Authors: Malcolm Rose
“Yes, please.”
It was an out-of-date list of HiSpec workers and, at a stroke, Jordan had generated hundreds of suspects. Far too many.
Raven laughed. “You look panic-stricken.”
“How many people are on this?”
“613.”
Jordan swallowed.
“It’s not as bad as you think,” Raven told him. “Look. Every name’s got a job description. I can eliminate all of the admin, cleaners and low-level staff in
general. If Short Circuit’s here, he’s going to be working on microchip design. He’s quite senior.”
“Unless being a cleaner is his or her cover,” Jordan said.
“Doubtful. Internal security is tight, to say the least. Cameras everywhere. They’d spot a cleaner interfering with design.”
“How do you know?”
“Chip manufacturers are well known for obsessing about security. That’s why they wouldn’t tell us anything about personnel. That’s why you had to do it by the back
door.” Raven looked down at her watch. “It’s late. Unit Red asks a lot of us, doesn’t it? You have to sacrifice your time because the job always comes first. Anyway,
I’ll go through it in the morning, then save a filtered version. That’ll be more manageable.”
“Okay. Thanks,” Jordan replied.
Jordan’s mind had no real limits. The Unit Red computer system was available to him through a brain implant. Once logged in, he had the World Wide Web in his head. Its
images were fed into his optic nerve. When he closed his eyes, he created a dark screen for browsing. His resources were infinite, but his skull felt claustrophobic. When he was online, it was
crammed with pictures and information.
Almost everybody else in the Unit Red house was asleep. Lying on his bed, Jordan could make out a guard’s slow steady footfall along one of the corridors. In the cemetery outside, shrubs
rustled in the wind. Above his head, two birds were walking across the roof. Jordan could pinpoint the sounds. The unseen birds were two-and-a-half metres apart. He could detect the smell of damp
fertile earth and growing plants, as well as the last meal cooked in the kitchen. Mixed with the airborne cocktail of chemicals was the faint whiff of oil from the workshop.
On his internal screen, he put up Dipak’s unfiltered attachment and executed a search for anyone called Forew. He drew a blank. He scrolled through the list, but discovered nothing of
interest and soon got bored. Checking HiSpec’s staff would be much easier once Raven had edited out unnecessary names, so he decided to wait. Instead, he opened the document’s
properties. He was surprised to see that it had been created, modified and accessed today. Perhaps it bore the date of 23rd May 2012 because that was when Raven had received and saved it. Even so,
he expected a record of its creation five years previously.
In his mind, he formed an e-mail and sent it to Dipak, thanking him for the file, but asking him to send a fresh copy.
Even though it was after midnight, Dipak must still have been online because, within three minutes, the second copy arrived. Straight away, Jordan examined the file’s properties and found
its creation date in 2007. It suggested to Jordan that Raven had already started working on the document, modifying it in some way, before she’d saved it.
Why?
Jordan opened the new attachment side-by-side with the one that Raven had written onto the computer. Using a tool that compared two versions of the same document, he discovered that the new file
contained 614 entries. Not 613. The comparison program found the extra record in seconds.
For some reason, Raven had deleted all mention of a microchip designer called Madison Flint.
“It’s running like a normal electric car,” Kate said as Jordan continued the trial drive of his Jaguar. “We’ve added a collision avoidance system,
but most of the clever stuff’s waiting for new microchips. Your special features are only running at about twenty per cent. I’ve engaged the speed limiter, though. The car always knows
where it is – clever thing – and it’s got a database of the speed limits on every road in the country, so it keeps you on the right side of the law. You can override it, but
let’s not risk it today.”
“Collision avoidance system?”
“If you drive at that lorry in front – or veer off towards a barrier – the car’s radar will detect an imminent collision and slow down – or stop – to avoid
it. You could be fast asleep or...whatever. It’d do it automatically. And if something comes at you from the side or behind, it’ll take evasive action.”
If the collision avoidance system had been fitted earlier, Jordan thought, it would have detected a shop front in Ipswich, slowed down and kept Phil Lazenby safe. But perhaps Short Circuit would
have been able to override that mechanism too.
“What about me? You’re getting new chips for the car – ones that Short Circuit can’t attack – but what about the ones in my head and arm?”
