Sequence Page 17

  The bright, overhead strip lighting made her blink. After a few seconds she regained her concentration. A member of the tactical squad stood in the corner facing the middle of the room. He carried a semi-automatic rifle across his body, gloved fingers resting on the trigger guard. He nodded to her, and she returned the gesture.

  Gray and Murphy were shackled to an iron table in the middle of the room. Gray held his hands in his lap while Murphy had his arms resting on the table. They appeared far too calm. Gray even smiled when she looked his way.

  She sat in the chair opposite, took a notebook and pen from her shoulder bag and placed them on the table. She didn’t speak while she noted the date, time, place, and the reasons for the interrogation.

  “When you’re finished,” Gray said, interrupting her, “I’d like to propose a deal.”

  She ignored him, finished her notes, and then looked up.

  “No.”

  “You haven’t even heard what I have to say, Agent Vega. May I call you Zoe?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, come now. You don’t play the part of bad cop very well at all. Let’s drop the charade and get down to the details, shall we?”

  His self-satisfied smile made her want to slap him almost as much as Murphy’s neutral expression made her want to shout in his face. Remembering her training, she didn’t respond. Always better to let the perps talk, work themselves into the conversation.

  She went back to making more notes.

  “For the love of your God, Zoe, I’m offering full cooperation here. What more can I do to convince you of that?”

  “Tell me how many synthetics you’ve made.”

  “Ten. Two are dead. The other eight are the ones missing. The ones I, and Mr. Murphy here, am prepared to help you recover before the hacker decides to have them kill any more people. Do you really want more deaths on your head, Zoe? Could your career survive such a terrible tragedy?”

  “My career is not the one in jeopardy here, Dr. Gray. And I would appreciate you referring to me as Agent Vega. Now, tell me, what do we need to do to access the network that this hacker has supposedly secured?”

  “The biochip that was stolen from us. It has unique credentials. With that, Mr. Murphy will likely be able to access the network and bring the synthetics back under our control.”

  “My control,” Vega said. “Those synthetics belong to the U.S. government now, considering the crimes committed.”

  Murphy twitched.

  “Something you want to say, Mr. Murphy?” Vega said.

  “Call me Michael. And they belong to no one. They’re the innocents in all this.”

  “We’ll be the judges of that. So, Dr. Gray, about this biochip, how does it work? What do we need to know to use it?”

  “Oh, you don’t. Here’s the deal, Zoe,” Gray said and leaned forward, a smug grin on his face. “We won’t help you unless you bring us the biochip and you let Michael do the work. That’s the offer, the deal, the bargain. Take it or leave it, but—”

  “But what?” Zoe said.

  “You’ve not got long. That chip has been out of its cryo-chamber for two days. It’s a biological, living organ. It degrades. You won’t have long before it becomes useless and the synthetics have full autonomy, meaning no one, not you or your team, or even Michael or myself, will have any way of reaching them.”

  “How many deaths do you think is an acceptable payment for your lack of faith, Agent Vega?” Murphy said. “One? Five? A hundred? A thousand?”

  She knew they were trying to get a rise out of her. She remained calm, focused on the pages of her notebook. The words she had written were gibberish, just a delaying tactic. She knew that Gray would break if it came to it, but Murphy—there was something about him that told her it wouldn’t be easy. Torture wasn’t something she could ever bring herself to do, but if pushed?

  “I’ll be back,” she said, standing and pushing the chair back with her legs. Turning to the guard in the corner, she said, “If they try anything, shoot them.”

  She turned, left the interrogation room and went into a small office containing her squad of IT guys. A series of laptops were wired together on the desk. The screens showed terminal windows with scrolling data.

  “Where are we with this?” Zoe asked Shane, the IT specialist who’d been stationed at the safe house.

  He looked up at her through thick, black plastic eyeglasses, and ran a hand through his unkempt stubble. “Nowhere, ma’am. Can’t get in. Their network is too strong. Without the encryption keys, we’re not getting in.”

  “What if you were to use the biochip recovered from Mr. Miller?”

  “If he’s the hacker, he’s not going to give us the login credentials. Chip or no chip, we don’t know the system, don’t even know where to start looking for vulnerabilities.”

  “And we don’t even know if he is the hacker,” she added. “How long could it take realistically?”

  Shane shrugged his shoulders. “Could be months, years, or never. Even the computers we recovered from their labs don’t have anything we can use. The network to the synthetics is completely ring-fenced.”

  “And there’s no other way?”

  “None that I can see so far,” he said.

  For all Zoe knew, she had hours, not days, weeks, or months. Homicidal synthetics running about in public was something that needed dealing with right this minute.

  She left the room. In the corridor she took out her cell and called the director. She’d give him the options, see what he wanted to do.

  No answer.

  Goddamn it!

  Dialed again. Still no answer. Time was running out.

  She considered her options and knew she had only one. Poking her head back into the IT room, she called for Shane. “Come with me. I’ve got a job for you.”

