He nodded at the faces gathered before him: Dr.James Calder, head of their technology research program, and his senior computer scientist, Mary Dalkeith. They worked from the lab in the basement, and hardly ever saw daylight. They were so focused Sir Clive doubted whether they even noticed.
Next to them were his two most senior covert operations managers, good men; men he’d known for years and knew could be trusted. Blake Edwards, a former field operative with extensive experience running grey ops in Africa and the Middle East, and Ed Garner, an army Captain who, like Sir Clive, had began his career in the SAS. It was a good team, the right balance of brains and tactical skill for a division like Cyber-Crime. Sir Clive turned to Dr.Calder.
“Well James, you called this meeting, I suggest you let us know why.” Dr.Calder cleared his throat and took a nervous sip of water.
“Yes, quite, thank you Sir Clive.” He glanced quickly at Mary. “At a quarter to three this afternoon I received an e-mail from one of the scientists at a facility we’re using outside Cambridge. A research lab. They’re testing…” he paused, looking round the room, uncertain how much detail he could divulge to those present. “They’re testing a new type of device. An adaptive computer program that uses organic matter. Synthetic biology, in essence.” Sir Clive looked at him sharply, his signal not to go into any more detail.
“All the message said was ‘under attack’.” Dr.Calder continued, “Nothing more I’m afraid. We patched into their security system,” his fingers tapped quickly at his keyboard. “This is what we saw.”
The screens at the far end of the room went blank, then grainy black and white. There were nine different views running at the same time, showing the wards, the car park, various corridors and the entrance to the lab. They watched the events that unfolded in the unreal, jerky motion of time lapse CCTV. A white van pulling up outside. Four men in black getting out, weapons held high, ready to use. It was peculiar watching without sound. The men just pointed their guns and figures fell, walls shook, windows collapsed in waterfalls of glass. Once they’d cleared the way another man walked briskly through the building, smartly dressed, briefcase at his side.
“Who’s that?” Sir Clive asked, his eyes were focussed on the screen. “Isolate his face and run it through the system.” James tapped away, the rest of them continued watching the screens. The silent carnage that unfolded.
“Professionals,” Sir Clive said, watching the grey figure working methodically and efficiently, opening up each body, taking what he needed. His voice a curious mixture of disgust and respect. Mary looked even paler than she usually did, if that was possible.
“Where’s the video footage hosted, can we reach in to the server and delete it?” He asked.
“No problem,” Mary replied. Her fingers poised over her keyboard “I can do that from here, but I’ll save it to our system first.” Sir Clive managed to pull his eyes away from the screen.
“Ed, I want a two man team down there,” he said. “Explosives experts. Quick as you can. Use the helicopter. Go yourself if no one’s available. The last thing we need is police crawling all over the lab. I want it to burn so fiercely there’s no record of who was there or what was going on. Make it look like a chemical fire. Once the scene is cleared we’ll track the bastards down.” Ed was on his feet and ready to go.
“Wait,” Sir Clive said, his hand aloft, his focus fixed on the screens. The team that ransacked the building had gone, the corridors and wards were still, but something had caught his attention.
“Rewind.” He said, pointing at the furthest screen. Dr.Calder obeyed. “There, did you see it?” Sir Clive turned to the others round the table.
“Again Dr.Calder, again. The shadow by the door, far end of the corridor. Watch it disappear.” They watched the screen. The dark line around the door, almost imperceptible, there one minute, gone the next. “Someone’s in there. Someone’s hiding,” Sir Clive said.
“Fast forward,” he barked. The screen flicked forward, five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes. The corridor remained empty. At thirty minutes they saw him, a male figure cautiously opening the door. Tall, athletic in build. He lurched forward, clutched his stomach, vomited. Then ran down the corridor with unexpected and exceptional speed.
“Rewind. Rewind! Where the hell did this guy come from?” They scanned the images. “Stop,” Sir Clive pointed at the view of the ward, the figure slowly pulling himself up, dragging himself out of bed.
“Shit. One the guinea pigs appears to have gone walk-about.” He turned to Ed Garner, still standing by the door, waiting his order to move out. “Once you’ve blown the place to pieces you’re going to have to find that man. Preferably before the bastards that carried out the raid.”
3
Jack headed towards the light, blinking, disbelieving. He didn’t know what he’d find outside the door. He didn’t care. The unreality of the situation was too much for him. He just wanted to get out. The floor of his ward was covered in pools of dark liquid, the bodies opened, cruelly exposed. His stomach reacted violently. He ran, his most primal instinct, no idea where he was going, along corridors and down stairs, almost tripping over the fallen scientist who’d tried to get away.
He made it to reception. Two more bodies. A woman slumped over her desk and a deliveryman in the wrong place at the wrong time. He blocked the doorway, the automatic glass doors opening and closing against his chest. Jack stepped over him, the unreality of it all a waking nightmare. He was outside now, standing in the cold, the winter wind tugging at his loose hospital gown, dead leaves blowing across the car park. He realised he was naked underneath. The coldness was welcome. It cut through the daze, helped clear the shock that fogged his brain.
Should he get to a phone, call the police? Something inside him fought the impulse. Get away, you have to get away. Trust no one but yourself. He needed answers, not the endless questions he’d get from the local coppers.
There was a range of expensive cars parked in front of the building. Mercedes, Jaguars, BMWs. He’d never get them started. An old Nissan Sunny was parked shamefully behind the hazardous waste bins. Perfect, he thought to himself, bunching his gown around his fist and smashing it through the rear window.
He unlocked the front door and climbed in, pulling at the wires beneath the steering column, smiling as the connection was made and the engine coughed to life. The advantage of a misspent youth, some things you didn’t forget. And in this situation any connection with the past felt good. He revved the engine hard, crunching through the gears and accelerating out of the car park. As he swerved onto the main road he saw a sign, pale blue text on a white background. “Marcon Pharmaceuticals. Research and testing.” One thing was clear, he hadn’t been at a hospital.
He reached for the radio, wanting to hear something from the real world, something ordinary. It was starting to get dark, the drive time DJs were playing classic rock hits. Queen, Thin Lizzy. Normally he wouldn’t be caught dead listening to dinosaur rock but tonight it made sense, the steady beat, the power chords, solid head-banging simplicity that kept his brain the right side of hysterical.
He passed a sign for Cambridge. He must be on one of the A-roads that circled the city. 20 miles it said. He had no idea what he was going to do when he got there. He couldn’t turn up at College in a stolen car, half naked, with a full-on Robinson Crusoe beard. The head porter looked down his nose at him already, he’d take considerable delight in refusing to let him in.