Kate shook her head. “I asked. They’re too specialized and too complicated to replace in a few days. We can’t do anything in the short term. You’re going to have to catch
him before he can do you any damage.”
Jordan eased off the accelerator, pulled over and stopped the car. On their left was an old abandoned industrial site. The nearest building was a large Victorian workhouse. All of its windows
had long since fallen out and great cracks had appeared in its walls, as if a giant hand – or an earthquake – had shaken it to death. The place was surrounded by a sturdy wire fence and
signs declared,
Danger – Keep Out
.
“Is something wrong?” Kate asked.
“No. Well, yes,” Jordan replied, turning off the engine. “I mean, not with the car. But there’s something wrong, yes.”
“What?”
Jordan glanced at the dashboard. “Are there any bugs in here?”
“Bugs?”
“Listening devices,” Jordan explained.
“Oh. Sorry,” said Kate. “I’m still a firefighter and engineer at heart. Not used to the spying jargon. No. Not as far as I know.”
“Can I tell you something in secret? Something that mustn’t get back to Unit Red.”
Kate nodded. “Of course. I’m a human being first, not just one of Angel’s servants.”
“All right.” Jordan took in and let out a breath. “Last week, you said Raven’s on our side. But what do you really know about her?”
Kate raised her eyebrows. “She’s part of Unit Red. Chosen by Angel. Trusted by Angel. That’s a good start.” Kate looked sideways at him. “I’ve got no reason
to question Angel’s judgement.”
“My mum used to say, ‘If you question nothing, you learn nothing’.”
“I think we’re lucky to have Raven. What’s bothering you?”
Jordan told Kate what had happened the previous day. He told her about Dipak’s document and the deleted information.
“Well...” Kate shook her head. “You’re right. It’s a bit weird, but let’s not jump to conclusions.”
“There’s only one conclusion to jump to,” Jordan replied. “Raven removed someone called Madison Flint from the list.”
“But we don’t know why. Did you do any more research?”
“Yeah. I found two people called Madison Flint. One of them’s young.”
“How young?” Kate asked.
“Last year she went on a TV talent show, singing and dancing. She did pretty well for a nine-year-old.”
“So, she was four when the HiSpec list came out. What about the other one?”
“She’s a Scottish MP so there’s lots of information about her.”
“And?”
“She’s always lived in Scotland. She studied history at university and never had a job in electronics.”
“That’s all?”
Jordan nodded. “A dead end.”
Kate thought for a moment and then said, “You could ask Raven what’s going on.”
“That’d be like accusing her of something.”
“Okay. How about consulting Angel?”
“Even worse. Before I do anything in Unit Red, like talk to Angel or fish around for information about Raven, I want to find out more about Madison Flint. What do you think?”
“Sounds sensible. But how?”
Jordan smiled weakly. “I know someone who’ll dig around for me.” He started the engine with a thought and a password.
“Yes, my contact’s getting you a passport,” Jordan said into his mobile. “A real one, not a fake. He’s about to go ahead, but he’d be
impressed – and get it sorted quicker – if you drag up some more information for us.”
“On what?” Dipak asked.
“Some people this time.”
“Give me names and a definite reference point – like an address, age, or where they work – and I’ll find out everything you’d want to know.” He hesitated
before admitting, “I only failed once. That was with someone called Jordan Stryker.”
“You tried to look me up, then. Bad idea. No. Try Madison Flint instead. She’s a bit of a mystery, but she used to work for HiSpec. Maybe still does.”
“Madison Flint. All right. It won’t take long. I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks,” Jordan replied. “When you’ve got something, can you call me?”
“All right.”
“It’s just that I’m having a security issue with e-mails at the moment.” Really, he didn’t want Raven to see that he was checking out Madison Flint.
“You said you wanted data on people, not a person.”
“Yes,” Jordan replied. “I’d be very interested if there’s any document in the deep web that links Phil Lazenby, Victoria Truman, Carlton Reed and Paige
Ottaway.”
“Hang on. I didn’t get all those names down.”
“I’m e-mailing them to you,” said Jordan.
“All right. I’ll do my best. You’re sure I’m getting a genuine British passport?”
“Certain.”