  She’d have to give Gray the benefit of the doubt. At the very least, if Murphy got into the system, Shane could watch him. See what he was up to. It didn’t feel like the perfect solution, but right now it was the only solution open to her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  3:10 a.m., Day 4, Montana

  Jacob lifted his head as another agent entered the room. An older man with a scarred face, who wore a weird smile like he was trying to be friendly but didn’t have the requisite muscles to fake it.

  Jacob’s head pounded. Like it had ever since they’d dragged him to the plane. Dehydration, hunger, disorientation, whatever; he was tired and just about at the edge of his patience.

  The images of Phillip’s and Brian’s deaths played over and over in his mind like an old film strip, fuelling his anger and desire for vengeance.

  No one had told him where they were heading on the flight, and he’d spent most of his time comforting Emma. For the last half hour they’d been handcuffed, chained to a post set in the center of a steel table. Emma wouldn’t say a word. He guessed she was as angry as he. With Brian’s death, they should be getting help from the feds, not being holed up in the ass-end of fuck knows where.

  “Well,” the man said, “you better start talking. Especially you, Mr. Miller.”

  “And who are you?” Jacob asked. “Where the hell are we? This can’t be legal. I want a lawyer, a phone call.”

  “I’m None-of-your-damned-business and today I’ll be your interrogator.” His face twitched into an imitation of a smile again. It made Jacob wonder just what this guy did for kicks.

  The agent sat in the chair opposite and rocked back on its legs, looking amused.

  “Interrogate us for what?” Emma said. “We’re the victims here.”

  “Is that right, Miller? Just victims?”

  Jacob shifted on his chair, tried to get comfortable, failed. He thought about the break-in and the files he’d stolen. They’d taken the chip off him and the memory stick. They must know he stole it. He thought about telling the truth, but waited for a moment more. The agent said nothing, just continued to stare directly at Jacob as though he were trying to pull t
he truth right out of his head.

  “You know what I’ve done. You’ve got my backpack. Why don’t you just get on with it, tell me what you want.”

  “You can’t keep us here,” Emma said. “This is outrageous. We’re U.S. citizens; you can’t do this.”

  “We can and we will. Unless you two start talking and tell us where you got that chip from, and what you know about these ‘synthetics,’ then you won’t make it out of here. No one knows you’re here.” The agent got up and moved to the door. “You can cooperate and tell me what you know, or we’ll charge you with terrorism. Death penalty. You want that?”

  He opened the door, preparing to leave.

  “Wait,” Jacob said. “Fine, I’ll tell you everything, I’m sick of hiding it anyway. The truth needs to come out.”

  “What you got to say?”

  Jacob realized he might as well just spill it all out. This was getting too deep, too dangerous.

  “Everything,” he said. “I’ll tell you everything.”

  The agent returned, wearing a look of disappointment.

  Jacob expected he would have preferred to obtain the information from him by other means. The agent sat on the table and opened his notepad, took a pen from his pocket, doodled on an empty page, then looked up, raising his eyebrows. “Well? Fire away. From the start.”

  For twenty solid minutes, Jacob told him everything. How he’d used Tucker to break in to XNA Industries, the photo he’d taken, the data, the synthetic they’d killed. Emma chimed in with what they had learned about the chip, and how they thought it was what gave up their position in New York and ultimately led to Phillip’s and Brian’s deaths.

  “So you’re saying you killed one of these things and ripped the chip from its head?”

  “Yes, for the third damned time, that’s what happened. If you don’t believe me, go check my place. We buried the damn thing in my backyard.”

  “I’ll send someone,” the agent said, standing and closing the notepad. He walked to the door.

  “Can we at least have some water?” Emma said. “We’ve been here for hours.”

  “I’ll send something.” The agent left them, closing the door behind him.

  “Bastard,” Emma said, yanking her wrists and pulling the chain against the post.

  “Don’t, Em, you’ll make it worse. Just relax; they’ll have to let us go when they find the body and realize we’re telling the truth. And besides, it’s me they’ll lock up for the industrial espionage. You had nothing to do with that. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

  “Screw that,” Emma said. “Gray and XNA Industries are the ones in the wrong here. You’ve just exposed them. You’re not the criminal.”

  Although he knew she was right, this was America, the land of power and influence. He was nothing compared to a wealthy outfit like XNA Industries. They’d just bury him with a team of lawyers, or strike some deal. For all Jacob knew, they were in league with the government. That made him think: Were these goons even real agents? Anyone could fake an ID and some badges. “Since when did the NSA hold interrogations in secret locations, anyway?”

  “I don’t know. They’ve got their fingers in a lot of pies these days, what with all the internal spying and hacking of electronics. I wouldn’t put anything past them.”

  “I’m telling you, Em, this is shady. I don’t think these guys are NSA at all. Or if they are, they’re working outside of their jurisdiction. They’re involved with all this, I know it.”

  “I don’t think this is one of your conspiracy theories. This is real life.”

  “Don’t you think I realize that? I’ve lost three friends because of this, but we’ve got to get ourselves out of here. I don’t think they’re going to just let us go. If they’re in on it, if they’ve got something going on with these synthetics, then this to me looks like a cover-up. They’ll blame us for what happened in New York. Who knows what else has gone on?”

  “What do you suggest, then? We just get up and walk away?”

