behind a gentle rise which soon started a slow descent down the other side of the hill. The whole effect was breathtaking.

Keeping behind the tree line he never left sight of the cabin. Eventually he found a spot from where he could observe without being seen. There was some open space behind — he did not want to be surprised from the rear. Sean settled into a hollow in the ground. Through his binoculars he saw Natasha’s outline pass in front of the cabin’s small front facing window.

For a few moments Sean allowed a feeling of relief to wash over him. The thought occurred that the feeling was more personal than professional.

Reassured, Sean set to with the trowel and within half an hour he had dug enough earth from the hollow to make a comfortable and shallow grave in the loamy soil. He placed bracken and leaves in the hole for insulation then went in search of more bracken which he weaved into the nylon net making a camouflage blanket. Lastly he picked up an armful of small branches and twigs which he carefully distributed behind the lie-up point and up to the tree line. Anyone approaching from the rear would be bound to make a noise.

Pleased with his work he walked back to a natural hollow which lay a good 100 metres back in the forest and underneath some trees. The area was covered with light forest vegetation and dried bracken. Without disturbing the natural cover too much Sean scooped out a hollow in the earth and made a bed out of dead bracken. This would house his cache of stores and provide a second lay-up point out of sight of the cabin.

He went back to the car and lugged up the rest of his purchases, storing them in the hollow. By this time the sun had passed its peak and after one last glimpse of the cabin Sean sat and eat some bread and cheese, washing it down with a bottle of water.

When he finished he went back to the car again. He needed to get the car off the road, camouflaged from sight of passing cars and wondering hikers. Eventually he discovered an overgrown track further down the hillside near the approach road. With some difficulty he backed the car onto the track with brambles scratching the sides. He stopped after ten metres as the vegetation became too thick to drive back any further. At the main track Sean rearranged the greenery to cover the passage of the car. He then took a whole half hour to make a full circuit, examining the hiding place for any breaks in cover. Satisfied at last he made his way back to the lay-up point nearest the cabin.

During the late afternoon Sean listened idly to the bird life and watched as some rabbits emerged cautiously from their warrens. He knew why Natasha had come to this beautiful place. But no matter how much she might want to escape Sean was sure trouble would seek her out.

A little later he carefully rose from his prone position and reconnoitred the whole area. The opposite side of the ridge offered a useful close approach without being seen by anyone from the woods. He looked for signs of any recent surveillance but found none.

When he returned to the lay-up point it was growing dark. In the distance Sean heard the faint sound of a car or truck. He imagined that the woods would be patrolled by forestry people on the lookout for fires at this time of the year. He filled his rucksack with some of the food and water and hung the binoculars around his neck. He jumped up and down a few times after strapping it on to check that there would be no noise from the pack.

Sean settled into position pulling his newly made camouflage net over him. He didn’t have long to wait.

Chapter 21

Cetus made good speed. There were no indications of anything ahead. While it was still in range of ship based weapons and the ever present helicopters, Cetus could not stop tracking probabilities, trajectories and outcomes.

For that reason it had called its evasion package into play. Part of the package included a random number generator to decide whether it would steer east or west of its course. The computer was literally able to flip a coin: heads to go left, tails to go right, so that no attacker could guess with accuracy which direction the sub might go next — assuming they had Cetus in their sights.

What the program could not do was rule against a chance happening, such as a cup of coffee being spilt onto a map. This was precisely what had just happened aboard the USS Port Royal.

‘Dam’ said Captain Armstrong, sucking a finger. ‘That coffee’s hot!’

‘Sorry Captain, shall I bring another?’ asked the Ensign.

The Captain shook his head.

‘Shall I fetch a spare map?’

Armstrong looked at the damp stain that the coffee had made on the chart.

‘No, don’t bother — I think it will be OK. Next time, please just leave drinks on the side over there.’

The young man looked crestfallen and backed away.

The Captain traced his finger across the chart, but the stain drew his eyes away from the intended ambush site. The night before he and McIver had argued into the small hours about the best location to position the fleet. McIver wanted to blockade nearer coastal waters, thinking that the area under the coffee stain would be too far east.

Captain Armstrong wasn’t so sure. He thought that the sub would want to take to the deeper water further away from the continental shelf. He reasoned that the sub had been boxed in once before and though it was only a machine, it seemed to be able to learn from its mistakes.

The rogue sub certainly appeared to have an uncanny intelligence when it came to evading their hunting group. Armstrong didn’t believe that computers were intelligent in any sense of the word, but he knew that given sufficient processing power they could out-beat the greatest chess grandmasters.

Which, in the end was what this job was all about surely? Chess, played out on a grand scale.

He reached for the telephone.

* * *

DD burst in through the door and began to splutter in his haste to tell Lomax the news. Lomax eyed the lad. He had seen DD excited before but this time his expression displayed real fear.

Lomax made him sit down and take a few deep breaths before beginning to talk. ‘OK, take it from the beginning.’

DD sucked in a huge breath. Lomax shook his head. ‘Take it slowly.’

‘They’ve uncovered our bug’ gasped DD. ‘But worse than that, they’ve started a trace.’

‘What do you mean?’ Lomax felt icy tentacles along his spine.

‘It means they’re on to us!’ gasped DD.

‘You’ll have to do better than that. Is our safe house known to them?’

DD shook his head.

‘Are they likely to discover where we are?’

‘No’ replied DD.

‘Then what is the problem?’

‘They discovered our tap. Then they started a search on their network — looking for evidence of when the bug might have been planted.’

Lomax got up and began to pace.

‘I guess they looked at the telephone fault log’ continued DD, ‘and tried to discover when the tap was placed on their system.’

Lomax stopped pacing and sat down again. ‘Carry on.’

‘Well they eventually got round to our false telephone fault. They checked on their system to see when they’d logged the call. Then they checked with the telephone people who must have given it the all clear. I’d altered their system to show that a call had been logged.’

‘And?’

DD ran his hand through his hair. ‘And that seemed to be OK at first. But they queried the call several times as though they didn’t believe the information.’

‘What could have given us away?’ enquired Lomax.

DD looked at the floor. ‘I don’t know. The only thing that ties us in is the location of the tap. They must have discovered the physical location of our tap, checked their logs and then someone must have remembered we visited that room.’

‘So they know they were tapped. And they now know who did the deed. So what?’

‘So they started a back trace. They used some programs to hunt on the Internet for any information about the device we left.’

Lomax looked perplexed. ‘But surely they can’t track it back to here?’

‘No. But since they discovered our tap I haven’t been able to check what they’ve been up to directly. But I have picked up some of their queries at specialist hardware places that sell devices like the one I used.’

‘Can they trace it back to us?’

‘No, but they might get wind that Her Majesty’s Government have an interest — you can’t exactly buy these gadgets off the shelf.’

‘So even if they knew there was a British interest, they still wouldn’t be able to find us?’

‘No — I don’t think so. But I don’t know what access to resources these people have. They discovered our tap more quickly than I thought they would. Perhaps they have access to immigration records? Who knows.’

‘Did you get any useful info from the tap while it was in place?’

‘I got some info about this man Schaeffer. From his emails it looks like he’s head of a security team. I’m not sure who he reports to but I’ve seen a few emails from him to his team. Here’s the latest.’

DD handed a sheet of paper to Lomax. ‘It looks like they know Natasha is heading to her parent’s log cabin. Schaeffer is personally taking charge and going after her.’

Lomax scanned the paper quickly and came to a decision. ‘OK. You had better finish tidying up and make sure that you haven’t left any other traces.’

Lomax handed the paper back and pulled out his mobile. ‘I need to call Sean urgently about Schaeffer.’

* * *

He could tell they were not tourists or forest rangers. They had a light slow tread as if unsure of the way. A twig broke with a loud crack. The man in front turned back sharply.

‘Watch where you’re putting your feet!’ he hissed. ‘And you with the flashlight — put it out.’

The flashlight snapped out.

Sean caught the metallic glint from a sub-machine gun slung over the shoulder of the tall man in front. The second carried a long barrelled sniper rifle. Although he couldn’t quite make out the third, he guessed he was carrying a firearm as well.

The men stopped about a hundred metres from where Sean lay concealed. They formed a huddle and their soft voices carried over the gloom. Sean couldn’t quite make out what they were saying but their intentions were clear. They turned and headed towards the cabin, their heavy boots breaking more twigs and branches that Sean had scattered earlier. As they neared the cabin their pace grew slower and quieter.

They spread out. Sean felt a shiver run across his shoulder blades. He was tempted to deal with the hunters near the cabin first, but he didn’t know if they had left someone watching. The last thing he wanted was a bullet in the head when he wasn't looking.

Once the men had passed his hideout Sean crawled back to the path. It was easy to spot the location of the guard because of the cigarette glow: he was sitting in the passenger seat of their 4x4 car. Sean moved around to the back of the car before closing in. He calculated his approach was masked by the blind spot of the rear view mirror. The guard had omitted the simple precaution of locking the doors.

Sean listened carefully. The man finished on his walkie-talkie and tossed it onto the seat next to him. Sean yanked the door open and pulled him out. A swift jab to the thorax followed by a hard side punch to the temple and the man slipped into unconsciousness without making a fuss.

Sean pulled out some plastic cuffs from his rucksack and bound the man’s hands and feet. Next he taped over the mouth and dragged him 50 metres into the undergrowth. When Sean looked in the truck’s cabin he heard the radio playing softly. He found the keys still in the ignition, turned it off and opened the bonnet. He checked the engine with his flashlight, reaching in to remove three plug leads. He hid them carefully in the back. If the worst came to the worst he wanted spare transport.

Shining the flashlight around the back he saw a tarpaulin draped on the seat. Pulling it away revealed a long barrelled rifle glinting in the gloom. Sean lifted it out and checked the safety. He examined it closely in the torchlight and whistled quietly. It was a Heckler & Koch PSG1 with telescopic sight still attached. He found a box of rounds in the glove compartment and slipped them into his pocket.

Sean went back into the bush to check the guard who was regaining consciousness. He looped a thin cord between his leg and wrist ties then secured it around the bole of a nearby tree. That should buy him enough time to deal with the rest of the hunting party.

Sean transferred the box of rounds to the rucksack and tied the rifle to the outside. He pulled it on, tightening the cinches. Running up the road and back into the woods, he wondered how far the rest of the gunmen had taken things in his absence.

* * *

‘I’m beginning to see this machine as a real live adversary Jim’ said McIver. ‘It’s quiet, stealthy and cunning. And even with all the hardware we’ve got we still haven’t a real chance of finding it and fixing it for good.’

McIver was grumpy this morning. He had only a few hours sleep the night before. Then during breakfast he discovered that the Captain had altered the plans they had agreed earlier. Who the hell is running this show? he asked himself. He ought to give that man a dressing down and order him to revert to the original plan.

McIver was tempted but once he talked to him he saw the sense in what the man was trying to do. By extending the line out towards the east, Armstrong hoped to cover off the possibility of the sub out-flanking their welcome party and slip past using the greater ocean depths away from the continental shelf.

‘I’m sorry about the change of plan Jock. I didn’t tell you because I thought you needed the sleep’ said Armstrong quietly, hoping to ward off the worst of the man’s ire.

In the light of day McIver conceded that the man did have a point. It would be tragic if the sub choose that route and they had no assets out there to intercept.

‘We’re also close enough now to patch into the Carl Vincent group’ said Armstrong.

‘Good. Let’s get some air cover from them — we could do with some air patrols equipped with anti-submarine weapons.’ McIver considered what he required. ‘No nuclear depth bombs or weapons though. We don’t want to start World War III’.

‘Very good sir.’ said Armstrong firmly.

‘OK Jim.’ McIver turned to look through the bridge window. ‘Sorry I jumped down your throat earlier.’

‘That’s alright Jock’ Armstrong replied quietly.

‘Time to get moving’ said McIver.

‘Commander!’ Armstrong called for his officer.

Commander Briggs sighed. At least you always knew where you were with the Captain, even if the Admiral was still an unknown quantity. Pity the enemy though, thought Briggs. He would hate to be on the other side of such relentless warriors.

‘I want to send a message — a taste of things to come.’

‘Yes sir. What do you suggest?’

‘How many Mk41’s do we have?’

‘Thirty ready for firing in the cells Captain. And more on each frigate.’

‘OK Commander. Tell your Surface Warfare Officer I want his best guess at the point of firing. Then add 200 yards for the first, subtract 200 yards for the second and again for the third. Is that clear?’

‘Yes sir. You want a pattern of three Mk41’s landing successively closer to the target from the north, from each frigate.’

McIver interrupted. ‘I also want a pattern of four depth charges, one every hundred yards. Each frigate should lay the depth charges perpendicular to the estimated direction of the sub.’

Like beaters driving game, McIver planned to herd Cetus along the axis. Sitting like a spider in a web, McIver had positioned his ship at the centre of the arc of steel — if you didn’t count Armstrong’s fine-tuning.

Satisfied the orders were received correctly, McIver stepped out onto the bridge wing to oversee the launch of the Mk41’s via the Vertical Launch System cells on deck.

He watched as the first missiles ‘hot launched’ and rose straight up into the air from their tubes. They quickly cleared the ship and turned on course. McIver waited for the strike and through binoculars saw the first pattern of spray spring up some 5km away. He had no idea at what depth to set them and didn’t even know what the operational depth for the miniature submarine was. Certainly no more than 500 metres he thought.

‘Make sure those helicopters dunk on the flanks only and co-ordinate with the mine laying.’ McIver directed. If Cetus was near, its most likely route of escape was towards the two Frigates Armstrong had thought to deploy to the east.

‘If anyone gets wind of the sub they are to fire immediately — you hear? Do not wait for my order.’

* * *

Unable to sleep, Captain Sheering rolled onto his side and opened his eyes. He could see his old fashioned alarm clock, phosphor arms pointing to 2:14 am. Next to his clock was the empty cup of cocoa he always took before sleeping.

The Captain commanded the Los Angeles class submarine the USS Cheyenne, patrolling at the furthest reach of McIver’s Anti Submarine Warfare group.

The spoon on the saucer was rattling with the vibration of the sub and Captain Sheering realised this was the noise that had woken him. As he watched the spoon buzzed with increased energy, leaping up and down until it fell onto the bedclothes.

The Captain had given strict orders for quiet running. Nothing on or within his submarine should making so much noise.

Curiously the Captain picked up the spoon and dropped it quickly — it was hot! As he reached for the communicator above his bed, it pinged. He picked it up.

‘What the hell is happening?’ he enquired. ‘I ordered full quiet — where is that noise coming from?’

‘We don’t know skipper’ replied the Executive Officer. ‘But it’s not coming from inside the boat.’

Captain Sheering’s blood ran cold. From that moment there was no doubt in his mind that his ship was under attack from Cetus.

When he had received a detailed briefing about the rogue sub he had considered what countermeasures he should deploy against such an attack. Unfortunately when discussing these with McIver he received only the vaguest comments about their effectiveness. It seemed no-one was sure what the submarine’s capabilities were.

Still, all was not lost. Captain Sheering had been busy while waiting for Cetus and had made a study of the surrounding currents.

‘Take us up to 300 metres — I want to be in the middle of the thermal incline above us. I also want to be facing the oncoming current — steer three hundred and forty degrees. Just make enough turns to keep us stationary. Is that understood?’

‘Yes sir.’

Sound battle stations and get all department heads together in the ward room. I will speak to them in two minutes. Try and get a fix on that blasted machine and maintain full quiet.’

‘Yes sir.’

Sheering padded to the ward room. While he was waiting for the last of his department heads to file into the cramped space, he could hear the vibration increase in intensity.

‘Well men, this is it’. Captain Sheering looked around at the familiar faces. ‘I have to tell you that we are under attack by a very advanced enemy submarine. The next twenty minutes will determine whether we live or die.’

The men looked at each other, taken aback by the directness of the speech.

‘You all know as much as I do about our attacker — which isn’t much. Just let’s say we have a fight on our hands.’

Captain Sheering grasped the back of a chair and leaned forward. ‘In the next twenty minutes I am likely to give you some strange orders — don’t question them — just act on them immediately. Your lives might depend on it.’

He looked round around for the last time. ‘Now get to your stations!’

Chapter 22

Time was running out and Lomax couldn’t wait for Sean to return. He stomped into the kid’s bedroom and found him asleep in front of a computer screen. Lomax shook him roughly and went back out to make a cup of coffee. He placed the steaming mug on the table.

‘Listen DD, we need to go back.’

‘What do you mean, go back?’

‘Back to the company. We need the information as soon as possible. There’s only one way to get it — we have to break in.’

‘Break in?’

‘Don’t keep repeating everything I say’ said Lomax testily. ‘We need to go back, break into their computer room, and trace this guy Schaeffer. Are you up for it?’

‘Hang on’, said DD. ‘We’ve been there before and now they’ve discovered the bug they’ll be ready for us. How do you expect to get away with it?’

‘Leave that to me’, said Lomax. ‘I want to know if we get access to the computer room can you find the information we’re looking for?’

DD looked doubtful.

‘What do you need?’ asked Lomax patiently.

DD thought. ‘I would just need time. I’ve got all the gear I need here’ he said, glancing around the untidy room. ‘I just need time.’

‘OK DD, how much time?’ said Lomax through gritted teeth.

‘An hour should do it. But if we are breaking in, will we have all that time?’

‘Leave that to me’ said Lomax finally. ‘Your job is to disable their alarm system, or at least find out what we need to do in order to disable it.’

DD looked reluctant.

Lomax understood the young man’s fear. ‘You’ve been caught once, but I will be there with you all the way. But you must stick with me — understand?’

‘Don’t worry’ replied DD fervently. ‘I won’t let you out of my sight.’

‘Good’ said Lomax. ‘Just let me know when you’ve fixed the alarm. I’m going to turn in and get some sleep. You need some too before we go. We’ll set off around midnight.’

* * *

Lomax crouched down at the building adjacent to the Advanced Marine Agency headquarters. DD squatted beside him and watched as Lomax drew out a dark felt cloth and unrolled in on the ground. He and DD were wearing overshoes, dark boiler suits and surgical gloves.

‘We’re going to enter this building, get to the top and cross over to AMA’s building next door,’ whispered Lomax.

DD looked up into the night sky at the gap between the two buildings. ‘Bloody hell’ he gulped.

‘Quiet!’ admonished Lomax as he selected a small battery powered drill and fitted a bit. The bit went cleanly through the plastic surround of the window, hardly making a noise. Next Lomax threaded a long thin steel rod which was bent at ninety degrees about two centimetres from the end. He manipulated the rod until he felt it connect with the interior hook of the window mechanism. Levering the rod, he moved the locking mechanism to its open position.

Lomax carefully stowed away the tools, making sure that each was in its own felt compartment to reduce the risk of noise. Applying a blob of white plastic filler to the hole, he checked DD was ready. Carefully he pushed the window open. He stood up and with help from DD, climbed through the window. Once he was in the room he waited until his eyes had adjusted to the gloom before signalling to DD to crawl through. When they were both inside Lomax pulled the handle to lock the window.

Lomax used the flashlight to look around the small meeting room, signalling DD to be still. He moved to the door and opened it a short way to check outside. They headed through the darkened corridor towards the lift.

Stepping out of the lift on the top floor, Lomax hunted around for the door to the roof. DD found it first. It was locked and DD stepped aside to allow Lomax access. Lomax took out his lock pick tools from his rucksack and opened the door in two minutes. They made their way up a narrow flight of stairs, through another door and onto the flat roof.

DD looked over the parapet some fourteen floors below and started to feel dizzy. The distance to the building opposite, the object of their night’s activities, was less than twenty feet away. AMA’s roof was slightly lower than theirs. DD walked away from the edge and watched as Lomax brought out a thin rope which he attached to a lightweight triangular hook. Lomax coiled the rope at his feet before swinging it in an arc. DD was impressed that it took Lomax just one throw to find the rampart on the other building. As Lomax hauled back on the rope, DD could hear the hook snag tight on the ironwork set into the balustrade. Lomax secured the rope at his end and tied it off. Then without hesitation, he crawled over the parapet and prepared to inch his way over. DD watched with fascination as Lomax looped both legs around the rope and made his way across, hand over hand. The rope sagged alarmingly as Lomax reached the centre and DD realised he would have to follow him. DD looked away quickly as he felt another uncomfortable twinge of vertigo.

Soon Lomax had reached the other side and beckoned for DD to follow. He drew a deep breath, climbed over the wall and grabbed hold of the rope. Trying not to look down, he gently lowered himself onto it. Once he was in the correct prone position, he found that moving along the rope was relatively easy — memories of the course in Norfolk helped and he was surprised to find his fear receding. Lomax grabbed his hand as soon as he was near.

Before they set off again DD watched Lomax undo the locking mechanism and tug the rope sharply. The knot magically released itself from the far building. Lomax wound the rope into another neat coil before stowing it back in his rucksack.

They approached the roof door and Lomax opened it cautiously. DD had previously turned off the alarm for the building and was feeling confident. But even so he realised there might be other internal alarms he missed.

Lomax opened the door and waited to hear if any had been triggered. After two minutes they descended a similar narrow flight of stairs which emerged on the top floor, not far from the lift. This time they took the stairs to avoid alerting the night watchman.

They left the stairs on the ground floor and began to look for the computer room. After searching several identical corridors, DD asked Lomax to stop and give him a leg up. DD lifted one of the ceiling tiles and saw a bundle of data cables following the line of the corridor. From that point on it was an easy to trace the cables at the various corridor junctions. They led through to a room at the back of the building. A stout wooden door with its own separate alarm system was set into the wall next to it. The lock was a push button combination. DD was interested to see how Lomax would deal with this type of lock. Though he was used to hacking the most sophisticated computer defences, to his shame he knew next to nothing about door locks — electronic or otherwise.

Lomax reached into his rucksack and brought out a pen-like device attached by a cable to a three inch LCD screen. Lomax smeared a clear gel around the lock, switched on the screen, and dragged the pen through the gel. Immediately the screen showed the interior of the lock as a green maze. DD was impressed again with how prepared the man was. After a few scans of the lock, Lomax pressed four numbered keys on the face in a precise order. The lock clicked and Lomax turned the handle. He wiped the clear gel with a tissue before easing the door forward a fraction. Carefully he inspected the door jamb with his flashlight. But Lomax failed to spot a dull metal strip near the floor. As the door opened the circuit closed on a silent alarm.

Lomax opened the door wider and literally shoved DD inside. ‘Go, go, go DD! You’ve got forty minutes to get the info we need!’

* * *

The men had left no lookouts, another sign of sloppiness. Before he came out of the woods and into the clearing, Sean laid on the ground and began a rapid but quiet approach on his belly. Reaching the cabin wall he rose to peek through a gap under the curtains.

At first it was difficult to make out anything as one of the men had his back to the window blocking the view. Eventually he moved to reveal two other men. One stood in front of her and the one behind held her arms. They had not yet harmed her, but he could tell by the threatening way they stood that violence was imminent. The man in front was waving the red end of his cigarette under her chin and around her face, occasionally jabbing the air to emphasise a point.

Sean listened carefully, but couldn’t hear a single word of the conversation. Natasha looked distraught and tried to move back. The man with the cigarette advanced threateningly.

Sean tested the door handle. It was unlocked.

