"I'll take any good news I can get," Michaels said. "Let's get Jay off hold."
The holoproj flickered, and Jay Gridley's face appeared in the air. "Hey, boss." His voice sounded almost normal, just a trace of a slur. He was recovering fast.
"Jay. This is Angela Cooper, of MI-6. You know everybody else."
Jay murmured greetings.
"Okay, tell us what you've got."
Jay sighed. "Well, it's not much. We — I have been on the program's track, and it looks as if it's leading in your direction. Could be passing through, could be it lives there, I dunno. I'll get back after it as soon as we discom.
"I've been thinking about the problem. No working computers we know about could brute force prime number encoding the way this thing has, even working in multiple-series-parallel, so it's got to be something else. The first thing that comes to mind when you ask yourself what kind of computer could do it is, of course, a QC — a quantum computer. We talked about that before. The thing is, none of those are past the small experimental stages, so none of them would have the power needed to pull off what has happened."
"I'm dense," Fernandez said. "What is a quantum computer?"
Jay gave them a short lecture, explaining about Qubits and multiple quantum states. Michaels was familiar with the concept, but, as Jay had pointed out, nobody had come up with a full-size working QC, so it wasn't something they had seriously considered.
"But what if somebody had one?" Jay continued. "A fully operational model? Something with a hundred or two hundred Qubits? It would blow through prime-number encryptions like a tornado through a straw house."
"Big if," Toni said.
"Yeah, but I've done a little poking around. None of the various militaries and corps who have gone to the new AMPD standard — that's abstract multidimensional point-distance encryption — were bothered by these attacks. Could be coincidence, but a QC wouldn't be able to crack those. It wouldn't matter how fast it could crunch numbers, AMPD standard would be immune. Of course, only a handful of people have shifted to the new method."
"All right," Michaels said. "But if somebody had created such a thing, wouldn't we know about it?"
"Eventually. You couldn't keep it hidden forever, but maybe you could for a while. The technology and gear necessary wouldn't be something you could cook up in a high school computer lab or in the corner of your Uncle Albert's electronics hobby shop. We're talking a multimillion-dollar operation, custom-made hardware, lots of bells and whistles, a support staff, programmers, all like that. Sooner or later, somebody will stumble into this from outside; it's not something you can hide with a piece of camo net. But even if you knew where it was, as long as it was the only one out there, it'd sure be a big damned wolf among the sheep."
"A QC seems kind of slim," Toni said. "Any corroborative information?"
"Nothing I can lay on a table and prove," Jay said. "Then again, if such a thing existed, it would perfectly fit the parameters."
"And in your expert opinion, this is what you think it is?" That from Howard.
"Yes, sir. Nothing else comes close. I've searched the web and found everybody serious who's ever published anything in the field. On the list are a couple of guys in the U.K. One of whom — a man named Peter Bascomb-Coombs — did some flat-out brilliant theoretical work a couple of years back. He's head and shoulders above most, and I can't begin to stay with him. I don't even know anybody who can stay with him. He used to be in London, but he's dropped out of sight."
Howard said, "Are we looking at him as somebody to help us out? Or as a suspect?"
"Either way, I'd talk to him if I was there. I can't find a public e-address for him. It seems odd a guy that sharp would just disappear. He was too young to retire, and if he'd croaked, there would have been something about it in the news."
"Give us what you have on him, and we'll check it out locally," Michaels said.
"Already uploaded," Jay said. There was a short pause, then he said, "I've got to get back to the hunt. I think I'm gonna be able to run this beast down. I'm close."
"Be careful, Jay," Toni said. There was no need to remind him why. If anybody knew, he did.
"Yeah. Thanks. I'll keep you posted."
Angela had been tapping commands into her flatscreen, and she looked up as Jay discommed. "Got the information about Mr. Bascomb-Coombs. I'm running a search… hello?"
"What?" Michaels said.
"Here's our man," she said. "Employed by ComCo U.K. They are a privately held computer company that produces, among other things, high-end workstation motherboards."
"He's a computer geek working for a computer company," Fernandez said. "Is this a big surprise?"
"Not in itself, no," she said. "But ComCo U.K. is owned by Lord Geoffrey Goswell."
Where had he heard that name before? Michaels wondered. Then he remembered.
Howard beat him to saying it. "Is that the same guy whose security chief is the one in the store with our assassin and the dead guy?"
"Yes," Angela said.
"Well, well." Howard said. "Small world."
"Probably doesn't mean anything," Angela continued. "Goswell owns several companies and has thousands of employees scattered all over the country. Anywhere you go in England, Scotland, Wales, or Ireland, you are apt to run into somebody who works for him or who knows somebody who works for him."