  “I’ll think of something. We’ll get out of this. Somehow. Trust me.” Although he couldn’t see how exactly. But still, he determined to watch for an opportunity and take it. Now wasn’t the time to overthink things. He just needed to get out, get him and Emma safe.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  3:20 a.m., Day 4, Montana

  Gray flinched as he twisted his wrists in the manacles, trying to find a more comfortable position. The fluorescent light fizzed and flickered overhead, radiating weak light against the filthy white walls and floor.

  He wondered if the room was set up like this on purpose. The single iron bench and desk bolted to the floor, the surly ambience. The general mood of the place matched his own. Michael sat quietly by his side.

  Outside, Gray heard the small bolt on the door scrape against its latch. The Vega woman entered the room, carrying Michael’s laptop and a white plastic bag, followed by an unshaven middle-aged man dressed in blue jeans and a red T-shirt with Ernesto Guevara’s head printed across the chest, ‘Che’ emblazoned over the image. Typical, Gray thought, shaking his head. They should read about the man.

  Vega placed the laptop on the table. “Do we have a problem, Doctor?”

  “Apart from being illegally detained in an unknown location? No, everything’s fine.”

  She rolled her eyes and pulled the biochip out of the plastic bag. Gray fixed his eyes on it. He followed Vega’s slow deliberate movements as she placed it on the table.

  “I take it this is yours?” Vega said.

  Michael leaned forward. “That’s it; that’s our stolen chip.”

  “Under the supervision of our IT consultant, Shane, you may attempt to access the network. Shane will explain everything to me as we go along, okay?” As she explained, she freed Michael’s wrists with a key. “Don’t bother running; there’s nothing for miles.”

  Michael clanked together the ankle manacles in response. He prodded the chip with his finger. “It might still work. Can you bring my bag? I need the dongle and power supply.”

  “I’ll get them. Give me a minute,” the consultant said.

  Gray peered upward. Four small cameras were fixed just below the ceiling in each corner.

  “It’s all being recorded. There are no secrets here, I’m afraid, Doctor,” Vega said.

  “Good. You’ll get to the bottom of this soon enough,” Gray said, “and I’ll be out of these chains.”

  The consultant returned with Michael’s bag. Crouching, he placed the contents of the front pouch on the floor, plugged the power supply into the wall and connected it with the laptop.

  He held a red dongle towards Michael. “Is this the one you need?”

  “That’s the one, thanks.”

  Michael booted the laptop and connected the dongle to a small rubbery port at the bottom of the biochip. Gray smiled as the chip appeared to take on a lighter color, as if coming alive. Shane shuffled alongside Michael on the iron bench.

  “What the hell is that?” Shane said.

  “Think of it as an organic smartphone without a display. This is our first working prototype. The problem is, it’s been configured with master network access for testing purposes,” Michael said.

  “It’s inconceivable that a smartphone could take over a cellular network,” Vega said.

  “In a standard network, the mobile exchanges or nodes control the authentication process with devices,” Michael said. “If authentication fails, they are barred from accessing any services, apart from emergency calls, but the device still functions locally. If you took your SIM card out and dialed 112, it would still work.”

  “Not 911?” Vega said.

  “Locally, yes, it’s hard-coded into devices. Internationally it’s the standard number and works anywhere,” Michael continued. “If our synthetics just failed to authenticate because of a network problem, they’d operate in a standalone fashion with their available information, a bit like a smartphone with local apps. They wouldn�
��t start displaying previously unseen behavior.”

  “Which means they’re still getting instructions from somewhere,” Gray added.

  “So these things are inside the synthetics?” Shane said, pointing at the biochip. “You make them sound like robots.”

  Michael shook his head. “No and no.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Gray saw Vega step behind Michael’s shoulder.

  “You said they had wireless devices with VPN,” she said.

  “They do,” Gray said. “We designed the biochip to work in the same way as our handheld electronic devices. They attach to our network via VPN, that’s their way of authenticating. Our network is configured as the master; the devices are slaves. As Michael was trying to explain, we gave the biochip the capabilities to act as a master node.”

  “You certainly make them sound like robots,” Shane said.

  “Synthetics are very loyal and respond to authority,” Gray said. “Their minds haven’t been polluted by television, college, drugs and alcohol. Synthetics don’t walk around in T-shirts displaying divisive political figures. If we ask them to do something, they do it.”

  “It works on a priority system,” Michael said. “As development starts straight from adulthood, one of the first things we do is ingrain a sense of loyalty and obedience. As owners, we act as priority number one. NSA is priority number two. They don’t take orders from anyone else.”

  “So you could have told them to do whatever you wanted? Even if it was against what we asked them to do?” Vega said.

  “We told them to follow your orders. Can we begin?” Michael said.

  “This biochip, or organic smartphone as you call it, I assume you’re developing it to be inside the synthetics?” Shane said.

  “It’s an option,” Michael said.

  “Why else would you develop it?” Vega said.

  “It would give one the ability to control a workforce quite well, don’t you think?” Gray said.

  “If you say so.”

  “Oh, come now, who isn’t connected to technology nowadays, constantly reacting to information?” Gray replied. He looked at Shane’s belt. “You have an iPhone.”