He entered the cabin like a whirlwind. On his way past the first man he aimed a savage elbow jab to the windpipe. The second man did not have time to react as Sean unleashed a crunching kick to the groin. As he was about to deliver a second punch to the head, he felt a crushing blow across his shoulders that sent him sprawling across the room. Before he could get up the cigarette man was landing hard kicks, aiming for his head. The blows landed with stunning force. Sean saw the man’s bulk fill his vision.

Sean rolled away and used the momentum to spring to his feet. Before he completed the move the man was on him, raining iron blows to his head and chest. Sean reacted defensively with a series of blocks and feints, giving him a little time to assess vulnerabilities. His opponent was taller, bigger and faster than Sean and he knew all the moves. He was a ferocious fighter and Sean felt the first stirrings of alarm. He wasn’t defeated yet and in the past he had survived worse attacks than this. But the feeling of dread, once begun, was difficult to shake off.

Sean did not see where the next blow came from. It sent him reeling and he deliberately fell and rolled underneath the wooden table. He continued rolling until he was on the other side, then rose and grasped the table legs. He swung the table towards his attacker, presenting the surface like a shield against the rain of blows. What happened next stunned Sean to his core.

The wood split and a closed fist appeared through the table top, stopping just inches from Sean’s face. The sight of the fist appearing through what should have been an impenetrable shield came as a shock. Instinctively he fell back, bringing the table down with him. As he fell, the splintered wood closed like a vice around the arm of the attacker and drew him down also.

Sean kicked at the legs in front of him, smashing his boots against a knee cap. In a normal man this would be incapacitating, but all Sean heard was a grunt of pain. The man was desperately trying to withdraw his arm from the table, when Sean had an idea. Now on his back, Sean grabbed hold of the arm and pushed it hard up and away from him. The splintered jaws of the hole dug deep into the flesh. As the man groaned in pain again, Sean yanked the arm downward as hard as he could. He was rewarded by the smack of the man’s head against the table top. Sean was about to yank the arm sideways in the hope of dislocating the shoulder blade, when the fist he was holding opened and grabbed him around the throat.

Sean could not believe how strong this man was. The grip around his neck was like nothing he had experienced before. Sean’s breathing became ragged as his throat was compressed. He lashed out with his boots again and heard another grunt as he connected with a shinbone. In the background he registered Natasha’s cries of anguish.

As his breathing slowed, Sean knew he had only seconds left. He could not see much because his eyesight had started to shut down from the lack of oxygen. Sean lifted his legs and positioned his boots underneath the remains of the table. He jerked his legs straight and felt the pressure on his throat increase. He pushed again and slowly felt the man being lifted off the ground. Another huge effort and both man and table described an arc above him. The man landed heavily. Sean quickly got to his feet. The man looked ridiculous with the remains of the table on top of him, arm still thrust through it.

Sean grabbed the arm again just above the wrist and holding it up straight, landed a hard kick connecting with the triceps. There was a snapping sound. Remarkably this only provoked another grunt.

Sean looked around quickly. The other two men were still lying prone on the floor. Natasha reappeared with a large knife from the kitchen which she held out desperately to Sean.

He did not feel like smiling at all, but he could see from Natasha’s white face that she needed some reassurance. Then he saw Natasha’s face change, her mouth about to open with a warning.

It was too late. Sean looked back in time to see one of the prone men withdraw a gun, swinging it around to aim at Sean. Natasha started to move. Whether it was to protect Sean, or to try and wrench the gun away, Sean didn’t know. But he knew he would not be able to get to the gunman in time.

* * *

On board the submarine USS Cheyenne the sonar operator spoke into the mile. ‘Con, Sonar. Target roughly 3500 yards, heading 287 degrees. It’s too quiet to get a signature, but the chances are it’s Cetus.’

‘How did it get so close without us noticing?’

‘No idea Captain’ came the reply. ‘Maybe he was lying in wait?’

Captain Sheering snapped on the mike. ‘Fire Control, prepare to launch from tubes 2 and 4. Steer 302 degrees. Make full revolutions. I want to put this thermal layer between us.’

He looked over at his Executive Officer. ‘Any other ideas, John?’ he asked quietly.

The XO paused. ‘We could make this an each way bet’ he said thoughtfully.

Captain Sheering thumbed the mike. ‘Wire guide 2, but make 4 autonomous. Make both active terminal homing.’

The first torpedo would spool a control wire out of the back while it was running and the fire control team could manage its speed and direction until it acquired the target. The second torpedo would be left to its own devices to find and hunt down their attacker — the ‘each way bet’.

‘Con, navigation. Leaving the thermal incline now.’

Immediately Sheering felt the vibration lessen. The XO looked at him quizzically.

‘It’s working John — that layer of warm current is acting like a filter to the sound beam that’s coming our way. It’s spreading it out, like a prism splits up white light.’

The Captain was rewarded by a look of awe from his Executive Officer. Ten seconds later the officer’s expression changed to alarm when they suddenly ran into a wall of vibration that made the whole sub hum.

‘I want to keep that warm current between us.’ The Captain looked across at his XO. ‘It’s important to keep a perspective on this John — it won’t last forever. But while it does we need to change our depth to take into account any vertical or horizontal changes the bastard makes. If he goes up, we go down. If he goes left, we go right.’

‘Like playing round the mulberry bush, sir?’

‘Correct John. Order navigation to follow this current on the opposite side to Cetus. If he crosses over, we cross back. If he goes along one side, we go along the other.’

‘Got that Captain.’ The XO relayed the instructions.

Captain Sheering thumbed the mike again. ‘Give me a report every 30 seconds.’

‘Yes sir’ responded the Fire Control technician. ‘Target moving north. Sir…’, the man stopped to check the readout. ‘It’s moving so fast!’

‘Keep an eye on the son of a bitch, Jones, we mustn’t lose it!’

* * *

Sean scooped up the chair beside him. In one movement he twisted like a shot putter at the Olympics and let the chair fly. Immediately he heard a shot and a second later felt a searing pain in his side. The chair missed the gun hand completely, but one of the legs connected with the gunman’s left eye. The man screamed and brought his arm up to protect his face. Sean’s boot connected with the man’s jaw and the gun went spinning away towards the door.

Sean raced after it and picked it up. Keeping one eye on the gunman he righted a chair and made Natasha sit. He then went to each of the men, using the plastic cuffs to tie their hands and legs together.

The table-top man was last. Sean had him down as the leader, Schaeffer. He approached from the side. The man’s eyes were closed and he appeared to be unconscious. Sean began to strap a plastic cuff around his broken arm. While Sean was engaged, Schaeffer’s eyes opened a millimetre, swivelled slowly and focused on Sean. At that moment, the hairs on the back of Sean’s neck literally stood up on end, but the man was already swinging his other good arm. The power of the punch knocked Sean to the floor and then he was on top of him, swinging with his good fist.

Sean nearly blacked out with the force and suddenness of the attack. Blood drained from his head and in a split second he went from feeling light-headed to the edge of unconsciousness. A primitive instinct caused him to roll sideways away from the attack.

Before he could regain his breath, or even attempt to get to his feet, Schaeffer was on him again. A series of hard thuds reminded him that the man was still very much in control. Then a particularly hard kick connected and Sean felt a sharp pain in his side. He continued to roll away from the onslaught. At this point he glimpsed Natasha rising from her chair. She picked up a vase of plastic flowers still standing miraculously on a side table and brought it crashing down on Schaeffer’s skull.

The man broke off the attack and turned to confront his new adversary.

Sean ignored the pain, swung his legs around in a fast arc, connecting just below and behind Schaeffer’s lower leg. The man sank to his knees and Sean used a closed fist to the man’s already battered face. He saw Schaeffer’s jaw wobble with the force. Amazingly this did not stop the man from getting to his feet, staggering to the door and lurching into the darkness.

Sean struggled to his feet, grabbed his rucksack and ran after him.

Chapter 23

DD switched on the lights and blinked in the harsh white glare. The strip lights showed the room to be thirty feet long and twenty feet wide. Along the back wall stretched a row of communications cabinets, stuffed with networking gear. Cables snaked into the cabinets from the ceiling and LED lights glowed green and orange through the glass doors.

He took out a small laptop computer, no larger than an A5 notepad. Plugging a cable into it, he connected the other end to a spare port on one of the network switches. While he waited for the computer to boot up he hurried over to the next row of cabinets. These contained the servers which ran the network. DD noticed that all of these cabinets had lockable glass doors. Feeling around the top of the cabinet, he found the key and opened the door.

He pulled out a narrow shelf which glided soundlessly out on rollers. A thin screen and keyboard lay flat on the shelf. DD lifted the screen into an upright position, extracted a second small laptop from his bag and set it up alongside the server screen.

Using a combination of keys DD was able to view the console for each server in turn. He examined the A5 laptop that was plugged in to the network in the first cabinet and soon deduced the key server which would authenticate him, giving him access to the network.

Once on the system DD marvelled at the intricate defences the company had constructed. Each of their schemes was laid out before him on the screen, like a map in front of a geologist. Avoiding them, he began the most boring stage of the evening’s work — searching for the information he required. In a way it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. He knew what the needle looked like, but compared to the sheer volume of other digital information on the network there was no easy way to find it quickly.

DD fired up a program from the laptop onto the network. It was small, very fast and acted like a search engine. Designed to search every document, database, spreadsheet and email, it could build a sophisticated index of every word and its position within the document. Once the index was complete DD could search the entire network for specific words or phrases. To signal how far the program had reached, a progress bar showed on the screen. Currently it stood at 34 % and was slowly moving towards the halfway mark. DD figured that he would need another twenty minutes for the program to complete, but at this stage he felt secure in the knowledge that no-one knew they were here.

He turned to the sound of a muted explosion from outside the room. The feeling of security evaporated in an instant.

* * *

While DD was busy on the servers, Lomax made a tour of the computer room, noticing a safe sunk into the back wall. It was locked, but Lomax thought he could crack it in less than ten minutes. He checked the corridor again — it was clear. He wanted to be sure he had plenty of warning should there be a guard on the prowl and he pulled a flat round object out of his rucksack, the size of a portable CD player. Walking to the end of the corridor, he stopped just before it turned the corner and undid the tabs on the back of the device. He pressed it against the wall about a foot off the ground and the device stuck to the wall like a limpet. Lomax then pulled out a tab from the side, unreeling a hair-thin wire and fixed it to the opposite wall with a sucker. Anyone unfortunate enough to trip over the wire would get a nasty shock.

Working his way forward Lomax placed another two trip mines along the corridor, spacing them ten metres apart.

Back in the computer room, Lomax examined the safe. For all the sophistication of the equipment around him, it was the most basic device in the room, using a pure mechanical locking mechanism to protect its contents. Lomax dipped into his rucksack again and brought out a slim box, about the size and shape of digital camera. He smeared some gel around the dial on the safe and set to work with his miniature X-ray camera. As he opened the safe door, he heard a muffled boom. Lomax went quickly to the door and looked out carefully. He could hear faint cries. Very soon they would call up reinforcements and the game would be up.

‘How much time do you need?’ he shouted over to DD.

‘At least fifteen minutes’, came the reply.

‘Jesus’ muttered Lomax under his breath. The other traps might slow them down, but not for that long. He reached into his coat and pulled out his pistol. Sean might have reasons not to use firearms, but Lomax felt no compunction. Then the thought of word reaching London about this fiasco made him hesitate. London wanted no dead bodies left for the law or the media to investigate. London was sometimes a bit like a starched Auntie he had once known. She was very clear on what she wanted you to do and what she didn’t want you to do. And like Auntie, the Agency’s wrath would be felt for a long time if you were a bad boy.

Well, you haven’t seen how bad I can be, thought Lomax.

Just then he felt the air pressure blast from a second explosion. They only had seconds left.

‘Come on’, he shouted to DD. ‘Let’s go!’

Lomax glanced back into the room. He watched impatiently as DD grabbed his two small pocket computers and stuffed them into his rucksack. The leads were left dangling from the network sockets and it looked like DD was going to take those as well. Before Lomax could run back into the room to get him, DD dashed over to the opened safe and grabbed the contents. Lomax dragged DD to the door.

‘Listen shit-head’, Lomax ground out through his teeth. He forced DD into a crouch. ‘Stay low, follow me, and when I say run — run like the clappers!’

At that moment, a head peeked around the final corner to their corridor. Lomax could just make out a blue cap, before the head and cap disappeared. Lomax shoved DD in the back. ‘Let’s go!’

* * *

Sean saw Schaeffer fifty yards away, heading uphill for the ridge. Sean dived into the woods taking the trail he discovered earlier in the day. Even though there was a half moon it was difficult to see the path through the overhanging foliage.

He was exhausted and breathing heavily from the punishment he had taken. His side hurt like hell. He thought he might have a broken rib, but now was not the time to stop and take stock.

He held his hands out in front of him to stop himself colliding with the trees. After a minute his night sight improved and he moved more confidently over the ground. About halfway up the slope he hunted around for a side path that would allow him to approach the ridge from an angle. He found the path after a minute and carefully crept along it until he judged he was about fifteen metres from the top. He stopped, lay down on the path and used his elbows to pull himself along. He wasn’t sure if Schaeffer had a gun and Sean didn’t want to be silhouetted in the moonlight as he came over the ridge.

Cautiously he raised his head to peer over the top. He could make out a swath of trees on the down slope with the odd trail marked by breaks in the wood. He couldn’t see the man he was hunting. Sean made a huge effort to reduce his own rapid breathing to listen for the sound of Schaeffer’s progress.

There was nothing.

Slowly Sean felt for his rucksack and untied the PSG1 sniper rifle from its straps. Tucking it into his shoulder he peered through the telescopic sight. Dark leaves leapt into view. He quartered the area through the sights, moving in a regular pattern, forward and back, checking every part of the scene.

Several minutes went by and Sean was afraid he had lost his prey. Then a movement caused him to double check and sweep the sights back. He spotted a shape in the undergrowth. Even under the highest magnification it was difficult to make it out. The shape moved slowly and stealthily through the trees from left to right.

Sean gripped the rifle and quietly eased a round into the chamber. At this distance he was not confident of a lethal shot — he had no idea how the rifle had been set up.

The ground provided a steady platform and Sean gradually took up pressure on the trigger. Breathing lightly he moved the sight to keep track of the moving form. Then he stopped breathing and applied a little more pressure to the trigger. The gun went off with a sharp ‘crack’. Sean continued to look through the telescopic sight but nothing moved.

Slowly Sean slithered over the ridge. When he felt it was safe he stood up, shouldering the rucksack and carrying the rifle trail style. He approached the target area carefully. Initially he didn’t see anything. Crouching down he used his penlight to search the forest floor. He could see a disturbance in the littoral and light glistened from a thin trickle of blood on a green leaf. Sean followed the trail, swinging his penlight left and right. This wasn’t good practice — his quarry could use the light source to target Sean. But Sean felt he had made a significant shot and expected the man to be seriously injured.

For what seemed like hours, but was probably only ten minutes, he cautiously followed the trail. It lead around to the right and crossed back over the ridge lower down. He must be trying to find his way back to his car, thought Sean.

A few minutes later he heard the guard he had tied up earlier. The man was trying to attract attention through his taped mouth with inarticulate mumbling.

Sean listened carefully. The last thing he wanted was for his quarry to release the guard, because then he would have two men to contend with. On the other hand he needed to know what Schaeffer had in mind. Sean could hear the faint squeaks from the car’s suspension, as though someone had just climbed in. Schaeffer must be looking for the car keys.

Sean glanced around. The path was littered with pine cones. Apart from the PSG1 he had no other weapons. He crept back up the path and found a fallen branch with a knobbly end.

Sean hefted the stick and went back along the path towards the car. His quarry had given up the hunt for the car keys and was bending over his tied-up colleague, about to peel off the tape from the guard’s mouth.

Sean stepped around the car quietly. Some sixth sense made the man straighten up but Sean had allowed for this and the knobbly end of the branch hit the man squarely over the head. Sean took no chances. He had already hit him enough times tonight to have killed him three times over. He followed up quickly with a kick to the man’s calves, dropping him onto his knees. A punch to the base of the neck and Schaeffer keeled over slowly.

Sean had been tricked before and he wasn’t about to make the same mistake again. He placed his boot firmly on the man’s back and forced his hands together, swiftly cuffing them tight. Next he placed his boot over both of the man’s legs. He noticed congealed blood around the thigh where he had wounded him with the rifle. He cuffed the man’s legs.

Going back to the car he pulled out some nylon rope. Dragging Schaeffer to the nearest tree, Sean wound the rope around the base, each time looping it over the plastic cuffs. When he was satisfied, Sean rifled through the man’s pockets carefully out of range of a head butt. As expected there was no personal identification.

This posed a dilemma. It was unlikely the man would volunteer any information about how and why he had been sent. Yet the capture of four men tonight represented the best chance Sean had of finding the chief architect of the opposition and the real heart of his mission.

Sean’s experience of torture was fairly extensive. During his army days he had seen the effects on men in his regiment. At one point he himself had been at the receiving end over a five day period. But one thing he knew was that under torture the bravest men could spin a web of lies which would not be broken easily. Less brave souls would volunteer anything. Whether a man was brave or not, their story could not be relied on.

Sean sighed. He knew that torture would not achieve anything with this man, but there was no need to tell Schaeffer that. Sean withdrew his knife.

* * *

Captain Sheering could always tell when his XO was alarmed — his eyebrows would draw together making him look like a male version of Frida Kahlo.

‘What is it John?’

‘Sir, you never launched the torpedoes.’

‘Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. It’s just that I’ve had second thoughts about them. Imagine we did fire — which way would they go?’

The XO looked perplexed. ‘Why, towards the target of course.’

‘And what’s between us and the target?’ asked the Captain patiently.

‘Oh, I see what you mean sir. The torpedoes would be flying through the sound energy beam. They might explode before reaching the target.’

‘Correct John, I think that’s why the British sub found it so difficult to deal with.’

Captain Sheering studied his XO closely. ‘So what else can we hit him with?’ The Captain could almost see the cogs moving.

‘Well sir, there’s nothing else that is suitable.’

‘Is that so?’ asked the Captain.

The man’s forehead crinkled and his eyebrows knitted together. ‘You don’t mean the Tomahawks?’

Captain Sheering remained quiet.

‘You do mean the Tomahawks, don’t you sir!’ exclaimed the XO. ‘But TLAM’s are meant for long range work — not something as close as a mile away!’

‘They’re also only meant for surface or land targets’ said the Captain. ‘But there’s nothing to stop us using a Tomahawk anyway we want to — whatever gets the job done.’

‘How could you program the TLAM to explode under water — it’s never been done before!’

‘You should talk to the Weapons Officer. But I thought we might be able to offset the Tomahawk’s altitude gauge. Make it think it’s flying higher than it is. Then program it to ignore terrain following and dive onto the target at the last moment. That should do the trick.’

The Executive Officer scratched his scalp. ‘There’s another problem’ he said emphatically, as if this was the deciding point. ‘TLAM’s need a static target. They’re designed to hit fixed objects on land. Our rogue sub is moving all the time.’

The Captain nodded, pleased that his first officer had thought it through. However all his points so far were negative ones and he hadn’t been forthcoming with any solutions.

‘Well done John, you’ve spotted the real problem with this. We need to make sure that sub is in the same place we program into the Tomahawk. It’ll require some fancy footwork if we’re going to manage that — we’ll have to lead Cetus into the killing zone.’

The XO stared at his Captain. ‘Sir, if we do that we could be in the killing zone too.’

‘Correct’, the Captain grimaced. ‘Let’s get one ready for launch.’

* * *

Natasha felt light headed. Her hands shook with fear. She swept her hair back and surveyed the devastation in the room. All the furniture was overturned and two men lay on their backs, hands and feet tied.

Natasha set about straightening the room. The man in the blue ski pants struggled to sit up. Natasha went to the kitchen to retrieve a long wooden rolling pin. She came back and watched as the man in blue ski pants managed to sit upright at last. He looked at Natasha, saw the rolling pin and inclined his head in submission.

Natasha heard a noise from outside. It seemed like a distant shot, possibly coming from the next valley. She went to the door, opened it and looked out into the dark. The night was silent and she shivered. She knew Sean was injured and the shot could be meant for him. Quickly she put her coat on, felt in the pocket and brought out a flashlight. Looking around the cabin one last time she saw that the other man was beginning to stir. Without pausing, she ran out the door.

When Natasha was little, her parents used to take her up to this cabin once every few months. She knew all the footpaths for miles around. She loved the scent of the trees and the breathtaking surprise of coming across a clearing, or emerging from the tree-line to see miles over the intervening countryside.

But the presence of the men changed things. Every step she took she was afraid that a man would leap out from behind a tree and grab her. She began to shake again with fear and thought about returning to the cabin. The flashlight flickered weakly. She cursed herself for not replacing the battery, but she pressed on.

Five minutes later she heard a distant groan. She swung her flashlight around in the direction of the noise. Her pulse quickened and her mouth went dry. She broke out into a run, abandoning the path. Low branches whipped across her face and chest. She stumbled over a fallen log and her flashlight went spinning into the darkness. She managed to retrieve it after a short search. She continued on her way, hands out-thrust to ward off the branches.

She burst upon the group before realising she had arrived. Stopping, she looked around slowly, only then taking in the scene.

The man with the broken jaw sat with his back to a tree, hands tied behind it. His feet were bound together and his bloodied face was wracked in pain. Sean held the man’s hair in one hand and in the other he pressed the point of a large hunting knife into his neck.

Natasha stood transfixed. She was relieved and disgusted at the same time. Relieved that Sean was safe, but disgusted by what he was doing. She could not believe Sean was capable of this.

‘Glad you’ve arrived’ said Sean over his shoulder.

Chapter 24

Lomax hauled DD along the pavement. He could hear the sounds of pursuit behind, but didn’t stop to look. With his free hand Lomax patted his pockets and felt the hard outline of the gun. They hobbled past some scaffolding and a spark flew. A fraction of a second later Lomax heard the sound of the bullet ricocheting off the metal supports. He dived behind a stack of wooden planks, pulling DD with him. The car was parked just metres away. He left DD momentarily while he opened the passenger door. Going back for DD, he bundled him into the back seat.

At that moment he saw a man in a dark uniform appear round the corner. Without thinking Lomax had the gun in his hand and crouched behind the open door. The guard stopped. Lomax saw the arm raised to take aim and the glint from the firearm was unmistakable in the streetlight.

Lomax shot without hesitation. The round tore into the man’s gun hand and he fell. Lomax raced around the car, jumped in, switched on the engine and floored the accelerator. With the tyres screaming, he made a fast u-turn in the street.

In minutes he was on the outskirts of the town. With the tension easing off he began to think about DD’s injuries. DD had done everything asked of him. He was just too slow and had caught a beating from one of the guards. Lomax needed to get him to the safe house fast. How many times had he been in situations like this?

In one of his early missions, Lomax was told to bring out a dissident Chinese. At the last minute he received an order to terminate one of the gang leaders in a local triad. Lomax accomplished both objectives, but the dissident was hurt and never made it to freedom. From then on Lomax became the agent of choice whenever there was a mission requiring a termination.

Lomax became obsessed with eliminating risk from his mission. This eventually landed him in trouble with his masters when he returned from a particularly difficult and violent assignment. A former colleague took him to the pub one evening and told him the Service wanted him out. For an organisation that trained him in the black arts of assignation, he was surprised to find that they took exception to his methods.