Michaels shook his head. He didn't like coincidences. Stranger things had surely happened, but this had a fishy smell all of a sudden. "Tell you what, put off that interview with Peel for now. Pretend it was nothing, tell him you've gotten things resolved, you'll call him back later if you need to see him. I think we need to know a little more about his boss before we go blundering into his den."
Howard nodded, as did Fernandez and Toni. Angela gave him a small smile, and he felt his heart stumble and bang into the wall of his chest. He did not look at Toni. He couldn't take the risk.
As he drove away along Old Kent Road, passing the gasworks, Peel was royally pissed. Bascomb-Coombs had taken the day off yesterday, and when he'd gone to find the man, he'd missed him. According to his operatives, Bascomb-Coombs was not in evidence at his flat nor did he have his automobile, which was parked at his garage where it had been all day. He was not answering his phone, either.
Another pass by the office suite was also a waste of time.
Where the devil was he?
It was his own fault, Peel knew. He had pulled his men off because he wanted to deal with Bascomb-Coombs himself. He did not want them around when he did it, and so when the bastard went missing, he had no one to blame save himself. Where had the bugger gone? And why?
His phone chimed at him.
"Hello, Peel here."
"Major Peel? Angela Cooper here."
The woman from Intelligence. Another brick on his already overloaded lorry. They called him from time to time about all that Irish business. Whenever some flaming shanty potato-eater blew something up, they always called, as if Peel were somehow responsible for those lunatics. "Ms. Cooper. I haven't forgotten our appointment this afternoon."
"As it happens, sir, we won't be needing to speak to you after all. The, ah, matter at hand has resolved itself. Sorry to have bothered you."
Thank God for tiny favors. At least he wouldn't have to deal with these bloody idiots again. "Quite all right."
"I'll ring off now. Thank you for your cooperation."
After the disconnect, Peel looked in his rearview mirror to make certain he had not lost Ruzhyo. He had not.
Well, where to now, Peel, old man? Our rogue scientist seems to have flown the coop. He's not at his digs or usual haunts, and surely that only confirms it. He's lied to you, tried to have you offed, and cheated you out of a million EUs as well. Best you find him and take care of the problem before it gets worse.
Easier said, however, than done.
It was a warm and sunny day, and Howard, in civilian clothes, strolled along the sidewalks a few blocks from MI-6's HQ, enjoying the weather and city. London was quite a cosmopolitan place. People walked past in strange outfits, speaking foreign languages, looking very much at home in the English city.
Next to him, also dressed in civvies, Julio smiled at a pair of teenage girls wearing microskirts and platform shoes with soles as thick as a Washington, D.C., phone book. The girls smiled back at Julio and gave Howard a long and appraising look. Christ, both men were old enough to be their fathers. And if they fell off those monster shoes, they'd surely break an ankle or worse. Howard raised an eyebrow at his sergeant.
"Hey, you know what they say, a thing of beauty is a joy forever."
"And jailbait is jailbait no matter where you go. Aren't you getting a son and a wife soon?"
"You need to loosen up, John. Looking isn't the same as doing."
"You've been a bachelor for a long time, Julio. You sure you are going to be able to make the transition?"
"To be absolutely honest, I don't know. I think so. I'm gonna give it my best shot. But you know as well as I do that no battle plan survives first contact with the enemy."
"You looking at marriage like a war, Sergeant?"
"Not exactly a war, but certainly unfamiliar territory. I mean, I love Jo, I want to wake up next to her every morning, and she's gonna be the mother of my child, but I'm not some eighteen-year-old recruit fresh off the farm and never been to town."
"That's for sure." He let that sit for a while, then said, "So what do you think about this business?"
He shrugged. "This Goswell guy being part of the old boy network and above reproach and all that doesn't sound all that different from home. Maybe he doesn't have anything to do with anything. But every rich and famous businessman or politician I ever heard of who got a bright light shined into his closet showed some skeletons hanging in the back. And it seems real odd to me that our ice man Ruzhyo is hooked up with this major who works for Mr. High and Mighty."
"That's how I see it, too."
A gorgeous, cafe-au-lait woman in a black and red silk dress strode along the sidewalk toward them. With the heels she was wearing, she was a couple of inches over six feet, easy. A model, maybe. She went past them in a subtle cloud of expensive perfume. Julio turned to watch her, and Howard glanced over his shoulder, trying to be unobtrusive about it.
"Looks good from the back," Julio said. "Wouldn't you say, Colonel?"
He'd noticed Howard's quick glance.
He smiled, caught. "I have to admit she does."
"Married as you are and all?"
Howard just grinned.
"So, what now, John?"
"We let British Intelligence gather everything they think we ought to know, and then we see what's what. Then we take care of it and go home. All these women make me miss my wife."
Fernandez laughed. "I hear that."