The Trusted Page 9

  Chapter 33

  President Treeborne was captured in the moment of opening the box. Seeing what was inside, he was surprised and confused as to what he should do. He reached into the molded inner case, picked up one of the two items and held it in his thumb and forefinger. Gradually, he rotated it, examining its structure. It looked like a ball pen, if a slightly up-market, hi-tech-style ball pen, but a ball pen, nonetheless. He returned it to its molded holding and turned his attention to the second item of curiosity: a charcoal plasticine oblong block.

  It was more interesting than the pen, for as he looked at it, the center of the block sparkled as if children’s glitter had been sprinkled across its surface. He pulled at it with his fingers and then let go, expecting it to remain stretched and floppy. But its inherent elasticity snapped it back into shape. He flattened the block in the palm of his hand like a patty, but as soon as he took the pressure off, the shape sprang back in the middle of his hand as if he hadn’t touched it at all. He stared, amazed. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen. But what was it? And what did the pen have to do with it?

  He looked at the lettering on the box again. FOR YOUR SUCCESS. How could he possibly succeed with a posh pen and a small block of auto-shaping plasticine?

  Treeborne placed the plasticine block on the table and picked up the pen, meaning to write something in his notebook. As the pen came close to the block, the block glowed in the middle like a light was shining through it.

  “What the hell?” muttered Treeborne.

  He brought the pen, so it touched the block. This time there could be no mistaking the effect. On contact, the middle of the block shone so brightly Treeborne had to cover his eyes.

  “Woo, you’re some mean little sucker, aren’t you?”

  Treeborne held the block in his palm and chuckled.

  “What in God’s name are you?”

  Perhaps the words were a trigger. Treeborne suddenly picked up his Dictaphone from his pocket and started to dictate. His eyes glazed over and his voice gave no ounce of emotion. Onto the hard disk drive on the Dictaphone, the president explained slowly how the block and pen worked together. He did so by describing deeply complex mathematics and quantum physics, two subjects he had no knowledge of nor interest in.

  When he’d finished the dictation, Treeborne switched off the Dictaphone, stood up and asked his personal secretary to get the chief science officer.

  He placed the block and the pen back in the box and waited calmly for his CSO to arrive.

  “Yes, Mr. President. How can I help you?” asked the CSO, almost as soon as he was escorted into the private lounge.

  “Tell the people at Blacksburg to start testing immediately. All you need to know is in here.”

  Treeborne indicated to the Dictaphone and he handed it with the box to his CSO.

  The CSO was perturbed by the president’s ice-cold and calculating behavior. He was used to his homespun ways and brash demeanor, and had expected the obligatory slap on the back, and “How ya doin’, Fred?” greeting. But there were no pleasantries, no hand shaking or back slapping, just perfunctory instructions delivered in a crisp tone.

  “Is there something else, sir?”

  The CSO ventured to know more but the president took him by the elbow and guided him towards the door.

  “Yes. I want to hear that the tests are a success.”

  The CSO had neither time nor opportunity to answer as the president pushed him through the door and closed it briskly behind him.

  Treeborne returned to the sofa, put his head on the cushion, and slept.

  The US president could never explain how he suddenly knew the intricacies of quantum mechanics, and how he’d instantly forgotten them again after sleeping. But one thing he could remember clearly was the call he’d received from his CSO on site at the Blacksburg labs.

  “Mr. President, it worked. It’s a success. Your invention is a success.”

  Chapter 34

  22 March, 2017

  Matthew Kinley entered his house a little after 9 a.m. The run had been long and satisfying. His heart was beating fast with a healthy thudding rhythm.

  Angela Kinley, a slim woman with a small pixie face and brunette bob, prepared pancakes on the stove. She looked around as Kinley unzipped his jersey and grabbed a carton of orange juice from the fridge.

  “Please, darling, use a glass,” Angela scolded, as she eyed Kinley tipping the pouring spout towards his mouth. “We’re not savages yet.” Her British Home Counties accent came over more clipped than usual.

  Kinley, feeling a dampener on his party, swiped a glass from the cupboard and poured.