He asked to know why and was told with unusual frankness that London could no longer condone his actions. When pressed they told him that his tactics were too brutal and too many non-players were becoming casualties.

Lomax wanted to know why London suddenly felt so morally indignant — was this a case of establishment hypocrisy at work, or had the politics changed? He insisted on knowing the answer. His colleague told him they had no qualms about the targets they had provided. What they couldn’t stomach was the fact that Lomax had begun to like the work too much. Lomax recalled his reaction to being told this harsh truth and the irony that London’s conscience was pricked not because of the people he had killed on their orders, but because London felt that at some point they would no longer be able to control him.

Lomax could not bear to think about the black days that followed. The drinking got out of hand. He was rescued from his own living nightmare by the imminent death of his only surviving relative. His sister lived in Wales and a neighbour had written to say she had cancer. Something shook Lomax out of his stupor enough to make the journey to the place where he had grown up — the small market town of Conway on the north coast of Wales.

He was surprised to find her so weak from the tumour. He went every day, sometimes taking her for short walks and helping around the house where he could. Sometimes he would have to send for the doctor and he would fetch the prescriptions and make sure she took her medicine.

He stayed at the pub above the bar and used to meet some of the locals who worked at a nearby woodland plantation. One or two of the older generation remembered him as a boy.

It was during this time that he began to realise how important his family was. He had a lot of time on his hands and the slow pace of life in the town and the people’s friendliness made a big impression. Lomax was able to re-frame his life against the backdrop of some of the most beautiful scenery in Wales.

He guessed that the Service would come checking if he stayed too long. Being such a small and tight-knit community he would know if any stranger came snooping.

Sure enough, they did. They were quite clever about it, sending a young student and his girlfriend in a beat up car on the pretext of touring the area.

One evening, as the student climbed into his battered mini, he received the biggest shock of his life. Lomax reached out from behind with a fisherman's hook which he embedded in the student's neck to a depth of quarter of an inch — not enough to inflict any real damage, but enough to show that Lomax meant business.

'Don't move and don't look around', Lomax urged the young man in a low voice. 'Go back to your masters and tell them not to send a boy.'

The young couple left that night and Lomax knew the sub-text of his message would be understood: 'leave me alone'.

A month later his sister died and for a while Lomax was destitute. He became a labourer for some of the farmers he knew at the pub. After a while he settled down and began to feel more positive about the future.

That’s when he received the call from London.

* * *

‘Oh my God, Sean. What are you doing?’ Natasha’s hand covered her mouth.

Sean stopped and turned round. ‘Go back to the cabin and I’ll come up later.’

Natasha shook her head. ‘Later — why?’

Sean turned back to the man tied to the tree. ‘Meet Schaeffer. He’s the man that’s been trying to kill you these last few days. Right now I need some information from him.’

‘No, not while I’m here.’

Hesitantly Sean held her shoulders. ‘Natasha, you’ve been through a lot recently. God knows you’ve every right to be left alone. But as long as guys like the one behind me are around, you won’t have any peace. You’re lucky to be alive this evening.’

Sean let his arms drop and said quietly: ‘what you saw here is not as bad as it looks, but guys like this would not stop to think about your life if you got in their way. Now please, go up to the cabin and I promise I will be back inside ten minutes.’

‘I’m not going and leaving you alone with him.’

Sean sighed. ‘At least let me make sure they won’t come after us. Five minutes.’

Natasha reached over and grabbed his sleeve. ‘I don’t feel I can trust you Sean. I’ll stay while you tie him up and we’ll both go back to the cabin together.’

Sean turned back to Schaeffer. Lomax would expect some return for the pains he’d taken, but clearly Natasha didn’t want any more violence. A new thought popped into his head. What would he do if he were left to his own devices? He thought for a few seconds, but couldn’t immediately find an answer.

Sean checked Schaeffer’s bindings and they made their way up the path to the cabin.

As soon as Sean opened the door he knew there was trouble. The two men had moved towards each other and one was busy trying to untie the other’s hands. They both looked up as soon as Sean entered and the first guy began frantically trying to break the thick plastic cuff. Sean dragged him across the room to the radiator, using another plastic cuff to secure him to it. He dragged the other man to the main bedroom, tying him to the radiator in there. Before he left he collected the men’s guns, emptied their pockets and added their mobile phones to the pile. He carried the lot out to the ridge, throwing the hardware far out into the woods below.

‘Grab your coat, we’re going’, he said when he returned.

Natasha quickly collected her coat and followed him out.

‘What about the men inside?’ she asked, trying hurriedly to catch up with Sean.

‘They’ll be fine’ said Sean without stopping.

They made their way to her car, parked in a clearing not far from the cabin. Sean offered to drive and she handed him the keys. Once they were seated Sean started the engine and turned the car down the track. ‘Are you all right?’

Natasha bit her lip.

‘Natasha?’ enquired Sean.

‘I came here to get away from it all, but if you really want to know, no, I’m not alright. I want an end to all this. I won’t be right until it all stops!’

Sean found the metalled road at the bottom of the hill and turned along it. ‘So what do you want to do?’

‘Do?’ Natasha almost spat out the word. ‘Do? — I want to go somewhere where I can have some peace and quiet’.

‘They followed you here — what makes you think they won’t follow you wherever you go?’

‘I don’t know.’ Natasha clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap. ‘I know what I want. I want you to go. I don’t want you to follow me around anymore.’

‘What do you think would have happened if I hadn’t arrived? And if there is a next time, God forbid, what would you do if I didn’t show up?’ Sean’s voice was reasonableness itself. ‘But you’re right. I can’t go on protecting you forever.’

Natasha sighed angrily. ‘I know that. Before I met you, I had a quiet life. OK, it wasn’t the most exciting existence, but it suited me. I’m just not one of these people that crave adventure and excitement.’

She looked through the side window as houses from the nearby village started to appear. ‘I’ve had the feeling that there is so much you’re not telling me — right from when we first met. I believe in honesty and I need trust in a person.’ She looked at him directly. ‘I know you haven’t been entirely honest with me.’

They came to a junction and Sean turned right onto a main road.

‘I can’t tell you any more than I have already..’.

‘Are you working against my government?’ asked Natasha.

Sean shook his head. ‘No. I told you I work for the UK government and in this case both our government’s interests are similar.’

‘Have you come to steal my project’s secrets?’

Sean looked directly at Natasha. ‘No, I told you I came for Ben. Now he’s dead I want to find out who killed him and why.’ He shifted up a gear. ‘You haven’t told me everything either, have you?’

For a second, Natasha hesitated. Then she realised that her hesitation was a kind of an answer anyway.

‘Can I trust you?’ he asked.

Natasha hesitated and cleared her throat. ‘Yes’, she managed to say at last. ‘OK, if I was tortured I probably wouldn’t be able to resist revealing things. But short of that, you can trust me.’

‘Natasha, listen. I understand why you haven’t been completely truthful with me. I know how these obligations conflict with your own personal codes. Really, I don’t have a problem with that.’

‘Then what is your problem?’ Natasha shot back. ‘I know you had to deal with those men the way you did. But I was ashamed that you could torture one of them when he was helpless to defend himself. It’s something that I find…'. Her voice trailed off.

‘I don’t condone torture.’ Sean glanced at Natasha. ‘Sometimes people like that don’t deserve anything better, but I don’t torture people.’ He might have applied a little more pressure to the knife than was strictly necessary, but at this stage he felt Natasha wouldn’t appreciate that fact. ‘I just hope we never see Schaeffer again.’

* * *

Lomax glanced in his mirror. There was no doubt the opposition had caught up. His immediate instinct was to corner the chasing car and kill the driver. Then DD groaned in the passenger seat. ‘Hang on DD’ Lomax said grimly. ‘This is going to be a bumpy ride.’

Lomax’s major concern was alerting the local police. Speeding or any high-speed manoeuvres were likely to attract their attention. Lomax decided the suburbs would provide less chance of interference from the authorities.

Despite the pain in his side, Lomax was in his element. He shouted to DD to get strapped in tight, but heard only a groan in response. The next set of lights were on red. Lomax slowed down, looking right and left. In the late evening the traffic was light. In his mirror he saw the pursuing car approaching rapidly, headlights blazing. Lomax allowed his car to creep forward. Cars crossing the lights now had to move out of their lane in order to avoid hitting him. Several cars hooted angrily. Lomax saw the pursuing car loom up behind. He kicked the accelerator and wound the wheel right, screeching into a narrow gap between two cars. Lomax heard impotent revving, the pursuers unable to move until the next gap in the traffic. He used the small fraction of time gained to cut in front of oncoming traffic and make the next turn right.

Several turns later Lomax stopped the car in a narrow alley, estimating he had enough time to check on DD. A feel of the boy’s chest told Lomax enough. He had bruising and a possible broken rib. Lomax kept a look out, expecting the pursuing car to show at any time. He managed to get DD sitting upright and strapped in when he heard them.

Lomax resumed his seat and strapped in tight. The car flashed across the street before seeing them. The brakes went on and then the car reversed wildly, weaving from right to left.

Lomax smiled grimly.

Still in reverse, the car turned. Lomax could hear the brakes screech before the accelerator was floored and the car shot back, reversing down the alleyway. It wasn’t clear what their intention was. Perhaps they wanted to ram his car or possibly just block his exit. Whatever they wanted to do, Lomax had no intention of letting them succeed. He put his car into reverse and stepped on the accelerator.

DD snapped forward against the straps. Lomax saw the approaching car accelerate towards them as they reversed. Suddenly he was out of the narrow alleyway and into a side road. He gripped the handbrake and yanked the wheel over at the same time and the car pivoted around the rear wheels. When he straightened up he could see the alleyway. Lomax watched as the other car backed out into the road. They reversed and turned quickly to face him, tyres screaming with the friction. Lomax stamped on the throttle, aiming straight at the turning car. He could just imagine the panic they were experiencing. The hunted was turning on the hunter.

At the last moment the driver of the other car panicked, shooting forward and out of the way. By this time Lomax was already moving fast. He took the next turn past the alleyway and came out onto the same highway he had left earlier. Looking in the mirror he saw the other car execute a wild handbrake turn and start after them.

Lomax glanced in the mirror at DD, sagging against the seat restraints like a rag doll. Time to lead them into the killing zone he thought.

* * *

DD reached consciousness slowly. He glimpsed low rise houses and shopping malls out of the window. Soon they began to peter out and he briefly saw open spaces between agricultural shops and the odd petrol station. He was being thrown around in his seat as Lomax shot the car through a series of bends. DD sensed the skill and professionalism as Lomax rapidly manoeuvred the car.

‘Where are we going?’ DD was surprised at how weak and husky his voice sounded.

Lomax didn’t answer. When DD looked up, he could see Lomax was too busy to talk. Then without warning, DD was flung sideways against the straps as Lomax used the handbrake again to execute a sharp turn. He braked hard after twenty metres, then used the handbrake again to turn the car in its own length, ending up facing back towards the main strip.

DD saw Lomax’s shoulders hunch with the effort as Lomax pulled the car into the side and crept forward in first gear. Through the side window DD had a good view of the street ahead. He saw Lomax turn his lights off and heard him rev the engine a few times. He was about to speak again, when Lomax held his hand up, anticipating the interruption. ‘Brace yourself.’

DD felt the cold night air steal over his face as Lomax wound the window down a fraction. He stared in the direction Lomax was looking. DD heard the sound of a car engine, then saw it as it edged forward along the main street.

Almost without looking, DD knew this was the car that had been following them. It had slowed, possibly to check the exits to the main strip. In less than a minute it would be checking the road they were on. DD couldn’t understand why Lomax wasn’t responding — why was he sitting there like a stone statue?

DD soon found out. In one fluid movement Lomax released the handbrake and accelerated the car smoothly up through the gears.

Then the realisation hit. Lomax had no intention of continuing to evade the chasing car. A single emotion leapt to the forefront of DD’s brain — fear.

He grabbed the arm rests as the car flew forward to its fate. Some last minute safety mechanism switched on in DD’s mind and he covered his face with his arms in the brace position. In the last few seconds before they hit, out of the corner of his eye he saw the other car growing rapidly larger, and then the grim almost calm expression on Lomax’s face as he gauged the combined trajectories of both cars, pushing the accelerator to the floor, matching the physical equations that would bring the two steel cages with their living occupants into intimate contact with each other, their destiny sealed by a final deft touch of the wheel.

Chapter 25

Captain Sheering watched his first officer count down the seconds.

‘Three, two, one, mark!’

‘Fire control, launch sequence initiated.’

The USS Cheyenne lurched as a cloud of compressed air was released from the capsule launch system.

’Missile away from VLS’ intoned the Weapons Officer as the missile left its vertical launch tube in the centre of the boat. ‘Transiting water-air barrier’ he continued; ‘solid fuel booster ignited.’

The Tomahawk was already above the sea, accelerating rapidly to cruising speed. A few seconds later with its solid fuel expended, the turbofan engine cut in. It started to descend towards the water, levelling out 50 metres above the waves.

‘Con, sonar. We’ve lost the target — it just disappeared!’

‘Fire control, re-program last known position of target.’

‘Fire control, re-programming.’

The Captain caught his Executive Officer’s worried look again. Tomahawks were expensive but at least they were able to be re-programmed in mid-flight. When this was all over he intended to have a quiet word with his XO — he needed to start thinking like a Captain if he ever wanted to be one.

‘Thermal layer thinning!’ The sonar operator’s message was almost a shriek.

‘Right full rudder, try to get back into it’ said Sheering calmly.

As the sub heaved to starboard the noise and vibration increased enormously. Without the protection of the thermal layer the Captain knew they would be exposed to the full force of the energy being beamed at them. Unfortunately this would take them closer to the point where the cruise missile was due to arrive with its warhead of 450kg of high explosive.

Above the waves the cruise missile was halfway through its short flight. It began to curve back, constantly comparing its position obtained from its GPS to the spot it had been programmed to seek out. Less than ten seconds later it found it and changed the angle of its stubby wings to plunge into the sea.

Moments later the sonar operator reported. ‘Missile has re-entered the water.’

The submarine began to shake up and down its length. A loud hollow booming noise caromed around the enclosed spaces, forcing men to protect their ears with their hands.

The vibration was making it difficult for men to stand. Rather than fall over in front of his crew the Captain sat in the nearest chair, grabbing the arms for support.

There was one more thing he could do. For a split second the Captain wondered if his Executive Officer had had the same thought. A quick glimpse confirmed that his XO was too engrossed in what was going on around him. It didn’t look like he was thinking about alternative strategies to get them out of a very difficult situation.

Suddenly the vibration ceased and the loud booming stopped.

Captain Sheering was surprised — what had caused the bastard to break off the attack? Before we go down I want to give that bastard something from me, he thought grimly.

‘Fire control, launch torpedoes from tubes 2 and 4!’

The order momentarily caught Fire Control napping. ‘Fire control, launching torpedoes from tubes 2 and 4!’

‘Thank you fire control. Let’s make it more snappy next time!’

‘Everyone, standby to surface. Blow all ballast for emergency surface!’

‘Three seconds to detonation!’ yelled the technician in fire control.

The Captain’s voice rose in pitch. ‘Hold on men!’

They felt the force of an enormous underwater explosion.

* * *

Cetus instruments detected the sound of compressed air followed by a Tomahawk clearing its vertical launch tube. A rapid calculation showed the minimum flight duration would be 37 seconds and in that time Cetus had to be clear of the area.

It snapped off its sonic cannon, dived at full speed and turned west as it descended. Thirty seconds later it had moved half a mile from its original position. It engaged the electronic filters on its sensitive sonar array and shut down its propulsion unit in preparation for the explosion.

As the USS Cheyenne rose rapidly to the surface, the wire to the guided torpedo was severed. With no guidance in place the torpedo continued in the direction it had last been pointing. It eventually lost power when its motor used up all the fuel and it fell in a graceful arc towards the bottom of the sea.

The other torpedo did not have wire guidance and it started to hunt for its prey. At that moment the Tomahawk entered the water and drove downward through the waves.

The torpedo turned and headed for the splash.

The Tomahawk exploded slightly ahead of the torpedo. Nearly 1000 lbs of high explosive vaporised a sphere of water 100 m below the surface. The non-wire guided torpedo’s proximity detector triggered and that too ignited.

A vast double pressure wave spread out swiftly, followed by smaller secondary surges. At half a mile distance the energy in the primary shock wave was absorbed by the sea water to the extent Cetus suffered a mild buffeting.

Cetus powered up its sonar array and laid a course north.

* * *

When they reached the safe house, DD felt Lomax helping him out of the car, half carrying him to the front door. Inside a minute DD was on the bed and stripped of outer clothes. Lomax phoned the doctor who appeared fifteen minutes later. Even before the examination the doctor shook his head and started muttering to himself. He felt DD’s ribs carefully and tested for abdominal swellings, humming a monotonous tune as his eyes wondered over the bruised flesh.

At last he turned to Lomax. ‘He’ll live.’

‘Good’.

‘There’s no bones broken, but he needs to rest. A week should see a distinct improvement.’

DD saw Lomax turn his eyes up.

‘Here are some strong painkillers. Make sure he has one twice a day.’ The doctor handed the tablets to Lomax.

They helped DD to sit upright. He couldn’t believe that Lomax would deliberately ram their car into their adversary’s. They had slammed hard into the rear passenger side and both cars were propelled onto the central crash barrier. It happened so quickly the other car could not evade them. Sandwiched between the hard steel barrier and Lomax’s car, sparks flew in an arc. The screeching of metal carried on for ages. DD, eyes closed, prayed for it to stop.

He felt bile rising up through his throat. When the noise did eventually stop, Lomax backed away from the wreck on the barrier and DD opened his door to vomit forcefully onto the pavement. After that things went blank.

As Lomax saw the doctor out, he held his side which had begun to ache painfully.

The doctor halted. ‘I’d better have a look at that.’

Lomax raised his hand, but one look from the Doctor stopped him. Elderly he might be, but he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Lomax trudged back to sit on the end of DD’s bed.

‘Off with the shirt’ the doctor commanded.

With some difficulty Lomax removed his shirt. Even before he took it off, DD could see a huge bruise just above the kidneys. Most of the bruising was a deep purple colour, but there was a yellow waxy tinge to the edges.

The doctor looked at Lomax’s chest and back before bringing out his stethoscope again. He rubbed the end to warm it and listened carefully as he placed it on his chest. Next he found a small flashlight and shone it into Lomax’s eyes. He pulled down the lids, then began to tap Lomax’s chest. At last the doctor removed his glasses and looked sternly at Lomax. ‘You know you have a bruised or ruptured spleen?’

‘I guessed as much.’

‘Then you really do need to go to a hospital for a scan.’

‘Fine’ said Lomax, ‘I’ll go when I get back to England.’

The doctor shook his head. ‘By then it will be too late. It needs to be looked at right now.’

Lomax could see the doctor meant what he said. ‘Sorry doctor, I’ve a job to finish here first’ he responded. ‘I promise I will get it looked at as soon as possible. In the meantime is there anything you can give me for the pain?’

The doctor dived into his bag and handed over some more painkillers. He pulled out a needle and proceeded to fill it from a vial. ‘Take your pants down’ he commanded and gave Lomax the jab. ‘You can use those painkillers, but heed my warning — no excessive exercise. Get to a hospital as soon as possible. If you don’t, I won’t be held responsible. You will only have yourself to blame.’

With that sombre warning, the doctor strode out.

Lomax started to pull his pants up and put his shirt back on. As he got up, his foot caught on DD’s rucksack, lying on the floor where it had been discarded. He bent over to pick it up, grunting with the pain. ‘What have you got in there?’

DD reached for the rucksack and fished around inside. ‘I forgot. I picked up a couple of computer tapes from the safe, while you were busy shooting up the bad guys.’

‘Are they any use?’ enquired Lomax.

‘I don’t know’ replied DD. ‘Give me a couple of hours and I’ll let you know.’

DD folded the bed covers back, wincing with the throbbing from his side. But he was not about to complain after the earlier pep talk from Lomax.

‘Here, you look like you need this bed more than I do. While you’re getting a rest, I’ll pop these in and see what’s on them.’

For once, Lomax didn’t argue.

* * *

‘Are you OK?’

‘Better now, thank you’ she replied, flicking hair out of her eyes. They had been travelling a long time, and Natasha looked tired.

‘Are you alone?’ she asked suddenly.

Sean raised his eyebrows in mute query.

‘You told me you came here for Ben. Did you come with anyone else?’

Sean nodded. ‘There’s a couple of people helping me.’

‘My God, you brought a team! You never told me about that!’ All her earlier suspicions returned.

‘Of course — I can’t do everything myself. In fact you’re going to meet them soon, so you should know a little bit about them.’

Natasha began to reappraise her initial impressions of Sean. ‘Who are they?’

‘There’s a guy called Lomax. He’s my link with London. And we have an IT whizz-kid called DD. He was studying here in the States.’

‘What does he do?’ Natasha was intrigued.

‘We know Ben’s death was connected to something Ben discovered. I showed DD a copy of your letter. He thinks Ben discovered someone was stealing tapes in order to recreate your computer systems.’

‘I never gave you a copy.’ There was concern in her voice.

Sean coughed. ‘I know. I, er, made a photocopy.’

‘You see why I don’t trust you.’

‘I do.’ There was a long silence as they drove through the night.

‘He thinks they created a virus tailored to your project’ Sean said at last.

Natasha looked up in alarm. ‘How much do you know about the project?’

‘We think it’s related to a new type of submarine. It carries some kind of weapon which can be used many times without having to be replaced.’

‘Is that all?’

‘That’s pretty much it, regarding the project’ answered Sean. ‘But we found out some interesting information about who might be behind the sabotage.’

‘Who?’ Despite her tiredness, Natasha was interested.

‘Well we know Jack Langham was involved.’ Sean looked across at Natasha. ‘He was the one who stole your computer tapes.’

‘I can’t believe it — Jack? Why would he do that?’

‘We found evidence he was being blackmailed.’

Natasha’s mind started working overtime. Perhaps Sean’s story was true after all. ‘Did you find anything else?’

‘We traced two of his associates to a company called Advanced Marine Agency located at Newport. It’s a small company and who owns it isn’t clear — there’s a maze of shell companies DD is looking through.’

Natasha sat back. ‘I’m amazed you’ve found out so much in such a little time.’

‘I told you — that’s what I do. We have only one other item, the name of the big guy you saw me with earlier. Chris Schaeffer. You remember I told you he’s the leader of the team that have been chasing you for the last week or so.’ Sean turned to look at Natasha. ‘We want to know who he works for.’

Natasha was quiet for a while, thinking back. ‘So Ben was on his way to see me, when this gang tried to kill him.’

‘I believe Ben wanted to talk to you about what he had found. They arranged the accident with his motorbike and murdered him before he could talk.’

‘Sean, I think he couldn’t trust anyone at work.’

‘Maybe he’d discovered that Langham was part of the scheme.’ Sean started thinking about the motivation. ‘Why do you think they are after you?’

Natasha looked uncomfortable. ‘We all felt desolated at Ben’s death — he was really well liked. Anyway, I started to look at the data that had been collected on the project, especially in the moments before…’ Natasha looked at Sean.