Angel held a hurried and urgent meeting in the bunker. He gazed in turn at Jordan, Raven and Kate. “I’ve just found out that, a few minutes before Victoria
Truman’s place burned down last Friday, something else happened in Sudbury.”
“What’s that?” Jordan asked.
“A judge called Edward Jackson died.”
“How?”
“This is the interesting part of the post-mortem.” Angel glanced down at his monitor and read, “The software of his pacemaker was hijacked and maliciously reprogrammed to
administer destructive shocks to the heart.”
For a moment, they all glanced at each other in silence.
“Sounds like Short Circuit to me,” Angel said.
No one in the room was going to disagree with him.
Jordan looked at Raven. “That’s not in the same league as bringing a plane down.”
She shrugged. “If the post-mortem’s right and the pacemaker got reprogrammed, it’s a lot harder than just stopping it – or killing a circuit or two in a plane.”
Kate muttered, “A judge, a pilot, a charity worker, a musician and a disabled pensioner. Why?”
It was then that Jordan remembered something. He told them, “Demi Reed said Carlton never missed his daughter’s birthday except the time he did jury service.”
Spotting a fresh lead, Angel began to give out orders. “Right. You check, Raven. Was Edward Jackson ever sitting in court when Carlton Reed was a juror? Is there a link? Were the other
victims ever jurors? Was it at the same time or even the same trial?” He paused to take a breath. “Jordan. Find out when Carlton Reed did his jury service. Okay?”
“Sure.”
“And you’re in contact with Paige Ottaway’s family,” he added, “so ask them as well. Just in case Raven can’t find what we need in official
databases.”
“Done.”
In the workshop, Jordan watched Kate slotting an updated circuit board into the computer behind the Jag’s dashboard. At the same time, he said into his phone, “Yes.
Jordan Stryker. I dropped by on Tuesday and talked about Carlton.”
“I remember,” Demi replied. “And you say you’ve got another question?”
“Yes. You told me Carlton missed your daughter’s birthday once because he was on a jury.”
“True.”
“When was that?”
“Well, it would’ve been January. The thirtieth. Which year? Let me see. 2008. Yes. 2008.”
“Did he tell you the judge’s name?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Or who was on trial and what for?”
“They told him not to discuss anything outside the courtroom.”
“Yeah,” Jordan said, walking round to the front of his car. “But did he?”
“Do juries swear on a bible or is that just the witnesses? Anyway, he was a God-fearing man who would’ve kept his word.”
“Okay. Thanks. That’s good.”
“You’re welcome. God bless.”
Jordan paused. A technician had his head under the bonnet to install a new electronic starter unit. Its brand new microchips had come from a fresh source in Cardiff, so they were almost
certainly untainted.
Redialling, Jordan called Sam Ottaway. “Hi,” he said. “It’s Jordan Stryker here. Just wondering if your dad’s all right now.”
“He’s doing great,” Sam replied. “He says thank you. I told him what you did. Oh. I asked him about forew as well. It didn’t mean anything to him. Sorry.”
“Shame,” Jordan replied. “But I’m glad he’s okay. Just one more thing. Do you know if your mum was ever on a jury?”
“No idea. What’s it got to do with her accident?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe nothing. It’s just something I’m working on.”
“Well,” Sam said, “it’s the sort of thing she would’ve been happy to do. Serving the community and all that.”
“It would’ve been early in 2008.”
“Dad’ll probably know. I’ll ask him when I go to the hospital. All right? I’ll call you back.”
“Thanks,” said Jordan.
The familiar and distinctive smell of Raven’s perfume clung to the underground room. Normally restless, Raven sat motionless in front of her monitor. She said,
“I’ve done all I can. I’ve accessed the jury database and our victims’ names just don’t crop up – not even Carlton Reed’s. Are you sure his wife’s
got this right?”
Jordan shrugged. “She seemed to know what she was talking about.”
“I cross-checked with Justice Jackson cases going back years. There’s nothing.”
“Not even in January 2008?”
“Not then, not anytime.”
Jordan thought about it for a moment. “I can’t see any reason why Demi Reed would lie or make it up, so why isn’t Carlton’s name on the database?”
“Short Circuit’s pretty smart with a computer,” Raven replied.