  “That’s better. Now don’t you find it tastes nicer in a glass?”

  “I suppose so.” Kinley conceded begrudgingly to his wife’s lesson in etiquette. “But it’s not nearly half as fun.”

  Angela glared at him then laughed. “I’ll never tame you, will I?”

  She left the stove and moved to Kinley, her arms sneaking around him in a gentle embrace.

  “Do you want to?” asked Kinley, rubbing her hair softly.

  “Not really,” whispered Angela, as she looked at her husband.

  His bright blue eyes were vibrant and alive, just like the first day they’d met fifteen years ago at the British Embassy’s New Year’s Eve party in Athens. Then he’d been just a swirl of blond hair, tanned face and glistening smile. She had been completely enraptured. Hardly a word had passed their lips. Before she knew where she was, Miss ‘Shy and Retiring from Frome in Somerset’ was making love to the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. Something about the way they met, the sudden taking of forbidden fruit, and the unfathomable wisp of secrecy that surrounded Kinley, made her feel excited, like she was living her own private movie.

  She moved her hand to Kinley’s face and pulled him down towards her then kissed him passionately.

  “Mummy, do you like my picture?”

  A beautiful doll-like child in a pale pink corduroy pinafore dress and crisp white t-shirt stood staring expectantly at Angela in the doorway. She pushed back her lightly curled platinum-blond hair behind her small ear, with an air of assured confidence that was well beyond her years, and waited. When Angela didn’t reply immediately, she turned her stunning blue eyes full force towards her mother and repeated the question.

  “Mummy, I said do you like my picture?”

  Angela stared at the newly painted picture her four-year-old daughter, Charlotte, was holding up. It appeared to be indiscernible blobs of green and blue. She quickly masked her bewilderment with an effusive motherly reply.

  “It’s lovely, darling. It’s…”

  “Our house,” added Kinley, discerning the painted chaos on the paper and saving his wife from an error of judgement.

  “Isn’t Lotte clever, Daddy?” said Angela, as she disentangled herself gently from her husband’s arms.

  “Daddy, I’m going to paint the cat,” sang Charlotte, as she skipped out of the kitchen.

  Kinley smiled at his wife. “I never did like him as a ginger tom anyway!”

  He slipped his arms back around Angela’s slim waist. But Charlotte’s interruption had changed Angela’s mood. Her good Catholic upbringing kicked in and she suddenly felt guilty for her earlier wanton behavior, especially as Lotte had been just next door.

  She pulled away from her husband, deep in thought. Kinley noticed.

  “Is something wrong, darling?”

  “No, no…It’s just, with Lotte, we should be more careful. You understand?”

  “She’s growing up, Angela. Give it a few years and she’ll be overtaking us. It won’t be weird-looking pictures she’ll be showing us, it’ll be weird-looking boys.”

  “Yes, I know, Matt. But I’d like her to savor innocence while she can. You know childhood is the most defining moment of a person’s life. I want hers to be wonderful.”

  “You want to keep the illusion going that life’s like a fairy tale and she’s the little princess.
”

  “Wouldn’t any mother, given the chance?”

  Angela remembered her own mother and the way she’d packed Angela off to a bleak boarding school before leaving happily with her father to some far-off destination where he’d been posted. How hard and cold everything had been at the convent. The po-faced nuns and the bullying prefects. She’d grown to be strong in that dark place. It had defined her personality. Even more, it reinforced the resolution that no child of hers would ever suffer from a lack of childhood like she had.

  “Lotte is everything to me. You know that,” she said.

  “Of course I do, as she is to me,” replied Kinley.

  From the flickers of sadness in his wife’s eyes, he knew she was remembering her past. Angela stood up straight, realizing she was giving too much away. The last thing she wanted was pity from Kinley. With a little more sternness than she intended, Angela asked, “Have you chased up that order like I told you to?”

  Kinley respected his wife’s swift shift to a new subject. He shook his head.

  “Sorry, love. I’ve been bogged down with embassy business. It slipped my mind.”