‘Something went wrong?’ Sean hazarded a guess.

‘Yes, something went wrong.’ Natasha thought for a long time before clearing her throat. ‘We were testing the submarine off the coast of South America. Everything went well to begin with. Then we lost contact with the submarine’s support ships. At first we thought it was due to bad weather. After a period it was confirmed that the ships involved in the sea trials were lost at sea. We know several people died.’ Natasha looked sad. ‘We watched the project crumble all around us. That was when I decided to investigate.’

‘And did you find anything?’

‘Nothing at first. But then the pieces started to form a pattern. It was as if a computer virus had infected the system only moments before everything started to go wrong.’

‘I can understand your concern’ said Sean gently, ‘but wasn’t someone responsible for making sure those sort of things couldn’t happen?’

Natasha nodded. ‘Yes, that was Jack Langham’s job. With such a secret project we took the highest level of security precautions. An ordinary computer virus wouldn’t have stood a chance. I began to think that this virus had been specially crafted for the purpose of taking over the miniature sub’s mission. It was as if someone had planned all this beforehand.’

‘How much time would they need?’

‘Well, if you say they had a copy of our systems, it probably wouldn’t take very long at all. A month, maybe.’

‘How do you think the virus was introduced?’

‘I remember that there was a blip when the sub’s mission was being uploaded’ she said with a pensive look. ‘I found out one of the packages was much larger than it should have been. I realised then it was a virus.’

‘Who could have done all that?’

‘It could have been any one of half a dozen people at SeaTek, including Jack. Or possibly one of three people on board ship. But I suppose we can rule out anyone on the ship, because the first thing the sub did was to sink it.’

‘Not necessarily’ said Sean. The person who loaded the code might not know what was in it. He just might have been paid to deploy the virus, not to write it.’

‘I can see that’, said Natasha.

‘Ben was on their trail. And when you found out about the virus, they tried to kill you too. Your cabin made the ideal spot — secluded and remote.’

Natasha shivered.

Chapter 26

‘I’d like you to meet a member of the team. His name is DD, but in real life people call him Nerd.’

DD glared at Sean. Then he turned to look at Natasha. He was stunned at how beautiful she looked.

Natasha smiled sweetly and frowned at Sean. She stuck out her hand.

‘Pleased to meet you DD. Don’t let him get to you. He’s just plain Mr. Grumpy.’

DD shook her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you. Don’t worry, he doesn’t bother me, either’ he said bravely.

Sean held up both hands. ‘Don’t let me get in the way of a beautiful friendship. I’ll leave you two to get along.’

Natasha removed a pile of printouts from a chair and sat down. They swapped small talk for a minute.

‘Sean told me about a company you’re investigating — AMA.’

‘Advanced Marine Agency’ said DD eagerly. ‘We still don’t know who owns it, but we suspect the rest of the company aren’t aware of what this group is up to. Someone really high up knows what’s going on though.’

‘Do you have any names yet?’

DD looked pensive. ‘No-one high enough yet. But in the words of an old spy, if I told you who they were I would have to kill you.’

Natasha smiled at DD’s weak joke. ‘Look DD, I don’t need to know. But why can’t you just turn over the information to the authorities?’

‘We could.’ DD took a sip of his coffee. ‘But the people involved would soon get wind and pull the plug. Within an hour they would implement their backup plans and your FBI would be left with nothing. Providing we can keep this low key, we have a chance of going after the kingpin.’

‘Have you turned up any hard evidence to implicate anyone?’

DD shook his head. ‘That’s part of the problem, all we have at the moment is a small network of inter-connected personnel who orchestrated a program against SeaTek. But I am working on something at the moment that just might be more substantial.’

‘What is it?’ Natasha peered over DD’s shoulder.

He pulled out two tapes from the rucksack. ‘Trophies from our last escapade.’ He slid one into a boxy unit attached to his computer. The mechanism took the tape and it disappeared inside. A red light came on and Natasha could hear clicks and whirrs as the tape spooled. She watched a progress bar mark the time the computer took to read the tape.

‘What escapade would that be?’ enquired Natasha lightly.

‘AMA,’ said DD. ‘I pinched a couple of tapes from their computer room.’ He swivelled round in the seat to face Natasha. ‘Actually that’s how I think your company’s system was hacked.’

‘Sean told me a little bit about that. Before then I didn’t think it would be possible. We had top level people looking after our network security.’

‘I’m sure you did’ replied DD. ‘But they overlooked one area.’

Natasha shook her head sadly. ‘And I thought we were secure. Sean told me you thought they hacked our backup tapes.’

DD turned round to look at Natasha. ‘Well I think the procedure went something like this: after the tapes are backed up each night they’re sent to the post room where they're recorded in a log. Then they're labelled and passed onto the courier.’

‘It was one of the secretary’s jobs to label them before they were sent off-site.’

‘I don’t suppose you know where they went then?’

Natasha shook her head. ‘I expect they were collected and sent to a secure storage facility — out of town probably.’

‘That’s what is supposed to happen’, agreed DD. ‘But some of the tapes that were labelled were blank ones. Someone — I don’t know who — systematically swapped the labels on the tapes, so blank tapes were substituted for the real ones. The records would show that the number of tapes they received at the other end was the same as the number of tapes sent. From there we think someone picked up the marked tapes and smuggled them out.’

‘But wouldn’t someone notice if they were storing blank tapes instead of the real ones?’

‘That’s where they were clever. When a real tape was smuggled out, it would be copied and then smuggled back in. The tapes would then be switched back, so no-one was the wiser.’

‘But how do you know this?’

‘I think they made a mistake. Your company recalled tapes to retrieve files every now and again. I think Ben recalled several tapes before the switch-back had been made. When he found the first blank one he recalled a number of other tapes to check. Perhaps he found some of the other blank ones. But whatever he found made him think that someone was playing the system.’

Natasha sat quietly, thinking back over those dark days. ‘So where does this tape come in?’ she asked, pointing towards the tape device on DD’s desk.

‘I’m about to do the same here — try and recreate Advanced Marine Agency’s system from this baby.’

‘But it seems such an impossible task. I know — just getting stuff back from an old tape can be a nightmare. Getting it back when you don’t know what passwords are involved must be nearly impossible.’

‘But that’s the trick, Natasha. Once you’ve got the administrator password, you can access their systems remotely. You could set up a hidden account which wouldn’t show up on the logs. That way, the next time you access the system there’s no trace of your visit. You could log on remotely whenever the staff have gone home and check progress. You could even download documentation and programming code. You could fiddle with the code, or write a completely separate module which only gets loaded when the software is used for the first time. You don’t even have to log in to get the info you want. You could drop a secret program onto the system that collects info during the day, then sends the data out at night. No-one need ever know. Really, once you have the administrator password, you can go anywhere and do anything.’

Natasha looked crestfallen. ‘If what you say is true, they know everything we have been working on.’

DD shook his head. ‘I don’t think that was what they wanted. The way it looks to me is they were out to wreck your project.’

‘Then why didn’t they just wipe our servers when they had access to them?’ asked Natasha.

‘Because you would just have reinstalled your work from backup. And the whole firm would know then that there were blank tapes. No, they wanted to make it look like it was a problem with your project — not sabotage by someone else. They wanted everyone to think it happened because of a mistake that the project team made. No-one would question that — so many government projects fail simply because the software isn’t perfect. One simple mistake leads to another and then another. And before you know it the accumulated issues cause a major problem that jeopardises the project. That way, no-one would even think to look into how strong the security was, or if a breech had occurred. In its own way this plan was brilliant.’

‘But now we know’ said Natasha.

‘Now we know how it happened, when the breach happened and where it happened’ said DD. 'But we don’t know who and what.’

‘What don’t we know?’

‘What they’ve done’ said DD simply. ‘I know they’ve uploaded a virus to the project, but I’ve no idea what it’s done. And I don’t know yet who was ultimately responsible for masterminding the sabotage.’

For the next half an hour, DD outlined the information he had. He explained how they had come to realise that the Advanced Marine Agency were behind the plan, his own period of detention and his rescue. He went on to talk about how he and Lomax had struck back and how they had come by the tapes. Natasha asked a few questions now and again. At one point when she realised that Sean had been protecting her nearly 24 hours every day, she put up a hand to cover her eyes. DD thought she might be crying, but when she took her hand away a few moments later, he saw only a new glint of determination.

Natasha got up and walked out of the room. She returned five minutes later with her own laptop. ‘Perhaps you can help me’ she said as she set it down on the table. DD looked on as she showed him the various files that were downloaded to the sub. After a minute she pointed out the file she believed contained the virus.

DD pulled out a spare memory stick. ‘May I?’ he enquired.

Natasha hesitated. It went against everything she had been trained to do. A brief thought flashed through her mind. If anyone found out, she could be charged with treason. She wondered briefly what the penalties for treason were. Then she took the stick from DD and plugged it into her laptop. In a few seconds she had copied the file onto the device and she returned it to DD.

She watched as DD used several programs to examine the file. First he scanned it using an anti-virus program that she was familiar with. ‘Well, no known virus’ muttered DD under his breath.

‘I’ve tried this before’ said Natasha.

‘No harm in trying again Nat — I always cover the bases first.’

Next he loaded a debugger. Natasha knew that the program helped developers discover problems in programs they had written. But she had not used one for a long time and was captivated by the speed at which DD operated. The screen filled with rows of numbers and letters, none of which would have made sense to a non-technical person. She knew that DD was interpreting the characters on the screen and deducing the programming code and logic that lay behind the confusing jumble of text. He was looking at the actual binary code that made up the module and tracing some of the letters and numbers with his fingers, as though he could understand what they meant.

Although fascinated, Natasha was tired and she looked at her watch. ‘Listen DD, I’m bushed. I need some sleep.’ She turned at the door. ‘I want you to know I am very grateful for what you and your friends have done.’

DD waved, but did not turn around. Natasha walked back quickly and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

That made DD stop and turn round. ‘Goodnight’ he said, touching the spot where she had kissed him.

* * *

Sean glanced at Lomax to see how he was taking the news. As expected Lomax began to pace up and down. Sean went to the window and peered carefully through the net. The street looked clear.

Lomax stopped pacing for a moment. ‘What do you think about DD’s idea about the sabotage motivation?’

Sean released the curtain. ‘It’s very elaborate. They could have chosen a dozen other ways to zap the project that would be less risky.’

Lomax shook his head. ‘DD says if that happened, they could restore all the systems from backup tapes.’

‘OK, then I would torch the building as well. Either way I would make sure that they couldn’t use anything to get back into business. Instead DD says they wrote a sophisticated virus specifically for this project. So I think there’s more to this than trying to stop it dead in its tracks.’

Lomax sat at the table and picked up a pencil. ‘Maybe, but the project has stopped. No one’s working on developing it now. And the sub is lost.’

Sean sat opposite Lomax. ‘That’s the funny part of the equation. If the sub is lost, meaning they don’t know where it is, then maybe it’s not lost at all.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Maybe the virus was meant to transfer control from SeaTek to them.’

Lomax looked interested. ‘OK. But who would do that?’

Sean shrugged. ‘There are a few big contractors in American undersea defence. Perhaps one of them want to spoil the game on this new technology so they can continue to sell their own older technology. You’re guess is as good as mine.’

Lomax looked keenly at Sean. ‘You might be onto something there. Maybe the virus wasn’t meant to make the sub disappear — maybe it was meant to make the whole project look…’

‘Amateurish?’ suggested Sean.

‘Not just amateurish, but a dangerous liability. Not only does the software foul-up, but the sub turns on its support ships. One whiff of a problem like that would put the American department of Defence off for a decade. Investors would demand their money back. The Government wouldn’t touch it with a barge-pole.’

‘Perhaps’, muttered Sean. ‘But maybe there’s another agenda.’

‘Like what?’ asked Lomax. ‘What we know fits with a competitor knobbling the opposition. They’ve made the whole project look like a Frankenstein’s monster. What more could they possibly want?’

Sean propped his chin in his hand. ‘There’s a lot of money, effort, and leading edge technology gone into this project. When you look at it from America’s point of view, this combination of resources could not be found anywhere else in the world, possibly with the exception of Japan. Suppose the competitor has sold the technology to another country?’

‘I don’t know’ said Lomax doubtfully.

Sean shook his head. ‘I don’t know either, but I’ve a bad feeling about this.’

Lomax raised his eyebrows. Sean wasn’t such a knuckle-head as he appeared. ‘Well we have to start somewhere and I suggest we wait until DD has run his tests on the tapes.’

Sean agreed.

‘In the meantime, I’m going to grab some shut-eye. Wake me as soon as DD has something.’

* * *

Natasha awoke to someone drumming on her arm. In the dark she couldn’t see who it was and for a moment she felt disorientated.

‘Nat, wake up!’ It was DD, tapping her insistently.

She brushed his hand away. ‘What’s the problem?’ she asked hoarsely.

‘Come on, get up. I’ve something to show you.’

She could tell from his voice he really had found something and she was eager to discover what that was. ‘OK, give me a few moments to dress and I’ll be through in a minute.’ She glanced at the clock and saw it was just after 5 am in the morning. She groaned and made for the bathroom. Before she went into DD’s room she made two cups of coffee and took them through.

‘OK, what have you got?’ she asked, handing DD one of the mugs of coffee.

DD grinned. ‘Just about everything. Come and look at this.’ DD indicated a document on his screen. In it were notes he made during the night. Even to Natasha’s experienced eye it appeared to be list of technical mumbo jumbo. She turned back to DD.

‘Tell me’ she said simply.

DD indicated the chair next to his. ‘First I compared the original unchanged module to the one you gave me last night. I was able to work out where the original had been changed. This was fairly easy, as most of the changes were towards the end of the file. At that stage, I wasn’t sure what I was looking at — the file was still in binary and I had no way of deciphering what the code meant, let alone the changes that had been made.’

DD ruffled through a desk pad to find a page. ‘Once I discovered where all the changes were, I started to look at other modules, just to get a feel for what instructions related to modules — you know the kind of thing, where there were patterns, or where the same block of code was repeated in the same place in other modules.’ DD went back to the screen and checked his notes. ‘I used some special debuggers that make a best guess at the code that they are given. Nothing seemed to work for the first hour. Then I started to get some commands I recognised as assembler hex codes — you know, low level code that has been compiled so the machine can understand the instructions. I started to put the commands together and after about half an hour it began to resemble a computer program.’

Natasha was beginning to find DD’s narrative interesting. This was a genius at work while she was asleep. ‘Go on’, she encouraged.

‘It took me about three hours to trace the original untouched code from the tapes and match it to the binary. I now know what the original package instructed the sub to do. It was supposed to run a series of test drills for the sub over a period of a fortnight. It was also supposed to surface each week to report back. I even have the protocol for the exchange of data, the list of data it was supposed to radio back, and the order in which it was supposed to report.’ DD looked at Natasha who indicated her agreement.

‘My team helped prepare that checklist and designed the reporting mechanism.’

‘Right. Then I started to look at the additional code — the virus that had been engineered for the sub.’

‘OK’ she said, impatient for DD to get to the crux.

‘Well, this is where it gets really interesting.’ DD scrolled down the page on the document. ‘According to my notes, the first instructions were to enable some kind of weapons system. I don’t know much about that — can you fill me in?’

Natasha’s mouth went dry. So that was how it had happened.

‘It looks like the new package gave the sub a timetable, a target and an area to search for the target.’

‘What’s the target?’ asked Natasha quickly.

DD shook his head. ‘It doesn’t have a name in the code, just a specification.’

‘Well what have you got?’

DD handed her a thin pile of paper. ‘It’s all on there, tonnage, length, beam, acoustic profile, magnetic resonance signature, the lot. All the physical characteristics — everything except the name.’

‘To the computers on board Cetus, the name of the ship wouldn’t help it find the target’ Natasha observed. ‘But with the information we have now we should be able to identify the ship. What about the timetable — when is it supposed to strike?’

‘That’s the problem, Natasha. According to this code it should reach its target less than 48 hours from now.’

Chapter 27

Sean could hear the sound of raised voices as he approached the door. It sounded like Lomax and DD were arguing. He could sense the frosty air as he entered the room. ‘What’s up?’

Neither Lomax nor DD replied. Sean looked at DD. ‘Have you found out anything else about the target?’

‘No — not yet. Nat and I are going to research it as soon as I finish looking at the tapes.’

‘Any other news?’ Sean continued.

‘Yep — I’ve broken through’ replied DD.

‘I’m all ears DD.’

‘Well, I’ve set up a rule on their email system to copy any email they send to my private mail account.’

‘Are they likely to discover what you’ve done?’

‘No’ said DD. ‘I’ve used server side rules to blind copy every outgoing email in the account. So even if they get replies it won’t be obvious that a copy has been sent.’

‘OK, anything else?’ asked Sean.

‘I’ve dropped some keystroke loggers onto a number of their PCs.’ DD noticed Sean’s puzzled look and continued. ‘Keystroke loggers do exactly what they say — they log every keystroke and mouse movement into a file. Then every so often they send the file off to my email account without the user’s knowledge. It’s very difficult to detect.’

‘OK — any problems?’

‘I discovered that the firewall is open only at set times of the day and all traffic through it is monitored. I had to adjust the key logger to pretend that all the information it’s sending out looks like part of the normal flow of traffic. And I had to make sure it never sends out information when the firewall is closed — it would be discovered straight away, otherwise.’

‘Great. Anything else?’

DD shook his head. ‘I didn’t get time for anything else — I was rushing to get all that done before the gate came down.’

‘Well, I suppose that will have to do for now’ said Lomax.

‘Don’t be so negative’ Sean replied. ‘DD’s worked wonders, now all we have to do is log on to collect the information.’

Sean looked at DD. 'That's right, isn't it?'

DD agreed, avoiding Lomax’s gaze.

* * *

‘Look here’ said DD, pointing to the map. The coordinates I have from the file is this box in the Barents Sea. At the top and to the east we have the Svalbard islands, owned by Norway.’ Natasha watched as DD’s finger moved across the map. ‘Over to the West, the area is bounded by Franz Josef Land, which is Russian.’ DD’s finger moved downward. ‘And to the south we have Novaya Zemlya — Russian again.’

For the last two hours Natasha and DD had gone through an on-line catalogues of world ships, plugging in details of tonnage, beam and length. Natasha flipped through the list. ‘Look DD, we’ve found cargo ships, bulkers, small container ships and tankers. They’re all commercial ships — none of them are military.’

DD thought for a moment. ‘It may be too obvious, but the chances are the ship is Russian.’

Natasha agreed. ‘But none of the ships we’ve found are due to cross that area of the Barents.’

‘It can’t be any of them, then’ said DD despondently.

‘You know, if I wanted to make a point by sinking a commercial ship, I wouldn’t choose any of them either.’

‘Why not?’ DD asked.

‘Because they’re all too small. If I sank an oil tanker it would create an environmental disaster, but the tonnage is too small.’

There was a minute’s silence before Natasha spoke again. ‘Listen Dee, suppose for a minute it isn’t a ship we’re looking for.’

No-one had called him anything but “DD” before. The fact that Natasha had bestowed her own nickname gave him a big kick. Even so, what Natasha said was puzzling. ‘If it’s not a ship, then what is it?’

‘Could it be a sub?’ asked Natasha hesitantly.

DD shook his head emphatically. ‘Too big. I don’t know of any submarine that big, unless it’s Chinese or something.’

Natasha smiled at DD. ‘Humour me — let’s just suppose there is a submarine that big. You said it might be Chinese. We should be able to check that out quickly, shouldn’t we?’

‘OK’ said DD, ‘but I think you’re going to be disappointed.’

Within five minutes DD found the answer. ‘There’s a series of Russian nuclear powered attack submarines which they call the Akula class’ said DD excitedly. ‘Length is 175 metres, beam is spot on at twenty metres and displacement when surfaced is also within the limits.’

DD looked at Natasha and beamed. ‘Bingo!’

Natasha hugged DD. ‘Dee, you’re a genius!’

DD had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘It was your idea, remember? We’ll need to let Lomax and Sean know what we’ve found out.’

Natasha looked pensive. ‘OK, here’s another question. How did they know this submarine is going to be in the area the day after tomorrow?’

‘Maybe they’ve got access to Russian intelligence.’

‘They must have’ agreed Natasha. ‘But let’s suppose that Cetus got held up and couldn’t make it on time.’

‘I see what you’re getting at!’ exclaimed DD. ‘Which means…?’

‘Which means the Akula is based in that area for a while.’

‘Right again!’ said DD. ‘I’ve heard that some subs are given an area to patrol — I think it’s called a bastion. They stay there for several months, or until they’re told to go somewhere else. They just sort of stooge around, in case they’re required to release a missile or two.’

‘It all seems to fit’ agreed Natasha.

‘Cetus is programmed to attack as soon as it makes contact with the Akula. Just how good are its weapon systems?’

‘Dee, I’m not able to talk about it.’

‘Oh’. DD couldn’t hide his disappointment.

Natasha’s head moved from side to side slowly. ‘No, you really don’t understand. Nothing in the code you’ve seen could tell you just how destructive it is.’

DD looked at Natasha anxiously. ‘What, you mean like an atomic bomb? Is it some kind of atomic weapon?’

‘I can’t tell you.’ Natasha’s voice was almost a whisper. ‘I don’t know that much myself, only what the engineers had to tell me so I could interface my software with it.’

‘…And that was?’

For a whole minute, Natasha reviewed what she felt she could say. The ever present feeling in the pit of her stomach was like a conscience, warning her to say nothing. But if she was going to find Cetus, she would have to share what she knew. She drew a deep breath.

‘It’s not an atomic weapon. It can only be used underwater because it relies on generating sound waves that can be focused over long distances.’

DD waited, but Natasha was not forthcoming. ‘OK, so it relies on sound waves. What could be so destructive about that?’

‘Oh Dee, you just don’t know — I don’t know all the details myself and I was working on the project!’

‘OK, but can you tell me what you do know?’

Natasha hesitated. ‘I’m not supposed to, but since we’ve been working on this together I think maybe now is the time.’

She bit her lip, then continued. ‘The weapon is a bit like the guided bombs they dropped on Iraq and Afghanistan: the ones that can be guided in to a building to the nearest metre. The weapon can be focused on either surface ships or submarines. It transmits energy in the form of sound waves. There’s a receiver that picks up returns and adjusts the frequency of the waves its sends. It finds the frequency of vibration of the enemy and literally shakes the ship to death. The engineers told me that once it’s targeted it can make rivets pop and weld seams come apart. It’s worse than any torpedo. Once it locks on target it’s difficult to shake off and the ship will soon take on water and sink.’

DD thought for a moment. ‘If all it’s doing is generating sound waves under water, it could go after any number of ships.’

Natasha looked at DD and saw the frown of concern on his forehead. ‘Correct. The sub is powered by a compact nuclear plant. The weapon gets its energy from that. It’s an inexhaustible supply.’

‘Bloody hell, this gets worse!’ DD ran his fingers through his hair.

‘You don’t know the half. This sub can survive for more than a year underwater. It can go anywhere. And it can use its weapon over and over again. Any ship or submarine it encounters, it can sink. Nothing can match it and it’s almost impossible to detect because of its small size. It’s virtually indestructible.’

DD looked shocked. ‘And the day after tomorrow it’s going to take out a Russian nuclear submarine.’

* * *

‘What was all that business I overheard between you and Lomax?’ asked Sean.

DD looked nervous. ‘I can’t say.’

‘You can say,’ replied Sean. ‘I need to know what’s going on around here. Otherwise you might find yourself in another fix and I won’t be able to help.’

DD thought for a moment. ‘I want to tell you about it, but Lomax said not to discuss it with anyone. In any case I don’t think it’s going to make that big a difference.’

Sean glared at DD. ‘But I’m the guy that has to make that decision. If I haven’t got all the information I can’t do my job properly. Don’t you see that?’

DD looked towards the door. ‘Lomax asked me to create a new itinerary for Cetus. I’ve put it on the same kind of USB memory stick…’

The door opened and Lomax appeared. Sean eyed him carefully. ‘What’s this about a new itinerary for Cetus?’

Lomax gave DD a look and turned to Sean. ‘Just a little side job that London asked me to do. It doesn’t change anything.’

It was clear that Lomax didn’t want to talk about it and Sean thought he wouldn’t get any more information out of him just now. ‘I’m going to take a look round.’

‘Don’t be long’ Lomax replied in a clipped voice.

Something about the tone made Sean turn round. Lomax gripped the door knob with white knuckles.

‘What’s the matter?’

Lomax waved Sean away. ‘Just some bruises from the raid on AMA. I’m too old for this game,’ Lomax replied.

Right then Sean knew there was a problem. Lomax would never complain about his injuries and especially about being too old. Not the Lomax he had come to know. ‘Let’s take a look.’

Lomax gritted his teeth and held up both hands.

‘Not necessary. I’m OK. You go and take a look around.’

Sean stopped, unsure whether to go.

‘Go on’ urged Lomax. ‘You need to check the area out — you should go.’

‘Are you hurt?’ asked Sean.

‘Not so as you would notice’ was the terse reply.

‘Will you let me get the doc?’

Lomax shook his head. ‘I’ve seen him already. Just bugger off and check the environment.’

‘OK, I’m going. Listen, if I ring you, you need to get everyone out fast.’

* * *

As Sean pulled away he noticed a parked car that had not been there before. In the driver’s seat was a man reading a newspaper. Sean continued to drive sedately along the street, checking in the mirror every few seconds. After a minute he saw a tail join him from a side street, keeping a good fifty metres behind.

Sean turned left at the next side street and wound through the estate of large detached houses, coming out south of the safe house. He pulled into the side of the road and took out his mobile. The car behind overtook at a leisurely speed and disappeared around the next corner.

Sean left the motor running and keyed in the number. Lomax answered immediately. ‘You’ll have to pull out’ said Sean. ‘Pronto.’

Lomax coughed and replied with curt ‘OK’. Immediately Sean thought something wasn’t quite right. The cough was not part of any recognition code he knew.

The second Lomax put the phone down Lomax would begin to organise an immediate withdrawal. This would include hitting the destruct button on DD’s computers and heading straight for their car. But Sean was afraid it might already be too late.

Time to give the opposition a distraction. Sean floored the accelerator and shot off down the road. The reaction was almost comical. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a car frantically trying to turn into his road. Then he saw the headlights of a second car coming towards him — a novel way of following, thought Sean as he aimed for the front bumper. The car chickened out at the last moment, mounting the pavement and colliding with a lamp post. Sean’s car scraped along the pedestrian iron railings to a cacophony of sounds.

Back in the safe house Lomax slumped over his desk, still clutching the phone.

* * *

Sean abandoned the car, thanking his lucky stars that it was night. Although the roads were well lit with street lights, there were plenty of shadows he could use for concealment.

A cop car screeched around the corner. Sean drew back into the darkness between two houses. Luckily this was a quiet estate. Sean watched as the car shot past and waited another minute before moving on. Moving at a rapid walk, he was just about to cross the road when he heard the clatter of a helicopter.

They were pulling out all the stops, he thought with a sinking feeling. It would be a miracle if they all managed to evade capture. He peered around the corner of the house. The lockup stood amongst a row of garages in a cul-de-sac. And blocking off the road was a cop car, blue lights flashing.

Sean halted in the shadows. It was now or never. He dashed across the road in full view of the cops.

The reaction was predictable. Instead of getting out immediately and chasing on foot, they used the car to head him off. That created time, and time created distance. At last the car braked violently with a screech of tyres. One of them left the car to chase him, and the other stayed to report on the radio.

Sean weaved in and out of the streets, sometimes turning, sometimes cutting back. If it wasn’t for the sharp pains in his side, he could have enjoyed the run. He was about to dash across another street when he heard the helicopter again.

A brilliant spot light weaved its way towards him. Sean glanced around quickly. There was no immediate cover. He eyed a four by four in a nearby drive. He might have time to start the ignition and lead them a merry chase. But the chances of escape that way were slim. What to do?

At that moment, the householder who owned the four by four appeared on the drive, shielding his eyes from the strong light. Immediately the spot light moved to pick him out and the helicopter side-slipped until it was vertically overhead. A voice boomed out over the loudspeaker system.

‘Stand right where you are. Stand still.’

Sean turned and kept the house between himself and the helicopter. By doubling back and then choosing another approach he came to the back of the garages. He looked around carefully. All attention was on the unfortunate householder on the other side of the lockup. Sean moved slowly and deliberately towards the garage, reaching for the key to the door.

‘Hey!’

Sean kept on, resisting the urged to turn around.

‘Hey, what’s going on?’

It was just another nosey neighbour. Sean raised his hand in the air and shook it vaguely, continuing towards the garage as if to say he didn’t know or care. In a second the key was in the lock and the door opened upwards. Sean peered around towards the back of the garage. Everything appeared to be in place. He entered, closing the door behind him before switching on the overhead light. The bike was at the back, covered by an old piece of carpet.

Sean examined the telltale he left earlier. The oil stain, half on the carpet, half on the floor, matched exactly. The carpet had not been moved.

Sean opened a cupboard set against the far wall and withdrew a rucksack. It was heavy and bulky, filled with emergency items.

He hefted the rucksack and then pulled away the carpet to reveal a Honda Off Road CRF 450R. The chrome glinted in the light. He marvelled at Lomax’s taste — Sean had only asked Lomax for a fast bike. He went back to the cupboard to withdraw a flak jacket. The outer was covered in a thin layer of black Gortex. Another layer of reinforced carbon fibre was incorporated into the inner lining. Sean strapped it on before pulling on the rucksack. He hoped he wouldn’t catch any bullets lower than the flak jacket — it would blow up the petrol tank around him.

He switched off the light and slowly opened the garage door to its full height. Swinging his leg over the broad black leather seat, he mentally rehearsed the next steps. Hefting the machine from side to side, he checked that nothing was loose.

Breathing in sharply, he kicked on the starter. Night beckoned through the garage doors.

Chapter 28

‘This is a police SWAT team. Put your hands in the air and come out through the front door, one at a time.’

DD and Natasha glanced at each other. Between them they held Lomax, struggling to keep him upright.

‘What shall we do?’ Natasha looked to DD for an answer.

‘We need to get him into the car’ said DD, panting with the exertion. ‘God knows how long he’ll last.’

Natasha saw sweat beads covering Lomax’s pale face. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be unconscious. Together they half carried, half lifted his body through the door into the garage.

‘You have one minute to come out with your hands high’ blared the speaker again. ‘I repeat this is a police SWAT team. Do not think of trying to escape.’

Natasha opened the rear car door and they both pushed Lomax into the back. DD ran around the front and jumped into the driver’s seat as Natasha strapped herself in the passenger side.

‘Wait!’ DD jumped out. He ran upstairs to his bedroom and scooped up the memory sticks lying around. There was no need to destroy the hard drives as they were encrypted. He saw that one memory stick was still plugged into a laptop. He removed it quickly and pocketed it along with the others.

He heard the police again, ordering them to leave the house, swiftly followed by Natasha’s shout from below to hurry up.

DD hadn’t the breath to reply. He turned and ran back down the stairs into the garage. On the way down he could see blue flashing lights from the landing window. DD’s mind calmed and focused on the present and what he had to do. He needed a diversion. There was only one person who could help.

‘We should just give ourselves up’ said Natasha, frantic with worry.

‘I need you to create a diversion.’

‘What?’ Natasha was dumbfounded. ‘Why me?’

‘Don’t ask questions, just do what I say!’

Natasha was surprised at the sudden authority in his voice.

‘We don’t have time for chit-chat’ he warned. ‘Just get going.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘When I drive out, you spill the petrol in that can over there. Be sure you are able to get out quickly, then use this lighter to set fire to it. Sneak out the back if you can and meet me at the lock-up. It’s two streets away. Follow the road around to the left, then first right and right again.’

Natasha gritted her teeth as she unbuckled her belt and got out of the car.

That was DD’s signal to get going. He shoved it into auto and slammed on the brake and the accelerator at the same time. The car lurched forward then stopped with a screech. The engine screamed. When it had reached a peak, DD braced himself and let go of the brake. The car shot forward, smashing into the wooden garage door, brushing it aside like a leaf in the wind. There was a brief moment when the air was filled with the mangled scream of tortured metal, then they were through.

A police car blocked off the ramp from the garage. Two other police cars sat either side in the street with their lights flashing. DD wrenched the wheel to the right, taking the car over the front garden and onto the street. In that split second DD heard the pop of rifle shots and then the thwack as rounds hit the side of the car. DD pressed the accelerator to the floor. The wheels spun and the car bucked wildly over the rose beds until meeting the tarmac on the road. As soon as the front wheels caught the hard ground, the car rocketed forward. DD saw the horror and dismay on the men’s faces when they realised how easily DD was making his escape.

As he followed the curve of the street around, he thumped the wheel in a mixture of excitement and relief. He was travelling so fast that he didn’t see the police car blocking the road immediately ahead. He drove straight into the side and Lomax crashed against the back of his seat.

Without thinking, DD reversed in a haze of blue smoke from burning tyres. He yanked the wheel over, changed quickly into first gear and drove around the crippled police car.

* * *

Sean listened. He could hear the police over their loud hailer. Lomax was one of the few executives who relished this kind of action and Sean knew he would do everything in his power to prevent the team being taken. But nothing was certain.

On balance Sean felt he should intervene. Alone, Lomax would have no problem evading capture. But he had a student and a civilian in tow and they would slow him down.

Next problem was how to approach the safe house. He could open the throttle of the bike and roar off to the rescue, or go quietly like any other law abiding citizen. If he roared off, he would attract attention more quickly. If he went cautiously, he always had the option to use the power of the bike later to make his escape.

Sean twisted the throttle to the maximum and roared out of the garage on the big bike, heading towards the flames lighting up the night sky. Before reaching the street he took a detour through the grassy stretches between the houses. He wanted to avoid the police cars by approaching the house from the rear. Even following the light from the flames it was easy to take a wrong turning. He had to backtrack twice before picking up a new path. The roar of the motorbike engine was lost under the noise from two fire trucks, sirens wailing at full volume.

* * *

Natasha picked up the petrol can and quickly unscrewed the cap. In her unsteady hands some of the petrol spilt onto her jeans and shoes. She sloshed the petrol around, on the ground and over the wooden bench where tools and rags lay scattered. When there was no more petrol she threw the can onto the bench. She noticed some bottles of white spirit which she opened and left on their sides, spilling out clear liquid. The garage began to stink of petrol fumes. Natasha ran over to the rear door, brought the lighter up and flicked it on. She grasped the door handle and threw the lighter onto the floor. The petrol caught alight with a whoosh! Natasha turned the handle, but the door wouldn’t move. It was locked.

Natasha could escape the garage through the doors which DD had blown open. But she would be escaping into the arms of the police.

The flames were so close now she felt a searing heat along one side of her face. She grabbed a wooden trestle standing just two feet away and swung it hard at the big window next to the locked door. The window smashed easily. She kept hold of the trestle and raked the remaining glass away from the bottom of the sill.

A burning cinder landed on her head and for a moment she thought her hair would catch light. She brushed it off roughly, feeling her palm blister as it made contact. She put the trestle down underneath the window, stepped up on it and launched herself through the space, landing on a hard concrete path outside. She was disorientated but the adrenaline surging through her blood stream carried her forward towards freedom. She heard the fire engines above the roaring of the flames and started to follow DD’s directions to the lock-up.

She had taken no more than ten steps when she stopped dead in her tracks. In the narrow alley the noise of the engine was overpowering. Silhouetted in a street light was a massive motorbike. She didn’t recognise Sean until she heard his voice.

‘Hop on, Nat. Let’s get the hell out of here.’

* * *

They put DD in a windowless and featureless room where he was kept waiting for two hours. Eventually a tall man wearing a fawn coloured overcoat came in. DD saw drops of rain on the coat. He wondered why there was only one man. Maybe he was their star performer, he thought — or maybe he was the warm-up before the main act.

The man sat down on the opposite side of the metal table and opened the jacket of his suit. Carefully he rested one leg over the other. ‘Evening DD. I hope you’re comfortable?’

DD could not hide his astonishment. How did they know his name? ‘Never felt better’ he said sourly.

‘I expect you thought you’d escaped our police cordon. Perhaps you were beginning to feel pleased with yourself?’

DD’s lips formed a thin line.

‘You must know how we do things in this country. Especially when we’re chasing criminals.’

DD’s expression hardened.

‘We laid on more cars than you thought. Surely you know how we work — after all, haven’t you been studying in one of our finest Universities for the last year?’

DD remained silent.

‘I expect if you don’t check back soon, there’ll be asking for you.’

How in hell did they know about his connection with the Security Services? DD managed a shrug of the shoulders. ‘You know how it is’ he said nonchalantly.

‘Indeed I do’ said his interrogator magnanimously. ‘I imagine you’ll want to know how your friend is making out at the hospital.’

DD thought rapidly. At least they didn’t know Lomax’s name. That was something.

‘No?’ asked the man. ‘I thought you and Lomax were a team — a great team. Surely you want to know how he is?’

DD bit his lip.

‘I’m afraid he’s not doing very well. I rang them just before I came in. The surgeon says it’s unlikely he will survive the night.’ The man glanced at DD. ‘I’m sorry.’

DD rested his forehead in both his hands. For the first time in years he felt truly alone.

* * *

Flakes of snow whipped past and the wind chilled her to the bone. They had turned away from the burning garage and were making steady progress to the outskirts of the town when the shock hit her system. She began to shake uncontrollably on the back of the bike. At the conscious level Natasha knew this was only the reaction to the extreme circumstances of her narrow escape. Her teeth chattered and she circled her arms around Sean even tighter. She laid her head against his back as she started to feel light headed. She held onto Sean like a rock at high tide. Strangely she had never felt so free in her life. Snowflakes swirled around her and one melted on her forehead.

A few moments passed before she heard the sound of the helicopter. At first she couldn’t see where it was coming from. When she glanced up she saw a powerful beam, snowflakes blowing in the downdraft. The helicopter quartered the ground behind them. She began to feel the chill of fear, colder than the freezing wind.

The beam of light seemed to be gaining on them and it would only take a minute before it caught up. She tapped Sean on the shoulder and pointed upwards. She heard a click and the lights on the motorbike cut out. Suddenly darkness surrounded her.

They were travelling along an unlit side road. She wondered how Sean could drive at this speed in the dark, with only the faint reflection of the snow on the road to guide them. The bike bucked a few times as it went over several ruts at speed. She felt Sean yank the handlebars to try and keep the bike steady. He was as blind as she was in the darkness.

Natasha looked back at the helicopter and its powerful light beam. It was gaining ground quickly now, following the contours of the track. At that moment she almost lost her balance and she felt the bike swerve around a sharp bend before heading onto a tarmac road. As she watched the bright beam from the helicopter faded into the distance, still following the curve of the farm track. Soon she lost it altogether.

For the second time in ten minutes she heaved a sigh of relief and offered up a prayer — until she realised the helicopter had turned back and was following the road towards them. She almost wept with despair. It was as if the men in the helicopter knew where they were headed before they did. How had they followed the bike?

There was nowhere else to run. On either side of the tarmac stretched open fields. She tapped Sean on the shoulder again, but he knew the helicopter was catching up.

‘Hang on’ he shouted above the roar of the bike. She gripped him as tightly as she could. They went off the road, bouncing and flying, hitting the ground hard and then jolting up again, wheels spinning in the snow. Natasha glimpsed trees in the distance, the branches picked out in white. The engine revved and the bike bucked again.

As soon as they entered the tree-line, Sean braked and stopped the bike. He made her get off quickly and without losing a second he led the bike by the handlebars into a dip in the earth, laying it on its side. He pulled his rucksack from the bike, undid the top straps quickly and started to shake out the contents.

‘Down!’ he ordered sharply. Natasha complied quickly, sitting down beside the bike.

‘Flat!’ he ordered, shaking out a silver blanket. He laid the blanket over the bike, holding the edges down with some nearby stones. Then he pulled it over her and quickly got under himself, tucking the edges in.

Natasha felt the air whip up around the blanket. If this was his idea of keeping warm, it just wasn’t going to work.

She heard the sound of the helicopter as it hovered overhead.

‘Grab a hold of the edge!’ commanded Sean.

Natasha was not sure what he meant, until he demonstrated. Underneath the thin blanket Sean used his hands and feet to trap the edges. The motorbike lay between them, like a third unwanted guest. She just couldn’t understand why Sean wanted it covered it as well. Nevertheless she grabbed the edges of the blanket on her side and copied him, using her body to wedge a further length of the blanket down the side.

The wind howled underneath, blowing in particles of snow which melted quickly over the hot engine. The blanket billowed up, threatening to blow away altogether. Natasha gripped it tighter, feeling its thin crinkly consistency. The texture reminded her of plastic kitchen foil.

Then the sound of the helicopter blew all thoughts away. Like a thousand washing machines on spin cycle, it descended over them. She glanced over at Sean who appeared to be lying back calmly, still holding his side of the blanket in place.

As the helicopter moved away the sound gradually diminished. Natasha waited, taking her lead from Sean. He continued to hold the blanket in place for several minutes after the helicopter had gone. In the relative peace she could hear the ticking of the motorbike engine as it cooled in the freezing air. She felt ridiculous, hiding under a blanket that gave no warmth. Her teeth chattered so violently she could hardly trust herself to speak.

‘Why are we doing this?’ she managed to say.

‘The helicopter is using thermal imagining to track us. The blanket is a thermal barrier to our heat sources — you, me and the bike.’

‘Sounds like the name of a film — you me and the bike’ she quipped. ‘Can we go — I’m freezing.’

‘Not just yet’ replied Sean. ‘They’ll be quartering the area for every heat signature. Our bike would show up as a big red blob, even at this distance. Let’s give them a minute.’

Natasha concentrated on trying to relax so her teeth would stop their involuntary clicking sounds. ‘You sure know how to treat a girl. It’s Saturday night and here I am, lying in the ditch with you and a dirty great motorbike in between.’

‘Some girls in England would die for the chance’ replied Sean, deadpan.

Natasha thought for a moment. ‘Do you have a girl in England?’

‘One or two.’

‘Is that one, or two?’ asked Natasha.

‘Time to move on’ said Sean.

Chapter 29

Dawn was breaking as Sean stopped the bike to view the lights of the town below. He saw a shopping mall that was still hours away from opening. Sean engaged gear and soon arrived in the car park. They dismounted and found a toilet where they could clean the worst of their mud-spattered clothes. Natasha spotted a motel off the main road and they pulled in.

When they got off the bike they looked at each other, trying to decide who looked the most respectable. Both had grubby clothes and Natasha complained that her hair was a mess. Sean went to register without argument. The clerk didn’t look in the least bit curious — probably still sleepy from his overnight duty.

* * *

‘Coffee’s up.’

Natasha opened one eye. She was warm under the duvet and resented being taken away from her dream. She closed the eye and snuggled deeper into the warmth.

‘Breakfast is going cold.’

She opened both eyes. The guy would never shut up. ‘Hi’ she smiled at Sean.

‘Hi to you too, miss’ he replied. ‘Time to wake up and get busy.’

She looked at the bottom of the bed where he had laid out some clothes.

‘I don’t know if they’ll fit, but it’s time to move on.’

‘What time is it?’ she said sleepily.

‘Quarter past eleven.’

The memory of the lovely dream suddenly disappeared. ‘Oh my God, Cetus is due to catch up with the Kougar tomorrow!’

‘That’s why we need to get a move on.’

Natasha shivered. She kicked off the duvet and went to examine the clothes he had brought. There was a pair of light coloured jeans (a size too small), a bra (a size too big), some panties and a large tea shirt and wind cheater. He had also bought some toothpaste and a toothbrush, but no makeup, no hair brush and no perfume.

Natasha started to dress quickly. ‘What will have happened to Lomax and DD?’

‘They’ll be in custody. There’s nothing I can do for them now.’ Sean put the cup of coffee down on the bedside table.

While she brushed her teeth she thought about the other things she would need. ‘I need a computer,’ she mumbled through the toothpaste.

‘There’s a store in the mall where I found your clothes.’

‘I need to see if DD’s account has trapped anything useful.’

‘OK, let’s go.’

They crossed the road together. As they entered the mall Natasha’s hand brushed against Sean and they held hands. She looked at him but he was checking the car park and the people in the mall.

In the computer shop she quickly spotted a laptop that had all the essentials she needed. She also picked up a small but fast inkjet printer and a ream of paper. She was about to pay for them when Sean interrupted. ‘Let me pay for them dear’ he said. Natasha looked at him oddly, but allowed him to pay with his credit card.

On the way out Sean leaned over and whispered. ‘I think that’s how Schaeffer and his team traced you. On the way to your cabin you paid for the motel room with your credit card.’

But Natasha was already thinking about the next steps. ‘Sean we have to find a hotel with an Internet connection.’

‘I know. We need to move anyway. From now on we stay in a new hotel every day. We’ll have to ditch the bike and get a hire car too.’

‘Fine, just so long as we are together.’ She saw Sean glance enquiringly at her.

‘It’s nice having you around…’. She struggled to finish the sentence, then decided she’d said too much already.

* * *

As soon as they returned to the room she began to pack their few belongings. ‘Where to next?’ Natasha asked when the car details had been sorted out.

She found out soon enough. They pulled into a place about two miles further on. As soon as they entered their room Natasha found the Internet socket and plugged in the laptop. Meanwhile Sean ordered room service and went for a shower. The food arrived just as Sean was drying his hair.

‘Food’s up!’ he announced, but Natasha was not taking any notice.

He came over and stood behind her. She glanced up at last. ‘This is fantastic. Do you know, DD is a genius — a genius!’ she gasped in awe.

‘What have you got there?’ he asked.

She showed him what she had retrieved from the account DD created. There were literally hundreds of emails, some containing attachments. Most were copies of outgoing emails from the Advanced Marine Agency. Some were marked confidential. Some contained a long trail of previous emails. Other emails had attachments containing indecipherable long strings of characters. ‘‘Key-stroke files’ breathed Natasha. The sheer volume of information was breathtaking.

She opened several emails at random. Most were reports on progress of various operations. She found one email containing a history of other emails about the same topic — how ‘the target’ was to be followed and movement patterns monitored. Another had references to Natasha and options on how they might deal with this particular ‘problem’. She tapped the button to printout copies so that Sean could read them also. Half an hour later she began to arrange them in chronological order. For a time they quietly read through the sheaf of papers, passing interesting ones to each other.