  “It’s your daughter’s birthday present and it slipped your mind? God, Matt, does your work always have to come first? I remember a time when-”

  “Look, can we not have this conversation right now? I could really do without it,” snapped Kinley, annoyed that the earlier flurry of passion had dissipated. He grabbed his wife’s mobile from the worktop.

  “It’s not a problem. I’ll call them right now. I’m sure they’ll speed up delivery.”

  Kinley flicked open the phone and dialed the number of the Massachusetts toy store. A woman came on the line. He gave the order number and requested that the order be expedited as soon as possible as it was his daughter’s birthday on Sunday. Instead of excuses, as he’d expected, the woman was courteous, apologized for the delay and confirmed that delivery would be made that day. Pressing the call off, Kinley relayed the outcome to his wife.

  “I damn well hope so,” she replied. “A handmade Victorian dollhouse is what Lotte wants, and it’s what she’s going to get. They had better not let us down.”

  “Well, the woman promised they’d deliver it today, and the way she said it, it was as if her very life depended on it.”

  Chapter 35

  In the car driving to the meeting he’d postponed from the previous night, Sam thought about all that had happened that week. He’d gone to Oslo not just to check out new tech companies worthy of British investment. His principal reason was to capture Rikard Allan, Al Nadir’s supposed global lieutenant for Scandinavian operations. He was also an independently wealthy hedge funder and ran a legitimate business. Rikard had dual nationality as both a British and Norwegian citizen.

  3 Days Earlier

  Sam was aware of playing things coolly. Rikard was highly connected and was the type to ruin careers at the flick of his phone on speed dial to someone of superior authority.

  Sam worked with Interpol and the Norwegian Intelligence Service (NIS) following intel that confirmed Rikard was tracking flights. His target was the private airstrip at Gardermoen. Sam linked up access to the Government Communications Headquarters’ (GCHQ) latest artificial intelligence system. The AI started running auto-analysis on flight schedules, jet owner history, tail call signs and usage patterns of previous flights against typical corporate flight analytics. The AI searched for any anomalies and these were then cross-correlated with any possible Al Nadir connections, however slim and tenuous.

  Sam realized that, in the spy business, making those seemingly random connections delivered the most valuable intelligence.

  A connection popped up with a jet owned by a biotech company in Norway where Al Douri had carried a minority shareholding a decade before. Although Al Douri wasn’t a visible shareholder anymore, the association was enough to send the alerts through the system. The plane’s origin appeared to be from Madrid-Barajas Airport.

  Data on flights coming into Barajas fed through into the AI system and the cross-correlating process commenced. A private jet with the same tail call sign was tracked in Lagos and Mumbai. The plane had originally taken off from Beijing Capital International. Intel affirmed the passenger as a high-ranking Ministry of State Security (MSS) official. The AI flagged the MSS official as a potential Al Nadir asset embedded within Chinese Intelligence.

  Chatter on the grid confirmed some new EmTech was out there and causing a stir. Sam didn’t know what it was, but from the intelligence received, it was something big. Its origin was thought to be China.

  Sam knew this wasn’t a coincidence.

  With his quarry in his sights, Sam had headed down to Gardermoen Airport. He had backup on standby if needed from Interpol and NIS. But he didn’t want to spook Rikard nor his target. Even more so, he didn’t want to put other agents’ lives at risk.

  Sam had parked his Merc SLK on the far side of the airport. He ducked down by the hangers and waited. His eyes carried SmartLens contacts, the latest in nano-tech analytics integration. The SmartLens linked directly to GCHQ’s AI system. It immediately started to deliver info on the flight arrival. Sam searched the skies and noticed amongst the heavy grey clouds a bright light heading quickly his direction. He watched as the Embraer Phenom plane touched down. Sam scooted around the back of the hanger to the road leading to the exit. He looked through his powerful USCAMEL HD binoculars and saw an Audi R8 driving past the barbwire fence.

  Sam recognized the shock of silvery white hair and pale, stern face. The driver was Rikard. SmartLens turned off momentarily, detecting the binoculars use. The R8 stopped at the security gate. The guard tilted his body toward the car’s window, but his hand stayed on his gun. Sam watched as a hand from the car flashed something. Maybe a card, thought Sam. But he couldn’t see clearly.