‘As you say, DD did well’ commented Sean. ‘What we’ve got here are names, strategy, methods, and hired hands — everything except the name of the person at the top.’

Sean collected the papers and sat back while Natasha searched the Internet for the companies and people mentioned in the emails. Eventually Natasha stopped and drew her hair back. ‘I found some emails from the accounts department of another company. It looks like Advanced Marine Agency is connected to American Submarine Industries. They produce the next generation of submarine for the government. Let me see..’ Natasha searched the Internet. ‘Right, here’s one. The last one they sold to the Defence department cost over a billion dollars! They have numerous contracts for the supply of surface ships too.’

She searched through the paperwork. ‘It looks like they recruited a team early on with the aim of neutralising their main competitor — my company SeaTek. Wait,’ Natasha checked her figures. ‘We can produce fully automated submarines for a tenth of the cost!’

Natasha skimmed through the papers, looking for one in particular. ‘I found one email about how they were going to cause the sub to destroy its support ships using a virus, though I haven’t found anything which tells us about how it was to be introduced.’

She flicked through the papers again, stopping when she found the one she was searching for. ‘I have an email here which talks about Ben.’ Natasha’s voice became quieter. ‘They suspected Ben was on to something two months before he died.’

Natasha pulled out a page. ‘This one says they knew I had found out about the sabotage when I reported my suspicions to Stan! How did they get this amount of detailed information?’ she asked Sean.

‘They might have your apartment bugged and don’t forget they had Langham working from the inside. What else do we know about American Submarine Industries?’

Natasha searched the Internet. ‘It’s big — the second biggest defence contractor in the US. It’s headed by a guy called Dennis Clarke.’ She looked at Sean. ‘I wonder if this is the person we’re looking for?’ she asked doubtfully. ‘The company is so big, surely they couldn’t afford to get mixed up in sabotaging our sub — could they?’

‘Anything’s possible today’ said Sean. ‘You’ve only to look at the latest scandals in my country — the banking system, police, government, the press, even the church.’

Natasha looked up at Sean. ‘My God’ she whispered. We’ve enough information here to bring them all to trial. Let’s just turn over the evidence to the authorities.’

‘We could’ replied Sean, ‘but the authorities have their own timetable. Don’t forget, we have another, more urgent schedule.’ Sean checked his watch. ‘They need to be stopped now.’

‘OK, suppose we leak the information to the media — surely that will get everyone’s attention?’

‘I’ve thought about that too. Believe me if it were that simple I would do it. My guess is there’s a very powerful figure in Washington controlling this operation. There’s a strong chance he would deny it and discredit those bringing the charges. It could be that name you just turned up — Dennis Clarke. It would make good newspaper headlines. But it wouldn’t necessarily stop the project, just make them cover their tracks better.’

Sean thought it over some more. ‘There might be another way — supposing the American government are tipped off? I could ask HM Gov to raise it with your country’s administration.’

Natasha agreed. ‘It would have to be at the very highest level. Anything short of your Prime Minister or Foreign Secretary and they might not give it the attention it needs.’

‘Excuse me while I shake a few trees.’

Sean walked out of the room, looking for somewhere secluded to make the call. In truth he was sceptical that any of this would make a difference.

Besides, he had already decided on a plan of attack.

* * *

‘Hi Robert, how’s the weather in Washington?’

‘Lousy, how’s yours?’

The British Prime Minister pulled the heavy curtain aside. It was late evening and a light fog had descended on the capital, giving the street lights a halo effect.

‘Miserable.’ The PM could hear the famous chuckle on the other end of the line. ‘Well, enough about the weather. The reason I called is that something has cropped up. It appears that a couple of our agents have been picked up in your country.’

‘Were they working a case?’

‘They were checking something out. We think they upset the local police, but I have it on good authority no laws were broken. There was some local damage to a house where they were staying, but nobody was hurt. The damage will be made good, of course.’

‘Care to tell me about your investigation?’

‘Of course. One of our former nationals died in suspicious circumstances in a road accident. We sent someone to take a look.’

‘You don’t normally send your guys over to check out a hit and run, so why the interest?’

‘Robert, I’m wondering why you think the road accident was a hit and run. I never mentioned how the man died.’

‘Well I’m just guessing, is all. But why the interest?’

‘You might recall we spoke about an unfortunate incident last time — to do with the near sinking of HMS Astute.’

‘Ah, I do remember Terrance’ replied a testy President. ‘We’ve had problems getting the information you wanted. But all the indications are nothing untoward occurred. We’re treating it as an accident. Anyway, what’s the connection with your agents?’

‘They found out the man in the road accident was working on a secret project. That project involved testing a robotic submarine and we now know the submarine trials were a disaster. The submarine has gone rogue and we think it attacked our submarine HMS Astute. Since our last conversation I’ve been informed one of the men on-board died of radiation poisoning and two others are still on the critical list.’

‘I’m truly sorry to hear that Terrance’ said the President gravely. ‘But I’m afraid there’s no connection between any secret project we might be conducting and the problems sustained on your sub.’

‘I’m sorry too Robert,’ replied the PM. ‘There will be a huge enquiry surrounding the Astute. If the press were to get even a whiff of an American rogue submarine, they would have a field day.’

The President considered the remark. At last he sighed. ‘So what do you want me to do — send them back?’

‘Not exactly, Robert. Originally my agents were tasked with finding out who was responsible for ordering the murder of the hit-and-run victim. They’re close to finding out who that person is. It’s possible the same person is behind the sabotage of your secret submarine project. I want you to give my agents all the assistance they need to complete their mission.’

‘Seems like we both want the same things Terrance.’

‘We do Robert. When I said all assistance, can I take it you will make sure it happens?’

‘You can Terrance. We’ve a lot invested in the project and we could do with any help from your guys. God knows how many agencies are involved in hunting this blasted rogue sub, but I’ll make sure we’re all working together.’

‘Thanks Robert. Oh by the way, there is one more thing.’

‘Yes,’ replied the President cautiously.

‘My name is Terry, not Terrance.’

* * *

Sergeant Timothy Evans knocked on the door of the office and went in. Station chief Peter Cheevers indicated the chair opposite. ‘Take a seat, Tim. How’s the interrogation going?’

The Sergeant chose to stand. ‘He’s close to breaking’ he said brusquely.

‘Tim, I’ve just been talking to the Commissioner. We’ve orders to halt the interview and let them go.’

‘What do you mean, let them go?’ the Sergeant almost spat.

‘The British have been making noises. The British Ambassador phoned me in person. They want their men back.’

‘Tough, let them go fish.’

‘It’s not as easy as that. It’s gone political — the Brits spoke to the White House. The White House called in the State Department and they’ve been on the phone to the Commissioner.’ Cheever looked at his sergeant. ‘It’s out of my hands, Tim. We have to let them go.’

‘You know what I think about that!’

‘I know Tim and you don’t have to tell me. But I’m telling you. Suspend the interrogation and let them go.’

Sergeant Evans remained still.

‘However..’, began Cheevers. ‘I haven’t been ordered to stop looking for the third agent.

The sergeant took the seat opposite his boss.

‘When we let these two go, they might lead us to the third man. But you’ll need to be very discreet.’

‘Can I pull him in?’

Cheevers shook his head. ‘No. Just follow them and find out where they hole up. Be very careful.’

‘I will chief.’

‘How is Lomax? Is he well enough to leave hospital?’

‘Apparently he’s OK. A bit roughed up — some kidney damage and a cracked rib. They’ve sorted the kidney with some medicine but the rib will have to take care of itself. He should be able to go under his own steam.’ He stared at the station chief. ‘A pity.’

‘I know you were looking forward to interrogating him when you’d finished with the kid.’

A grim smile appeared on Sergeant Evans’ face. ‘I told the kid that Lomax wouldn’t last the night — just to add a bit of pressure. That’s when he came close to breaking.’

‘He’ll know soon enough that Lomax is OK’ observed Cheevers. ‘When you’ve completed the paperwork, put all of it on my desk.’

The Sergeant turned to go.

‘Oh, and Tim?’

Sergeant Evans looked back.

‘Not a word to anyone. Is that clear?’

The Sergeant nodded and left.

* * *

‘You don’t look in any fit state to go anywhere’, Sean observed.

‘I’ve felt better.’

Sean helped Lomax swing his legs over the side of the bed. ‘Here’s your clothes. I didn’t have time to get you any others — we’re up against the clock.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We’ve just over twenty four hours to find a way of turning that sub back.’

Lomax grunted, struggling to pull his clothes on. ‘London’s been on the phone. They’ve persuaded the Yanks to co-operate with us.’

Sean turned and gave Lomax a surprised look.

‘Don’t ask me how’, Lomax growled. ‘But we’ve got full agency support, backed by the President, no less.’

‘Phew’ said Sean. ‘Shame it didn’t happen earlier.’

Lomax stood up. ‘How do I look?’

Sean shook his head. The contrast with Lomax’s normally immaculate figure was stark. ‘To be honest you look like a hobo who’s just crawled out of the hedge.’

‘Thanks’ said Lomax sarcastically. ‘We need to find a new safe house and plan the next move.’

Sean turned to go. ‘Oh, by the way, do you know where DD is?’

‘The police are hanging on to him a while longer. Not sure why, but you’ll need to check for ticks when you pick him up.’

* * *

Even in the new spirit of cooperation with the US, Lomax insisted on finding a new safe house without any American agency’s knowledge. It took two hours to locate one and check for tails before they could move in.

Lomax settled on a dining room chair, arranging documents on the table. ‘London just faxed over a set of plans for Dennis Clarke’s west coast residence.’ He pointed to the various documents. ‘A street map of surrounding buildings, the layout of the grounds, the possible location of guards and dogs. I’ve got an assessment by army specialists about the best method of access, egress and exfiltration. No doubt you’ll have your own ideas about access. But to my mind entry has to be over the seven foot chain fence surrounding the property. The army guys say there are probably sensors embedded in the grounds inside the fence which are not indicated on the plan.’

‘Very thorough’ said Sean, picking up the plan of the layout.

‘There is something else you should know. This time London is insisting on sending backup.’ Immediately Lomax could see the reaction on Sean’s face. ‘I told them you would object. They only agreed not to send someone new when I said I would cover your back instead.’

Sean rounded on Lomax. ‘Have you seen what you look like in the mirror? You look ready for the knacker’s yard.’

‘Maybe I do, but I have my orders’ responded Lomax, turning slowly with obvious pain.

‘No, Lomax. You know I work alone and you’ll just be an extra burden I can do without.’

Lomax thumped the table once. ‘Sean, you don’t have a choice. Whatever London says, I do and you do. There can be no argument.’

‘Listen Lomax’, said Sean heatedly. ‘The only reason I took on this job was because London agreed I would get a lone hand. I can’t work having to look over my back.’

‘It’s not going to be like that’ replied Lomax. ‘I’m just going to be there to help with the getaway.’

‘No’ said Sean again. ‘I said no and that’s final.’

Chapter 30

When Lomax let Natasha in, she found Sean tugging on a dark jersey over his tee-shirt. She looked from Lomax to Sean. ‘Leaving?’

‘Give us a few minutes, would you?’ Sean asked Lomax.

Natasha closed the door. ‘When will I see you again?’

‘If all goes well I should be back in a few hours.’

‘And if not?’

‘I’ll find some way to get in touch. If we’re not back by daylight, phone your contact at the NSA and let him have whatever else you’ve got.’ Sean walked over to her. ‘You know the basics in looking after yourself. Just don’t forget what you’ve learnt.’

Natasha approached Sean and straightened his jersey. ‘If you have to go, please take care.’

‘I always do,’ Sean grinned.

Natasha pinched his cheek. ‘No, I really mean it.’

Sean smiled. ‘Look Natasha, I don’t really have time to go into this right now. Anyway, I think you know how I feel about you.’ He stopped for a second. ‘There is something that has been bothering me though. Did the NSA set you up?’

Natasha looked puzzled.

‘Did they ask you to get closer to Ben and find out what he was doing?’

Natasha lowered her head. ‘Yes. I felt really uneasy about it.’

‘But you did get to know Ben, didn’t you.’

‘In the end, I did.’ She looked up. ‘But it wasn’t like you think. He was a warm and honest person.’

‘So what happened?’

‘Nothing — nothing happened. I found out he was clean. Initially they thought Ben might be stealing secrets and sending them on to some other country. He wasn’t involved in anything major at all.’

‘He latched on to the security breach at SeaTek. That much we do know.’

‘I keep thinking, if he had told me earlier he might still be alive today.’

‘What’s done is done, Natasha.’ He took her hand. ‘I’ll try to take care. But you know that nothing is sure in this job. I can’t make any promises.’

‘I know’ she said sadly.

* * *

Sean parked in a sheltered spot overhung by trees. A short distance away a telegraph pole passed telephone cables over the fence and through the trees to the house beyond.

‘The house is set in two acres of land, surrounded by this green chain link fence’ said Lomax, looking at the layout plan. ‘These trees border the land facing the road. Close by there should be a stone wall about a metre tall. The wall and the trees should provide a decent screen from the property. I’ll put up the hood when you go in, so anyone from the road will think I’ve broken down.’

‘Opposition?’

‘We’re not sure if the fence is electrified.’ Lomax traced a line on the map. ‘Once over the fence, use the cover of the trees and make for this building. We think this is where the security guards are sited. There will be at least two guards on duty, 24 hours a day.’

‘Pressure activated pads?’

‘Quite possible. The likeliest place would be in the tree line just inside the fence. I wish we had DD working on this — he would be able to neutralise them before we go in.’

‘Before we go in?’ asked Sean.

‘Before you go in’ Lomax replied.

‘Dogs?’

‘Yes, you need to be prepared.’

‘I’ll need some flash bangs for the guards. Possibly some tear gas grenades too.’

‘Got a stash here’ Lomax gestured towards a rucksack.

‘OK, what about the house?’

‘London says Clarke lives alone, but he may have guests. Apparently he holds business meetings in a specially built office room.’

‘Exit route?’

‘Same way as you come in. An alternative is to go over the back fence. That leads out onto open land. You should work your way parallel to the road and I’ll wait for you two miles south of the property.’

‘Anything else I need to know?’

‘London says “Good Luck”.’

That was a nice touch from Murdoch, thought Sean — Andrews wouldn’t have bothered. He rummaged around in the back and took a wide webbing belt, a belt of tools and a large bolt cutter. Lomax gave him what looked like a small transistor radio, some crocodile clips and an ear piece.

‘Ten minutes’ said Sean. He left the car and kept well back from the road as he covered the hundred metres to the telegraph pole. He checked around cautiously. He could hear nothing except for the sound of birds in the trees and the occasional cricket in the long grass. He fastened the web belt around himself and the pole and began to climb. Every step or so, he had to adjust the belt for support. Within a minute he was near the top and in reach of the cables. He unhooked the transistor-like device and clipped two wires, one to each cable.

Sean withdrew the ear piece and tuned the device into the characteristics of the cable. A variable pitch note told him when he had the optimum setting. He clipped the device to the pole. From now on it would intercept any telephone calls and return an engaged signal. That should be enough to allay suspicions for a while from outside callers. But the main reason for the tap was to ensure that any burglar alarms that were wired to call the police or a security company would fail. Sean uncoiled a thin rope and tied it to the black box, before letting the other end drop to the ground. One good yank on the bottom of the rope and it would bring the kit down to earth. Sean was back in the car in less than the promised ten minutes.

He found a black balaclava, then popped a small aerosol in the top pocket. He helped himself to a couple of tear gas grenades and flash-bangs. When he finished he turned to face Lomax. ‘Keep an eye out for me. If I’m not back within thirty minutes, pick up Natasha and clear out of the country as soon as you can.’

‘OK.’

Sean looked at Lomax for a second, taking in the sallow complexion and the dark patches under the man’s eyes. He looked near to death’s door, but at least he could sit this one out.

Approaching the fence, Sean plucked a long blade of grass and spat onto it, using his fingers to spread the moisture along its length. He rested one end on the metal links of the fence, gradually shortening the blade of grass between his finger and the metal wire. If the fence was electrified, Sean would be able to detect the charge, considerably reduced by the resistance of the grass.

It wasn’t electrified. He scaled the fence and dropped lightly on the other side, laying still on the ground for several minutes while listening intently. While he listened he looked around. There were no obvious booby traps or trip wires present. But there might be sensors further in and away from the trees. No matter, this was only going to be a quick in and out job. As he rose he heard barking from the dogs, already on their way.

They came swiftly through the trees. They were not barking now — saving their breath, intent on seizing him and ripping his body apart. When they were about ten feet away, the first dog rushed for him, leaping for his throat. It was a Doberman.

Sean twisted the cap of the aerosol and pressed the button. The spray covered the dog’s head, entering its eyes, nose, mouth and ears. In a fraction of a second the dog lost control. Sean sidestepped and it collapsed to the ground. The dog heaved, fighting to draw breath. When the second Doberman saw what was happening, it stopped and looked at Sean for several seconds. It began to growl and Sean gave it a squirt. It whimpered and quickly turned tail.

Sean considered the fallen dog. It would be incapacitated for another twenty minutes. Even if he were to meet it again, he doubted if the dog would have the heart to try another attack.

He began to move quietly through the leafy border when he heard a twig snap. He took cover behind a tree and waited. It would probably be the dog handler, coming to find his dogs. Sean peered around warily, making out the shape of a man in uniform. The man reached for his walkie-talkie.

Sean listened intently as the man made his call. Bursts of static obscured some of the words.

‘… One of them has run back, I’m just …’

The man ended the call and started to move towards the dog behind Sean. He could hear it still making painful snuffling noises. Sean waited, listening as the man’s heavy footsteps crunched the brittle undergrowth. The sound grew louder until Sean judged that the man was opposite his hiding place. He stepped out in front of him.

‘Are you the dogs’ owner?’

The look of astonishment and puzzlement on the man’s face was comical. Sean hit him hard in the midriff. When the man bent over in pain, Sean stepped around and hit him once more over the kidneys. The man sagged to the ground.

He tied the man’s hands and feet together with plasti-cuffs. The guard did not put up any resistance. Finally, he taped over the man’s mouth, careful to ensure he could still breathe through his nose. Sean patted the man down and relieved him of his radio, night stick and ID cards.

He looked around and saw the beginning of a low wall, running from the edge of the trees towards the house. It was three feet high, made of stone, and enclosed a garden where vegetables and flowers grew in profusion. Sean crouched and slipped over the wall, using it to conceal himself from any watchers in the house. He waited a minute before crawling along the base, stopping at a point closest to the house.

Slowly he raised his head. A well manicured lawn was all that stood between him and the house. There was no cover, nor alternative way of approach. As soon as he stepped out on the lawn, he could be seen by anyone inside the house.

* * *

The mobile trilled quietly. Lomax took out the phone, registering the fact that London was signalling again. He keyed in a four digit pin decryption code. The text of the message left no room for doubt.

Lomax sighed deeply and tucked the phone away in its holster. He struggled into a spare set of overalls from the back of the car. Taking out the automatic from the glove compartment, he stuffed it into a pocket. He pulled on a dark woollen balaclava, but left it folded up so it came no lower than his forehead. Checking in the mirror, it looked like any other woollen hat. Then he reached down and hid the car keys under the rubber mat.

Lomax went round to the back of the van and brought out a collapsible wooden stool. He unfolded it and positioned it underneath the fence. Looking round for the last time he stepped up onto the stool and stiffly straddled the fence.

Like Sean before him, Lomax waited and listened on the other side. He could hear panting and when he drew closer he saw the dog on its side, still suffering from the effects of the spray.

A little further on Lomax came upon the guard, trussed up and wriggling on the ground. He gave him a cursory glance then stepped around him, following the path Sean had taken.

* * *

It took a lot longer than the four seconds delay for a reaction to occur.

First he could hear the sound of coughing and cursing. The door of the guard hut flew open and two men stumbled out, doubled over with the combined effects of the smoke and tear gas. Two minutes later Sean had both trussed up and back in the wooden hut which was now largely free of the gas.

Sean took a last look around the small room. A bench ran along one wall, holding several close circuit monitors. A kettle and coffee percolator perched on a narrow table and Sean could see the remains of the men’s tea.

Sean checked the monitors. Each showed a part of the grounds. While he watched the pictures changed to show another view. Every ten seconds a different view was shown and after a minute the cycle began again. Sean stayed to watch through two cycles, then left for the main house.

Ten seconds afterwards the silhouette of Lomax appeared on one of the screens.

Sean walked around the house, keeping close to the outside wall. He found two windows open, one in the kitchen and another in the dining room. No lights were on and none of the curtains were drawn. Sean confirmed that the outside doors were locked. He assumed that with three guards, two dogs and a closed circuit surveillance system the owner felt he was secure enough.

Well he was about to get a big surprise.

Sean went to the walled garden to fetch a wheelbarrow he had spotted earlier. He parked it underneath the open kitchen window, then put on a pair of surgical gloves from the rucksack. Standing on the barrow he was able to reach in through the fan light and open the bigger window below. He pushed the rucksack through, then climbed in.

He listened carefully before shutting the main window, leaving the fan light just as it was.

He slung the rucksack over one shoulder and set off to explore the ground floor rooms. To the left was an elegant dining room with places set for six people. There was a downstairs toilet off a large hall way and another reception room. The last room he entered appeared to be the office. A solid oak table stood in front of a large bay window. There was a green leather settee with carefully scattered cushions. A man stood waiting, holding a double barrelled shotgun trained on Sean.

Even though he wore a dressing gown, the man was obviously a figure of authority. He had distinguished features and silver grey hair. And he knew how to hold a shotgun, Sean thought. The stock was tucked into his shoulder, the safety catch was off and his finger lay gently across the trigger.

‘Who are you?’ asked the man in a quiet voice. He appeared unafraid.

Sean recognised Dennis Clarke from a photo Lomax had shown him earlier. ‘I’ve come to talk about the Cetus project.’

‘So, you’re not a common burglar, come to steal my money?’

Sean shook his head. ‘No, not your money.’

‘How do I know that? You could be a common burglar I found in my house and I am a responsible householder. I could be forced to shoot you.’

‘No’ said Sean again. ‘Not with the evidence I have about your involvement in the project — evidence that will survive my death.’

‘You want to trade your life for some sort of media scoop?’ the man responded sarcastically.

‘No, I want to trade your life against stopping more deaths.’

The man thought for a few seconds, then indicated with the gun that Sean should sit. The man sat opposite, keeping the gun trained on Sean all the time.

‘Who are you?’ the man asked.

‘An interested third party. Names aren’t relevant, but rest assured I represent a significant player who is determined to get what they want.’

‘Even if I were to kill you now?’ The man raised the shotgun slightly.

Sean shook his head. ‘Do that and your world will fall apart. You will have every law enforcement agency crawling over you and your business companies for the next five years. They’ll put you away permanently.’

‘You’re not leaving me with any options.’ The man placed his finger gently back on the trigger.

‘I’m leaving you with one option’ said Sean. ‘I’ve come for information — not for you. You tell me what I want to know and you’re free to go.’

‘How do I know you haven’t got a swat team waiting outside?’

‘Look for yourself’. Sean gestured towards the window.

The man’s gaze didn’t waver for a second.

‘Look, we know about your plan to discredit SeaTek. You engineered a virus that sent that experimental sub on a rampage. You hoped the Department of Defence would quietly drop their plans for Cetus and come running straight back into your arms.’ Sean’s eyes were fixed on the man’s trigger finger. ‘You thought the DOD would come back to the only supplier they could depend on. Your contracts would be safe into the next century.’

Was there a slight relaxation in the posture? Sean saw the finger move away from the trigger. ‘We just need to know how to stop it’ he said softly.

Slowly, the man twisted the hand holding the barrel, bringing the watch on his wrist into view. He quickly glanced at it before returning his steady gaze back to Sean.

‘If I tell you how, you turn around and get the hell out. I need an hour.’

‘That’s fine by me. You tell me and I walk out.’

The man waited a moment. ‘I’ll tell you after I’ve…’.

There was a sound from behind Sean.

‘I see you brought company.’ Clarke raised the gun and squeezed the trigger.

Chapter 31

In the same fraction of time Sean was already moving, tipping backwards over the chair. Aware of a hot blast of metal as he arched back, he felt a sharp tug to his side as the pellets tore through flesh. He executed a roll even before hitting the ground and used the oak desk for cover.

Adrenaline pumped into his blood stream. The overturned chair lay on its side. Sean grabbed the broken end of one leg and jet-crawled to the other side of the desk. He could sense Clarke before his foot slid into view, encased in a beautiful blue leather slipper. Sean rolled again and brought the wooden stake down in a savage jab to the man’s leg.

Clarke swung the gun around in an arc and trained it on Sean. The trigger finger tightened once more. A brief thought flashed through Sean’s mind. Kelly, his pupil. She was once in the same position, but then she had Sean looking after her.

Sean stared up into the black hole of the barrel, knowing he was looking death in the face.

He heard the sound of a shot and was puzzled by the absence of a flash from the mouth of the barrel. Clarke sagged, then dropped to the ground.

‘Careful’ shouted Lomax. ‘It’s me, Lomax.’

Slowly Sean got to his feet. He held his side and approached the man on the floor. Then the pain hit and Sean staggered. When he looked down, he could see blood oozing out between his fingers. ‘Jesus, Lomax. What are you doing here?’ He held onto the desk as Lomax approached.

‘Are you OK?’

‘I’ll be OK’ Sean said through gritted teeth. ‘What are you doing here?’ he repeated.

‘Change of plan’, said Lomax. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

* * *

Privately, Sean was fuming. He detested these late changes in plans, no doubt initiated by London. Lomax may have saved his life, but the mission was his. And he detested the interruption from the director in the field, even though his life had probably been spared by the interruption.

Sean waved Lomax on ahead while he hunted round the kitchen for some kind of rag to staunch the bleeding. He found a tea towel in a drawer, made it into a pad and wedged it underneath his shirt. Slowly and painfully he came back to the office, surveying the mess. The whole thing didn’t feel right. Why had Lomax followed him in and killed Clarke — only Clarke had the knowledge about how to stop Cetus.

Sean looked at the paintings on the wall. When the police or FBI came to investigate, domestic burglary would be top of their list. Conceivably they might treat it as a politically motivated murder because of Clarke’s powerful status in the industry. In Sean’s view it was worthwhile to tip the odds in favour of burglary.

As he examined what lay behind each of the three pictures, he could hear police sirens in the distance. The picture nearest the desk contained a small wall safe. Sean did not have time to use an electronic lock pick and he knew it was beyond his own skills as a safe breaker.

He found a small plastic box in the rucksack, opened it and carefully lined the door and lock with what looked like plastic putty. Inserting a small metal cylinder into the putty, he attached the wires to a switch and battery. He moved to one side of the safe and stood with his back flat to the wall before pressing the switch.

There was a sharp bang and some smoke. Sean looked at the safe and took hold of the handle — he was able to swing the door open without difficulty. Inside there was an automatic on top of a small metal box. There was nothing else in the safe. Sean took the box and stuffed it quickly into the rucksack.

The sound of the police sirens grew louder.

* * *

Lomax shuffled as fast as he could across the lawn. He was mulling over what explanation he should give Sean, and failed to notice a looming black shape between the trees. As soon as he entered the tree line, the Doberman went for his throat.

Before Lomax knew what was happening he was down on the floor, struggling with the biggest dog he had ever seen. The collar of the protective suit he was wearing was strong and the dog failed to get its teeth around his throat properly. Even so, Lomax felt his breath being squeezed out of him. He put both of his hands around the neck of the dog and started to strangle it. It made no difference — the dog wouldn’t let go. Next, Lomax used stiff fingers to jab and poke its eyes out. The dog simply closed both eyelids, moved to the side to avoid further attacks and started to yank on his throat. Lomax felt the approaching blackness of unconsciousness.

He heard a thud before starting to drift away. Then someone was shaking his shoulder roughly. Lomax opened his eyes and recognised Sean.

‘Come on’ Sean said in a whisper.

'The dog?’ croaked Lomax.

‘Taken care of.’ Sean helped Lomax to his feet as the first of the police cars swept into the drive. They hobbled to the fence under the protection of the trees, Sean holding Lomax with one arm under his shoulder.

Sean went over the fence first with difficulty. When he stretched over the top to help Lomax clamber up, the pain in his side flared.

Sean almost threw Lomax into the passenger seat, then collected up the stool Lomax had used to get over the fence. He drove slowly to the telegraph pole. He got out and yanked the thin rope attached to the listening equipment, packing it all away into the rucksack.

Quietly and carefully, Sean pulled onto the road and drove away.

* * *

Natasha heard a loud knocking at the door. She rose quickly and looked through the spy hole. She saw Sean supporting Lomax and she opened the door quickly.

Sean lowered Lomax onto the settee. There was blood all down the front of his overalls. She noticed that Sean was also hurt, but was not immediately able to see where his wounds were.

‘Bandages, I need bandages and water’ said Sean tersely.

‘Right away’. Natasha leapt to the kitchen and put the kettle on. She brought out some unopened bottles of water from the fridge and found some kitchen towels. She thrust them into Sean’s hands. ‘I’ll get you some cloths — take the kitchen towels and do what you can with them for now.’

While Sean was busy she went back to the wardrobe where she had seen some spare bed sheets. Using a kitchen knife she started ripping it up into strips. She poured out some hot water into a bowl and took the water and bandages to Sean. Lomax was laid out on the settee looking very pale.

Sean grabbed the cloths and began to wrap them around Lomax’s neck wound. The blood soaked through immediately. Sean wound another and then another. Natasha helped to raise Lomax up onto pillows and the blood flow reduced. She brought some more pillows in and together they arranged them under Lomax’s head and feet. Sean took out his mobile and called for the doctor.

Natasha noticed that Sean wasn’t too steady on his feet either and she made him sit down on a chair. She saw the blood stains on his pullover and slowly eased it off. His tea shirt was badly stained and she helped take it off too. She used a wet cloth to remove the worst of the blood which revealed a wound in his side. It wasn’t very deep but Natasha worried how the doctor would treat it. The channel was too wide to stitch the sides together.

As she pressed a clean dry pad over it, she heard a knock. She looked up to Sean. He removed a gun and nodded. Looking through the spy hole, she saw a man carrying a doctor’s bag and felt relieved. He hurried in, not stopping to say a word.

Within a short space of time the doctor had examined Lomax and given him a pain killing injection. He cleaned the neck wound with sterilised wipes and applied a lint pad and bandage from his own supply. He looked at Sean’s wound next and shook some white powder onto it. He then applied lint gauze which was held in place by a bandage stretching around his midriff and over his shoulder to keep it from slipping.

As he worked the doctor muttered to himself all the time. For once Sean didn’t appear to mind his grumblings. After issuing stern warnings to Sean not to get into trouble again, the doctor left.

Natasha’s mobile sounded and she found it in her bag. ‘Mike? Oh, that’s fantastic!’

Natasha noticed Sean listening intently.

‘I’m sorry to hear that. But at least he’s OK now. Where did you say?’ Natasha paused. ‘Let me write that down.’ She fished in her bag for a pen and paper, sat at the table and began to write. ‘South Miami hospital in Miami.’

Natasha wrote out the address. ‘Oh God, how is he?’ she asked. She listened a while and then looked up encouragingly at Sean. Covering the mouthpiece, she spoke quietly. ‘Mike’s telling me about one of the survivors from the sea trials. His name is Louis and he’s the chief software architect for the project. The rescue ship flew him to Miami hospital for specialist treatment.’

She listened again for a minute and ended the call. Collecting her thoughts, she turned to Sean.

‘Right, the call was about Louis Deverell. He was on the original sea trials and was rescued about 24 hours after their ship sunk. He suffered badly from exposure and went into a coma shortly after reaching the hospital. But he’s doing well now. He designed most of the communications systems on board the Cetus.’

‘Who is Mike?’

‘One of the techies I worked with. He and Louis were close friends. When Louis was admitted to hospital they couldn’t find any identification on him, except for his phone. It wasn’t working properly, but they were able to see his contacts once it had dried out.’

Sean looked thoughtful. ‘We need him. Can he be discharged?’

‘They didn’t say, but we could find out.’

‘Right. Talk to your NSA contact and have him flown up straight away — if necessary by ambulance helicopter.’ Sean looked at his watch. ‘We’ve three hours left until the deadline. Oh, and by the way, ask the NSA to hustle DD out of police custody. We might need him too.’

* * *

‘Can I introduce you to Gene Santer — my contact with the NSA?’

‘Pleased to meet you Gene.’ Sean shook hands. The man was short with dark hair and wore a razor thin moustache. ‘May I ask why we’re here?’ Sean indicated the huge white hanger they were standing in.

‘Otis air base? We needed a place to meet. And a jumping off point for the Barents sea.’

Sean looked around. ‘Will we be meeting Mr Deverell?’

‘Yes, he landed ten minutes ago.’

‘And my colleague DD?’

‘Come with me.’ The man certainly didn’t want to lose any time, thought Sean. Though with barely an hour to go to the deadline he felt it was all too little and far too late.

A little way ahead, Sean saw Natasha run towards DD. She folded her arms around him like a long lost relative, kissing him several times on the cheek.

Lucky kid, thought Sean as he went to meet him.

* * *

Shambling towards the group was a bear-like figure, assisted by a man in a blue overall. Santer turned. ‘May I introduce Louis Deverell.’ He named everyone in the group: Natasha, Lomax, DD, Sean. Amongst the general reunion, Sean found himself in front of Natasha.

Sean reached for her hand and held it briefly in his. A movement caught his eye and he saw Louis lumbering over. He couldn’t help but notice what he was wearing on his wrist. ‘Nice timepiece.’

‘You could say’ said Louis. ‘It’s still going after being immersed in Atlantic sea water for God knows how long.’ He turned to Natasha and gave her a big hug, before turning to the rest of the group. ‘Which is more than you can say for me’ he growled.

Natasha pinched his cheek. ‘Don’t be so ungrateful, you old fogey.’

‘So — we know who has taken over the sub, we know where it’s gone and we know what it’s going to do when it gets there. Is there anything else I should add to this bloody crock of shit?’

Louis certainly knew how to break the ice. ‘You forgot one thing’ Sean replied. ‘We don’t know how to stop it, even if we can find it.’

‘And you’re expecting me to tell you, I suppose?’

Sean grinned. ‘That’s about the size of it. Any ideas?’

Louis shook his head.

‘You do realise it may already be too late?’ said Sean. ‘The deadline’s in an hour.’

Lomax took Sean to one side. ‘There’s been no report of a confrontation so far — and we would know. The Russians have been informed and the first thing they would do is complain to the Yanks if anyone attacked their boat.’ Lomax glanced at the group to ensure no-one could overhear. ‘What they did say was that if any of their naval vessels were attacked, they would take that as an act of war.’

‘Bloody hell’, said Sean in a subdued voice. ‘Even after it has been explained that Cetus is out of control?’

Lomax looked sombre and gave a slight inclination of the head.

‘So what’s the plan now?’

‘We’re flying out to the Carl Vincent carrier group and then on to the task force that are trying to locate Cetus. They’ve been hunting the sub for the last couple of weeks. Two days ago one of their submarines had a near miss. We passed on the location data that DD found and they’re regrouping in the Barents. The carrier group have been ordered to join them.’

Sean glanced over at DD. ‘What about him — is DD OK?’

‘He’s OK. The President insisted we all go and I’m tagging along to look after you.’

Sean thought the comment ironic. Lomax was not fit enough to fly, let alone look after Sean.

A military jet brought them from Otis to the Naval Station at Norfolk Virginia. They were taken to one of the many briefing rooms on the campus and an instructor issued G-suits with helmets and oxygen masks. While they helped each other climb into the suits, the instructor took them through the safety procedures for their flight out to the carrier group.

He left them briefly to consult the readiness of the crew. A few minutes later he came back and escorted them to the airport apron where they met the pilots. They were to be flown in two EA-6B Prowler support strike aircraft. From there they would get a helicopter lift to the task group in the Barents. Sean and Louis were taking the place of two electronic warfare officers in one of the Prowlers and Natasha and DD were flying in the other.

* * *

Thirty minutes away from the USS Carl Vincent, Louis thumbed his mike.

‘I think I have an answer to that last question.’

‘Which question?’ asked Sean, perplexed.

‘How to stop the bloody thing in its tracks.’

* * *

Natasha’s aircraft landed safely, brought up abruptly by the arresting wire. A few minutes later Natasha and DD were escorted to the command centre that rose some 150 ft above the deck. She took off her helmet, but had to immediately put her fingers in her ears to muffle the loud roar of an incoming jet. Her hair whipped into her face in the strong wind and the smell of engines and machine oil was pungent.

She watched as Sean’s jet made its approach. This was so exciting!

Natasha waited for Louis, DD and the crew to join them. She noticed for the first time Louis’ slow and difficult gait across the metal apron. He should be back in hospital she thought sadly.

The ride in the jets was a doddle compared to the two hundred mile trip by helicopter out to the task force. The journey took nearly three hours and all the while they were buffeted by strong winds. At times the whole craft was shoved sideways and sometimes it fell sharply for what seemed like ages before it recovered, staggering to gain height. Natasha learned the best way to cope was to grit her teeth, hold on tight and look at Sean seated across from her.

Eventually they approached the task group. The pilot spent a good five minutes following instructions from his wing man, who was watching the man on deck coordinate the aircraft’s movements.

Natasha could not get out quick enough. But as soon as her feet touched the ground she realised the weather had taken a turn for the worse. It was almost dusk now, but she could see low dark clouds scudding quickly, driving pockets of rain horizontally across the deck. At least the cold wet rain on her face had the effect of waking her up.

Two seamen appeared. One clipped a safety line to the helicopter and the other motioned them to hold on to the line and follow him. The first waited until they were all moving and brought up at the rear.

When they reached the end of the line they were escorted up a companion-way and along several corridors. The first seaman knocked gently and opened the door to announce the party. They trooped in, closing it against a sudden downpour.

* * *

Cetus was nearing the end of its mission. Delayed by its encounters with the Astute and the USS Cheyenne, it tried to make up time by sprinting north towards the arctic.

Now it could sense an enormous object over ten kilometres away riding at shallow depth. Cetus collated data from its sonar array and fed it directly to the on-board identification database. The object was approximately 175 metres long, 23 metres across the beam and its underwater displacement came out at around 40,000 long tons. Its electronic package matched the sonar profile of the Kougar, the largest nuclear ballistic submarine in the Russian navy.

Cetus had found its target.

Chapter 32

Sean looked at his watch. ‘It’s an hour past the deadline Admiral. What do we know about the Kougar?’

McIver called the steward to fetch a copy of ‘Jane’s fighting ships’ and a couple of other reference works. ‘I remember it was a big boat, one of the early Typhoons. There were only six built and they like to patrol under the ice.’

McIver flipped the pages and stopped to read the information. ‘One of the Typhoons was called Kougar, designated TK-51.’ McIver looked over at Sean and Natasha. ‘It’s a Russian built Strategic Ballistic Nuclear submarine developed under project 941 in the 1980’s. According to the catalogue only one is still on active service: the Dmitriy Donskoy.’

‘What happened to the Kougar?’ Sean enquired.

‘Of the six that were built, three were scrapped and two were put in reserve. Following this, one of the reserves — the Arkhangelsk — was cannibalised for parts to keep the Dmitriy Donskoy a going concern. But I’ve no idea why the Kougar is still in active service.’ McIver pushed the books away. ‘There is one other possibility. Kougar is still in active service because the Russians have secretly kept it going.’

‘Has the Kougar been informed about Cetus?’ Sean asked.

Captain Armstrong looked at McIver. ‘We’ve gone through all the channels’ he said simply. ‘But whether they passed on the information to the captain of the Kougar, I can’t say.’

For a moment everyone tried to absorb the news.

‘I know the Russians have said that if they are attacked, they will take it as an act of war’ said Lomax gravely.

McIver turned to Lomax. ‘We have to find Cetus and stop it before it attacks. But how we are going to do that?’

‘We know the area that Cetus is heading for’ said Sean. ‘Did the Russians tell us the location of the Kougar?’

Captain Armstrong shook his head. ‘They weren’t exactly in a cooperative mood.’

‘Well we know the area we have to search’ said Sean.

‘I don’t want to spoil your enthusiasm’ responded McIver. ‘But it’s still a huge area — something like 600,000 square miles of ocean.’

‘Suppose they tell us roughly where the Kougar is, how do we stop our sub from making it into a pile of scrambled egg?’ asked Sean.

Louis pulled a table napkin towards him and brought out a Biro. DD watched over his shoulder as he drew an outline picture of their ship in the middle and one of Cetus near the edge. ‘There’s another way to communicate with Cetus. It’s our engineering method of controlling the sub — completely different to the normal methods the programmers developed. We can use Wi-Fi.’

‘You mean, like computer Wi-Fi signals?’ asked Natasha sceptically.

‘Exactly like Wi-Fi signals’ responded Louis.

‘Whatever for?’ queried Natasha.

‘We wanted a way of diagnosing problems without relying on a fixed line to the sub. Standard Wi-Fi signals can be received up to three hundred metres in clear air, maybe more provided there is nothing in the way.’

Louis started to draw a series of concentric circles around the ship in the middle of the napkin.

‘But Cetus will be underwater’, said Natasha. ‘Surely that would reduce the contact distance?’

Louis acknowledged the point. ‘Correct, Natasha. We will keep trying on all the normal communications channels as well. Every method we can use should be used.’

‘Could we broadcast Wi-Fi signals underwater?’ asked DD.

Louis looked towards McIver. McIver looked at Captain Armstrong. ‘What do you think Jim?’

‘We might be able to use our sonobuoys. Take out the electronics gear and replace it with a Wi-Fi router.’

‘Assuming that we can do that, how far can they be picked up?’

Louis frowned. ‘To be truthful, I don’t know the answer to that — possibly as little as 20–30 metres.’

Natasha sat back, suddenly overwhelmed by the thought that this could not possibly work.

Louis saw the look of disappointment. ‘It was never meant to be used underwater,’ he said. ‘I’m just suggesting this way, because it’s the most direct.’

McIver tossed a pen onto the table. ‘Doesn’t seem feasible to me’ he said.

Sean picked up the pen. ‘But I think you had an idea Louis?’

Louis nodded.

‘Well, let’s hear what you have to say before we start pouring cold water over it.’ Sean passed the pen to Louis.

Louis began to draw a series of zigzag lines on the napkin, radiating out from the centre. ‘If we can get enough Wi-Fi base stations to transmit certain codes I can give you, the sub will pick them up and obey.’

Natasha looked doubtful. ‘Why should it do that when we know it has ignored all the other codes we sent telling it to stop?’

Louis looked offended. ‘I told you, it’s an engineering solution. No-one else really knows about the Wi-Fi method — it’s a bit like text messaging — before it was hi-jacked by the marketing departments.’

‘OK’ Sean intervened smoothly. ‘What do we need to do?’

‘Well, we would need the helicopters to dip the sonobuoys in the water — like they do when hunting submarines. The base stations would need to be broadcasting all the time. The helicopters would drag them through the water in a line.’

‘I can think of at least one problem with that’ interjected McIver. ‘Helicopters are fine at dunking sonobuoys in the water at a fixed depth. We don’t know what depth your sub might be at. We could still miss it by passing well above it.’

Louis turned to look at McIver. ‘Unfortunately I don’t have a plan to deal with that — we would just have to hope the base stations were at the right depth.’

DD looked thoughtful. ‘If we had enough base stations, we could string them together in a vertical line, say four placed 20 metres apart. We could drag one set from a boom on the port side of the helicopter and another set from starboard.’ He looked at McIver for confirmation. ‘We could have, say, four helicopters in line together. They would mark out a search area, north to south. When they reach the end of the box, they would all turn and travel back along the same line, just shifted over by 10 metres. That way, we could cover a depth of up to a hundred metres — twenty metres above the top and twenty metres below the bottom base station.’

‘I don’t want to rain on your parade, ‘ said McIver. ‘But where do we get so many Wi-Fi base stations? We’re miles from shore.’

‘Do you have Wi-Fi aboard your ship?’ asked Louis.

McIver thought for a moment. ‘I think we do — but I’ve no idea how many we have. Even if we could find a few, how can they be made to work underwater?’

DD turned to McIver. ‘Let me talk to your tech guys. I’d like to look at how your sonobuoys are put together — perhaps we could use the casings to enclose the base stations and deliver the necessary power.’

McIver looked uncertain, thinking that the idea had gone way past the bounds of credibility. But even if there was only a slim chance, he would have to take it.

‘You could also order some from the mainland and get a jet to pick them up and drop them off — shouldn’t take more than a few hours’ said Sean.

Everyone looked at Sean, surprised they hadn’t thought of the idea.

‘Right’ said McIver. ‘Let’s get to it.’

* * *

‘Con, sonar. I can hear dipping buoys in the water’ yelled the young sonar operator.

Captain 1st Rank Vasily Toporov was astounded. He had been patrolling this area of arctic ice and water for the last two months without incident. It was boring. But in the space of the last sixty seconds all hell broke loose.

It began with a distant booming noise travelling up and down the length of the boat. Sonar were unable to give him an exact fix on the source of the noise. He felt a deep pulse inside his own chest and he looked at the officers close by. They looked apprehensive and he knew they all felt it too.

‘Hull integrity risk!’ shouted the Chief Of the Boat.

In the warfare control section Starshina Polichev tried to ignore the loud caroming noises coming straight off the outer hull of the boat. He checked his screen. The direction of target designated SG-3, determined by the sonar array, was woefully inaccurate. The actual source of the vibration did not show up on any of his sonar screens. He could see a collection of shadows some 10 km distant and although this tallied with the general direction of the source, he couldn’t be sure it was SG-3.

‘Source designated SG-3, distance unclear, general direction 127 degrees’, Polichev read off his instruments.

‘Make your best guess at a firing solution!’ commanded Toporov.

Any of the shadows could be SG-3, Polichev thought. He chose the largest and patched it into the firing solution computers. ‘Firing solution committed’ replied Polichev.

‘Rise..’ commanded Captain Toporov. Before he could complete the order a loud crack like thunder boomed down the length of the sub.

‘Outer hull breached!’ shouted the Chief of the Boat.