  Sam ran around to the other side of the hanger, back toward the tarmac and the plane.

  The R8 drew up alongside the plane as the steps flipped out and someone emerged. Sam edged closer. An Asian man of medium height with a mass of solid black hair and a round face stepped down from the plane. His eyes searched around as if unsure of what was happening. Even from seven feet away, Sam could see he was jittery. The man headed toward the waiting car.

  Sam’s SmartLens kicked in the moment he took his binoculars away. The SmartLens app pin pointed the man and intel flashed up in front of Sam’s vision.

  Dr. Li Wang. Ministry of State Security. Head of Information and Auditing Division, China. Suspected Al Nadir asset. Doctorate in Biochemistry.

  Rikard jumped out of the car to greet Dr. Wang. The Chinese gentleman appeared very nervous. He reached inside his pocket and handed a package to Rikard.

  Before Sam could react, Dr. Wang suddenly collapsed. Through his binoculars, Sam could clearly make out the blood stains on Dr. Wang’s chest. Rikard grinned and leapt back into the R8. He gunned the accelerator as two guys emerged from the hanger. Their guns carried silencers.

  A typical Al Nadir move, thought Sam bitterly. He ran at speed back to his car, keeping Rikard in view. SmartLens had already captured the registration of Rikard’s car and fed it into the Heads-Up display on his modified SLK. Inside the car, Sam flicked on the HUD and the satellite tracking of Rikard’s R8.

  From the private airstrip at Gardermoen, Sam tracked Rickard to a house in the luxurious Holmenkollen region on the outskirts of Oslo. The house was on Holms Vei Drive, close to the famous Holmenkollbakken ski ramp.

  Rikard parked the car and headed inside. Sam clocked his walk. The man looked self-assured, not giving a damn. He was Al Nadir all over.

  Sam ran around the side of the house, looking for a way in. He didn’t call for back up immediately. He wanted to handle this himself. Rikard was too risky a target. First, Sam had to neutralize the risk. Sam took out his gun, not his usual Sig but a sedative gun usually used on wild animals.

  If he used his Sig, it would be curtains for both Rikard and Sam’s career. The hy
podermic in his jacket was his only lifeline. Sam knew he was going to need it if Rikard was loaded with the nano-bomb. And if he was an Al Nadir global lieutenant, he most certainly would be.

  From the downstairs living room window, Sam could see Rikard talking on the phone and laughing. Sam ran to the back of the house. A door led out onto the garden from the kitchen. Sam whipped out a small object from inside his jacket. It looked like a compass with a sucker on the end. Sam stuck the sucker on the glass near the handle and drew a complete circle, cutting the glass cleanly. He then carefully placed the glass on the floor, put his hand through the hole, flicked the latch to open the door, and ran inside.

  Music was playing somewhere. Sam moved fast, keeping against the walls. The music pounded at a greater intensity. It was some sort of Scandinavian hard rock, goth punk mix. Sam grimaced as he listened. In his peripheral vision, he noticed a flash of Rikard’s silvery white hair in the doorway. Sam ran across the floor soundlessly and turned the corner.

  Rikard was in front of Sam, but with his back to him. Sam didn’t hesitate. As Rikard started to turn, Sam fired the sedative gun.

  Rikard fell. Sam jumped on him, slamming the hypodermic needle into his neck. Rikard started to shake and his face turned a rosy deep pink. The nano-bomb inside Rikard had recognized the sedative and had begun its initiation sequence. Abruptly, the sequence stopped. Sam breathed out. The agent that had gone into Rikard’s body was working.

  Sam touched his earpiece. “Get here now!”

  “Already here,” yelled an Interpol agent.

  Sam heard the front door crash open. He snatched the package from inside Rikard’s jacket and pocketed it. A number of Interpol and NIS agents stormed into the drawing room and grabbed Rikard’s body.

  A tall guy with a wry smile looked over at Sam. “We tracked you all the way. But we knew that like the stubborn, brave, little bastard you are, you’d never call for back up.”