Captain Toporov gripped the table. ‘Dive and make evasive turn to port.’

Several heads turned towards the Captain. It was unheard of to order a dive when the hull had been breached. But such was the discipline amongst the crew, not one person raised an objection.

Immediately the Kougar went into a steep descent and papers from the captain’s table slid to the floor. Toporov’s knuckles grew white as his grip on the table tightened.

‘Engineering parties to the breach.’ he ordered.

At that second, the sound and vibration from the hull lessened quickly and then stopped altogether. As the engineering parties began to report the status of the hull, the Captain’s thoughts switched from the earlier threat to the more immediate one — with the hull breech, how was he going to save his boat from sinking?

* * *

‘Con, sonar. I have a report. Sounds like a Russian Typhoon class submarine, bearing 275 degrees, range approximately 12 kilos.’

‘OK sonar. Warfare, assign more choppers to target.’

The Warfare operator turned to a separate mike and thumbed the switch.

‘Dispatch, I have orders from the con to reassign northern most helis in the box to the area of SY-PB15. Russian sub has been detected and we need all available resources on the target. Acknowledge please.’

McIver was listening to the radio chatter over the loudspeaker in his quarters. Quietly he was pleased with the performance of the sonar detection ring provided by the helicopters. Picking up any sub through the normal noises made by the bumping and grinding of the pack ice made it difficult, especially when trying to identify one of the quietest subs in the Russian navy. The speaker blipped again with static.

‘Flight, con. Two helis reassigned, but experiencing difficulties.’

DD’s idea of stringing together sonobuoys crammed full of Wi-Fi gear was a good one, reflected McIver. But they hadn’t thought about the practical issues. The number of sonobuoys each helicopter had to pull through the water caused so much drag on the booms that they had to slow their forward speed to prevent the boom from breaking off.

This meant they were unable to cover the area as fast as they would like, so the whole process slowed to a crawl. Nevertheless the aircrew persevered — though none had so far found any trace of Cetus.

McIver’s phone buzzed.

‘Jock — I’ve briefed the President, but the Russians are still not playing ball.’ The Admiral’s exasperated voice crackled out of the speaker. ‘The bastards just don’t believe us and they won’t tell us the Kougar’s position. The best we can do is to get them to warn the Kougar’s captain about a potential attack, but they’re not taking it very seriously. I just hope they’ll send the message in time.’

‘OK Admiral, you…’. The rest of the message was drowned by a loud klaxon. An anxious officer appeared.

‘What’s happening?’ queried McIver.

‘We’ve just started to pick up really high amplitudes about 10 km away, so it could be Cetus.’

A stir of excitement worked its way quickly through McIver’s bloodstream.

‘You’re dammed right! Task all our helis to find the source’ he barked. The officer waited for any further instructions.

‘Immediately!’ McIver roared.

* * *

‘Engineering parties report!’

The one thing which kept hope alive for Captain Vasily Toporov was the build of the Kougar. In terms of its construction it was a magnificent piece of Russian over-engineering. Its multi-hulled design afforded five inner hulls inside a superstructure of two parallel main hulls. It would take more than a breach of the outer hull to sink the boat.

‘Breach now under control, captain!’

‘Very well. Bring us to an even keel and take us up to 100 metres.’ He paused. ‘Sonar, do you still have a firing solution?’

‘Yes Captain!’ Polichev replied smartly.

‘Fire tubes two and three!’

‘Firing tubes two and three’ echoed Polichev. Seconds later, ‘Torpedoes have cleared tubes, running straight!’

* * *

‘We’ve got an acknowledgement from Cetus!’ the Executive Officer said. He saw the Admiral look puzzled. ‘Cetus has acknowledged our signal to cease its attack and surface’ he explained.

‘Good’ said McIver, ‘but don’t forget we have a Russian sub about, with a captain like a bear with a sore head. Be ready for evasive action.’

It was a minute before anyone realised just how much foresight the Admiral had.

‘Torpedoes in the water!’ the loudspeakers blared.

‘Bugger’ said McIver under his breath.

Captain Armstrong turned to the C-in-C. ‘Launch counter-measures, full turn to starboard and get those helis to provide a diversion — torpedoes, depth charges, everything they’ve got.’

‘Yes Captain. Torpedoes are fifty seconds from us, coming straight and true.’

‘Fire parties, to your stations’ barked Armstrong. He raised his wrist watch to count down the seconds to impact.

A full array of military hardware now came into play. From the decks of the USS Port Royal a series of vertically launched Anti-Submarine Rockets burst from their cells. The VL-ASROCs carried Mark 54 torpedoes which could be delivered to the sea in seconds. Of the three marine patrol aircraft from the carrier Carl Vincent providing 24-hour cover, the one closest to the torpedo track launched its anti-submarine Compact Rapid Attack Weapon. Basically an air-dropped lightweight torpedo, it struck the sea at the same time as the ASROCs, right in the path of the first torpedo from the Kougar. Programmed to explode on proximity, it detonated and triggered the Kougar’s torpedo warhead.

The lookout on the bridge relayed the information first. ‘Explosion off our bow, one kilometre.’

This time they were all facing forward. Through the bridge windows a plume of water hung in the air.

‘Sonar, con. Anything else in the water?’

‘Second torpedo, homing in’ came an excited reply.

The ship juddered and the sound of a massive explosion could be heard.

‘Fire parties report!’ commanded a grim looking Captain Armstrong. He stopped and grabbed a mike. ‘Weapons control, provide a firing solution.’ He looked across at McIver, only to see him shake his head.

‘No Jim. Not today.’ McIver inclined his head, inviting the Captain to a quiet corner of the bridge.

‘I know how you feel. God knows, I feel angry too. But we’re not going to get involved. Get in touch with the Russian. Tell him we are not — and repeat not — engaging with him. Tell him we are on a peaceful mission to retrieve a lost sub.’

Captain Armstrong walked away, too angry to reply.

‘Sir’ shouted a sonar operator. ‘We’ve just lost contact with Cetus. The friggin’ sub has dropped out of sight!’

Chapter 33

The seaman presented the message slip to Captain Armstrong. He read it quickly and turned to everyone around the table.

‘It’s a signal from the Captain of the Kougar. They’ve acknowledged our message and are standing down.’

Natasha and everyone else around the table breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Thanks to Louis we were able to secure Cetus.’ Captain Armstrong raised his glass and everyone round the table followed suit.

When the Cetus was reported missing after the torpedo explosions, she really thought that it had gone. She felt so bad she could taste bile in her mouth. But Louis didn’t appear at all concerned. He tapped out a code onto his laptop and five minutes later Cetus emerged on the surface. When he saw the puzzled looks from everyone around the table, Louis explained that one of the low-level programs on the sub made it dive whenever any potentially threatening situation occurred.

The Kougar’s torpedoes had initiated the automatic protection circuit in Cetus, forcing it to dive to a depth of 20 metres. When Louis typed in the counter-code, Cetus slowly reappeared.

While the ship was being repaired, Natasha and Louis made their way to the now stationary Cetus. Natasha’s long hair streamed out from behind her in the wind. She felt some spray on her face as the motor launch ploughed through the choppy seas towards the small dot on the horizon ahead. She had rarely felt such a mix of emotions before — a sense of relief that the sub had been found, a sense of sadness of the lives that had been lost because of it, a sense of despair that the project might be closed down forever. But most of all she harboured a sense of hope for herself and Sean.

The update to Cetus’ mission software was in the briefcase beside her. As they approached, the shape became more sharply defined. Natasha could make out the glistening black colour and the short stubby sail. Their launch dragged a thin line behind them. When they clambered on board, two sailors from the shuttle would haul on the line until a thick hawser from the cruiser appeared.

There had been some discussion about the best method of towing the sub back to base. The entire outer surface of Cetus was covered in soft rubber tiles which absorbed radar frequency waves, making it invisible to anyone trying to track its progress.

The outer shell of the sub was also bereft of lugs or any projection to which they could attach a towing line. Louis explained that the design called for a completely smooth profile, so it glided through the water without making any turbulence which might be picked up by enemy sonar.

They finally settled on a couple of magnetic grabs which were tied to the end of the hawser and which the sailors would use to secure Cetus.

The launch slowed to come alongside. Two sailors hopped over onto the slippery rounded back of the sub and held on to the sail. Once they had secured the motor launch with ropes around the sail, they helped Natasha and then Louis across. Louis quickly reached over and undid the outer hatch, hidden at the bottom of the sail. As Cetus bobbed up and down in the water, Louis slowly descended the ladder into the dark belly of the sub, followed more nimbly by Natasha.

This was the first time Natasha had been on-board Cetus while it was at sea. Louis helped her down the last part of the narrow ladder and found a switch which illuminated the interior.

She stared down a long narrow corridor which extended along the front half of the boat. Nearly all the rear half was blanked off by a large steel round door protecting the engine compartment and nuclear power generator. Along both sides of the fore gangway, computer racks reached the full height of the sub. Natasha could see the racks were bolted both on the floor and ceiling and she saw hundreds of green LED lights winking amongst them. She shivered. It was cold and the air was stale, though a fresh breeze was starting to find its way in through the sail hatchway.

On the surface the sub rode the swell, nose moving up and down over the crests. Louis was already at the fore end, checking a server in the first rack on the port side. Natasha carefully made her way towards him and stopped at the computers three racks further down. These were her babies, covering mission loading, sequencing and the main decision making electronics. She grabbed a small hand torch from her bag, checking the serial numbers of the computers until she found the one she was looking for. She pulled out the flat shelf underneath, revealing a keyboard and a flat panel screen which she pivoted into an upright position. She called up the current mission profile and swiftly disabled it. Confident that this software could never work again, she bent down to retrieve the USB memory stick from her bag.

Within five minutes both Louis and Natasha had completely disabled the sub and loaded new programs which would ensure it could be safely towed back to its home port.

* * *

‘Murmansk to the US east coast is nearly 4,000 miles.’ Lomax traced the path the task force would take. ‘We know they’re moving at about 20 knots, not taking any chances with the tow.’

‘That’s over a week to return to base’ noted DD. ‘And we’ve been back five days.’

‘The task force should be moving through the edge of a storm front. Can you confirm their position?’

‘Easy’ said DD as he turned to his laptop. Two minutes later he showed Lomax the location on the screen.

Lomax looked carefully at the detailed map. ‘I think now would be a good time.’

DD opened up the communications software. He glanced at Lomax for confirmation.

‘Do it now.’

DD clicked on the Initiate module, establishing a new communication session. Satisfied it was working, he clicked on the button to trigger an upload of a new mission profile.

Just over a thousand miles away in the northern Atlantic, wind speeds picked up to force four and the swell increased by ten feet as the ships faced into the storm. A quartering wind blew spume from the wave crests.

Every sixty minutes the stern lookout flicked on powerful floodlights to check the position of the tow. He could see the two hawsers stretching out across the white wave tops, but it was difficult to make out the black shape of Cetus being towed 50 metres away. The lookout switched off the floodlights and made a note in his log.

Cetus quietly fed power to the armature of its electric engine. As the screw moved the machine slowly towards the towing ship, the line went slack in the water. Twenty metres away Cetus reversed its screw, creating a white foaming torrent in the water. The sub started to reverse, picking up speed. At its furthest extent one steel cable snapped up out of the water with a loud twang. As Cetus continued to reverse the cable began to hum under the strain. The hum increased in pitch.

The noise of the gale drowned out the ‘crack’ as first one and then the other magnetic grabs lost their hold. Cetus slowly sank beneath the waves.

When the lookout switched on the floodlights again some fifty minutes later, the hawsers were slack. Initially he was not unduly worried as the storm had driven the sub closer to the ship several times before. He picked up a pair of binoculars and searched for some sign of the submarine amongst the forest of waves. After two minutes he reluctantly used the intercom to report to the Officer of the Deck.

* * *

‘So how long have you known about this?’ Dinsdale’s face was red with anger.

‘Not that long Martin’ replied Prime Minister John Ashdown. ‘An opportunity arose during the course of the mission. I thought it was too good to pass up.’

Dinsdale started pacing about the PM’s office. At last he came to stand in front of the Prime Minister’s desk. ‘You’re finished’ he said simply. ‘Once word of this gets out, you, me and the rest of the government will be forced to resign.’

‘But word will not get out, will it Martin?’

‘How can you stop it? Too many people know about it.’

‘That’s not true. There are only seven people in the world who know about this. And now you’re the eighth.’

Dinsdale sank into the nearest chair. ‘John, I really think you should resign. You could go now without too much fuss from the media. You could say you had planned to retire anyway, after fifteen years in politics.’

‘And who would take over my role — you?’ asked the PM scathingly.

Dinsdale held up his hands. ‘Well, I am the deputy PM, so I suppose I would stand in until our internal election procedure is complete.’

Ashdown shook his head. ‘No, Martin. I’ll tell you why that isn’t going to happen. If my continued presence in this post is to be put at risk by a leak originating from you, then you don’t know me very well.’

The PM swivelled round in his seat to look at Dinsdale directly. ‘You underestimate my resolve.’

He got up and brought two crystal whiskey glasses to the desk and poured a good measure in each. ‘But I will tell you what is going to happen. In the next seven days I will call a snap reshuffle of the cabinet.’

Dinsdale started to object, but the PM stopped him. ‘Martin I know this will be painful for you, but for the good of the country you have to go.’

‘Then there is nothing else for it..’ Dinsdale said hopelessly. ‘I’d rather take my chances in the country than be sacked as deputy leader.’

The PM rested both elbows on the table. ‘Let’s just imagine that you’ve been working late in the chamber and you stop by for a drink in the commons bar before you set off in your Jaguar for your flat.’ The PM raised his glass. ‘Halfway home, you see a car behind you. It’s revving its engine and trying to overtake. You pull in to let him pass, but it’s driven by a drunk who crashes into your car and sends it spinning across the road. A fire engulfs your car. You’re burnt alive in the wreck.’

Dinsdale’s face drained of blood. ‘You couldn’t do that!’

The PM shrugged his shoulders. ‘I can do anything I want Martin. If you ever so much as threaten to let this particular secret out, I will have you killed.’

* * *

In the moonlight from the window, Sean watched as her back arched and she gave a moan of sheer pleasure. She fell forwards onto him and he held her close, the realisation coming quickly. His hand came away, sticky with her blood. The sound of tinkling glass registered and Sean knew with a dull certainty she had been shot.

He pushed her off the bed, away from the window. Crouching low he ran to one side of the window and looked out. There was nothing. He would only have a minute before they came for him. He crouched and ran back to Natasha, pulling the sheet from the bed and fashioning a tourniquet around her upper arm.

He pulled on his jeans and ran to the kitchen, picked up the wooden block of knives and ran to the hallway.

* * *

Police Sergeant Evans scanned the apartment from his car. Like Sean he heard the glass breaking, but there was no obvious source. He waited, unsure whether to investigate or stay put. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed movement. His patience in staking out the apartment was about to pay off. He saw a tall man in a long overcoat approaching the front door. He held a rifle in his right hand and his left arm was in a sling.

Evans unclipped his revolver and prepared to move.

* * *

Sean heard the lock as it shattered from the impact of the high velocity round. Again there was no sound of firing, so the man was using a silencer. The front door burst open. Sean caught a glimpse of the man’s silhouette in the light from the street. ‘Schaeffer’ he breathed. He let fly with one of the kitchen knives and was rewarded with a cry of alarm. The wood in the door surround splintered only inches away from Sean.

* * *

Sean withdrew into the living area. Seconds later he heard Schaeffer trip over Natasha’s bicycle in the hallway. Sean picked out another knife and balanced it in his hand. This might be his last chance. Sean hefted the knife. It was the longest one he had. He had to decide whether to throw it and risk it not connecting, or to deliver it personally. There really was only one choice after all.

* * *

Sergeant Evans pushed the door wide open. There were no lights on in the apartment and it was difficult to see what was going on. ‘Police, freeze!’ he shouted. A second later the round penetrated his stomach, blowing him backwards into the street.

* * *

Sean heard the front door again and the shouted command to freeze. He launched himself at Schaeffer in the darkness of the hallway, having to guess exactly where he might be. With his left hand he felt the man’s coat. He twisted and drove the knife deep into Schaeffer’s chest just as the rifle went off.

Racing back to Natasha, he switched on the bedside light. The tourniquet had staunched the blood, but Sean discovered another wound below her shoulder on her back. He made a pad with the rest of the sheet before reaching for the phone.

* * *

The view from the hideaway was beautiful. For the most part heather covered the hill, sweeping down until it met the bracken. The slope then gave way to grass. Some sheep grazed below a well worn path overlooking Gare Loch. There was a bench just off the path facing the loch and on the bench sat Lomax.

Sean breathed in the damp air that held the chill of the coming winter. He had spent the night in a shallow depression amongst the heather and he was numb with the cold and mist. The wound on his lower ribcage had started to throb painfully in the damp air. Even so, the day promised some sunshine and Sean felt good to be in touch once again with nature.

From his hide, Sean used his binoculars to scan the loch and the surrounding area. He was satisfied Lomax was alone and he tucked the binoculars out of sight. He crawled out under cover of the heather, standing slowly to examine the scene. Carefully he turned and checked back up the hillside. The whole area was deserted except for Lomax and himself. He removed his gillie suit and walked quietly to stand ten metres behind the bench.

‘A beautiful day.’

Lomax turned round, his face impassive. If he heard Sean’s approach he gave no sign. He turned back to face the loch bringing the binoculars back to his eyes. He started to scan the water again, swinging first left and then right.

‘Any sign of Cetus?’ Sean asked.

‘Not yet’ Lomax replied.

‘You may never see her’, remarked Sean.

‘She has to surface before going into dock.’

‘I heard there was an almighty furore when the Americans discovered their sub had gone missing again. I suppose you engineered it to make it look like the sub had lost its tow.’

‘Something like that’ said Lomax, vaguely.

‘Was it worth it?’

‘Worth what?’ asked Lomax.

‘Worth coming back to the Agency?’

Lomax let the binoculars fall with a sigh. Sean moved round to the front of the bench so he could see him better. Lomax gestured to the empty seat beside him. Sean sat and looked out over the water. ‘That was why they took you back, wasn’t it?’ Sean carried on. ‘You were a burnt out case. I don’t know what happened, but your last job got to you. You needed a lot of time to recover. I can only imagine what you must have gone through to get to that stage — someone like you. You were one of their best men.’

‘It wasn’t pretty’ replied Lomax.

‘No’, reflected Sean. ‘But out of all the people they had on the books, they chose an agent who had retired on the grounds of ill health.’ Sean glanced sideways at Lomax. ‘But there was a price, wasn’t there Lomax?’

Lomax remained still.

‘They made a bargain with you and you accepted.’ Sean looked squarely at Lomax. ‘Am I right?’

Finally Lomax nodded his head.

‘They offered you promotion, provided you carried out all your orders. Especially the orders you didn’t tell me about.’

Sean looked back to the loch and saw a tiny fissure appear in the water. He pointed it out to Lomax.

‘All for that’ he said. As they watched, the fissure grew bigger and revealed itself as a bow wave from the radio masts on Cetus. Slowly the conning tower came into view and then the black tubular shape of the submarine. It rose steadily, gently broaching the still surface of the loch.

‘Why did you shoot Dennis Clarke?’ Sean turned to look at Lomax. ‘Orders from London?’

‘I should have shot him earlier.’ Lomax said the words so quietly that Sean almost failed to hear him.

‘I remember he checked his watch’, said Sean. ‘He must have thought that Cetus had already kept its appointment with Kougar, so there was little point in preserving the knowledge on how to stop it.’

Sean leaned back on the seat. ‘You know Lomax, most of the time I didn’t know who I could trust. So I had a little talk with DD.’

He saw a frown appear on Lomax’s forehead.

‘DD was very reluctant, but in the end he told me about your order to provide another virus.’

Sean turned to look at Lomax. ‘You were told to engineer the theft of the project.’

Lomax continued to stare into the distance.

‘But you needed more time to make the switch’ Sean said, more as a statement than a question. ‘That’s why you killed Clarke. You had to have time for DD to program the new virus. Then you had to switch Natasha’s memory sticks for the ones DD programmed.’

Sean looked out at the loch, trying to calm his rising temper. ‘You risked starting a war between Russia and the States, just so our scientists could get a peek at the technology.’ Sean watched as two tugs approached the submarine. ‘Was it Andrews?’

Lomax sighed. ‘Yes. When he briefed me he said he had only a couple of weeks to live. He told me that if we could get hold of the sub, it would be a huge leap for the Agency and our scientists. And he would reinstate me permanently as executive.’ Lomax glanced at Sean. ‘He died last week.’

‘You ordered DD to create a new mission for the rogue sub, one that would force it to escape from capture and lay on a new course for Scotland.’ Sean pointed to the loch. ‘Look Lomax. That shitty sub, in return for promotion. How does it feel?’

Sean stopped to regain his breath. He began again, slowly and quietly. ‘Why didn’t you clue me in on the details?’

Lomax didn’t reply.

‘You didn’t tell me, because you knew I wouldn’t have anything to do with it. You knew that I wouldn’t stoop to some dirty little game of industrial espionage — no, I’m only used when there are fresh graves to be dug for people who need to be eliminated. Isn’t that true!’

Lomax nodded imperceptibly.

‘Finally you were told to go back for Natasha once the sub was on its way, because she still had the memory sticks DD substituted in her bag — the ones DD loaded with the new course details.’

Lomax inclined his head.

‘But you didn’t want to do it in person because I’d get to know. So you had Schaeffer tipped off. The psychopath who would stop at nothing to kill her and me.’

For a minute no-one spoke. ‘How is she?’ Lomax asked eventually.

Sean looked away. ‘She died on the way to the hospital. Schaeffer used rounds tipped with hardened steel. One smashed through her upper arm and ploughed straight on through her chest.’

Lomax sat very still.

‘She was beginning to work out that someone in our team had a different agenda. Then NSA found out you had orders to steal Cetus, and they told her. She could easily have alerted the media. The American political machine would have stamped down so heavily on Britain. It would have quashed the likes of you and every member of the Agency. God knows how far up it would go, but it would set back relationships by a decade or more.’

Sean turned back to the loch where the tugs were securing lines to the sub. ‘Instead she believed me when I told her there was no such plan. That’s something you and Andrews were counting on — my innocence. If she didn’t believe me, it would have been impossible to keep something that size out of the press. They would have a field day and the whole world would be talking about the dirty little deal that you and Andrews made.’

At long last Lomax spoke. ‘Do you have the memory sticks?’

Sean looked away.

‘Make sure you dispose of them properly.’

They both watched as the tugs headed back up the loch to their base at Faslane, towing the submarine behind. Eventually the tugs and the submarine disappeared in the distance.

After Lomax left, Sean wandered down to the shore of the loch. He pulled out his wallet and looked at the picture of Natasha he had taken in the hospital. She was in a hospital gown, smiling through the pain. There would be another three operations to come over the next six months, but she would live.

He found the two memory sticks in his pocket and hurled them as far as he could into the water.

Dedication

This book is dedicated with love to Fran. Thank you for everything.

Disclaimer

All characters, events and commercial organisations in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, events or commercial organisations, past or present, are purely coincidental.

Content

Dominic Conlon
Silent Warpath

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Dedication

Disclaimer