Part 14 (1/2)

'Yeah, everything the system can see on the local net. Every night we load it on to a separate resource on the InterNet well, the Highway now. Then on Wednesdays we take tapes off site.'

'Do you really?'

'And today's Wednesday, well, more like Thursday now, I s'pose,' Denny offered helpfully.

124.

'Hmm.' The Doctor was interested, but the question of what was backed up and how hardly helped with his current problem. 'Well, that's fascinating. But can I get on with this now, do you think?' He turned abruptly back to the screen and was at once absorbed in it.

'Sorry,' Denny muttered behind him, and went to the network server machine in the corner of the room.

'Thanks for the suggestion,' the Doctor called as Denny wheeled his trolley out of the room. The screen in front of the Doctor was filled with the numbers 0 to 9 and letters A to E paired off to represent bytes of data.

Sarah had been at her desk from just after seven in the morning. The rest of the office seemed to be deserted.

Stabfield arrived just before seven-thirty and complimented her on her punctuality.

But Sarah hardly noticed. Stabfield was wearing a white jacket over his usual serge suit. In one hand he was carrying a tall chef's hat, which he put down on the desk. In the other hand he held a silver promotional I2 plastic bag. He handed it to Sarah. 'You'll need this.'

Sarah looked in the bag. 'What for?' she asked, confused.

The bag seemed to have clothing in it. A white silk blouse and black skirt and tights. There was also a pair of black shoes with heels higher than she cared for.

'Change into it, then meet me in the car park in ten minutes.'

Sarah was still sitting at her desk, plastic bag in hand and mouth open when she heard the door close behind Stabfield at the other end of the office.

'Oh well,' she said out loud, 'anything for a quiet life.'

In the car park there was a white minibus and a maroon Toyota van. Both had Finesse Catering Finesse Catering painted on the side and the back together with a telephone number. Sarah looked out from the door. There were about twenty people milling around the car park. As she watched, Lewis began to motion them on to the minibus. Sarah recognized most of the people as I2 painted on the side and the back together with a telephone number. Sarah looked out from the door. There were about twenty people milling around the car park. As she watched, Lewis began to motion them on to the minibus. Sarah recognized most of the people as I2 employees, though it took her a moment or two. What was confusing was their clothing. Stabfield and another man were 125 dressed in chef's uniform; Lewis wore a dinner suit perhaps head waiter? and the rest of the men were similarly dressed.

Seeing the women dressed in identical attire to herself, Sarah realized she was costumed to play the part of a waitress. 'What is going on?' she murmured.

n.o.body seemed to have noticed her, so Sarah sneaked across to the van. She eased open the back door, shuddering as it sc.r.a.ped and squeaked. The interior was dark, but as she leaned in, Sarah could make out boxes and crates. Bollinger was stencilled on the side of the nearest crate. She pulled at the lid and was surprised to find it swung upwards easily.

Sarah knew very little about champagne and only slightly more about military hardware, but she could tell the difference between bottles and hand grenades. She gently lowered the lid and stepped away from the van, swinging the door shut.

'Admiring the vol-au-vents?'

Sarah spun round, and found Johanna Slake standing behind her. Johanna was dressed identically to Sarah. But unlike Sarah she had a sub-machine-gun slung over her shoulder. It rested easily against her side, her right arm cradling the stock and her finger stroking the trigger.

'We seem a bit short on food,' Sarah said, making as if to ease her way past Johanna. 'Perhaps I should go for a take-away.'

Johanna grabbed Sarah's arm with her free hand and shoved her past the van towards the minibus. 'I don't think so. Mr Stabfield asked me to keep an eye on you, so if you'll join us in the minibus we can get on.' She gave Sarah another shove, pus.h.i.+ng her hard in the middle of the back so that Sarah almost pitched on to her face as she was encouraged towards the minibus.

'Careful, you don't know your own strength.'

Johanna ignored her. 'You won't be phoning out for anything. We have a tight schedule and a packed agenda. And in any case, your friend's no longer available for dialogue. Or for anything else, come to that.'

Sarah stopped on the step up into the minibus and half turned towards Johanna. 'You mean Gibson?' She was shaking with emotion as well as fear now. 'You killed him?' She almost 126 reached down for Johanna, her hands already clenched into fists, but the dark-haired woman jabbed the gun towards her.

Sarah retreated into the minibus.

'We prefer to call it management-initiated termination,'

Johanna said as she climbed on board after Sarah.

Behind Johanna, Sarah could see Stabfield getting into the van. The driver was already seated, but the sun shone on the windscreen and Sarah could not see his face. Johanna motioned her to a seat, then sat down opposite. The machinegun was still levelled at Sarah.

One of the waiters leaned forward from the row behind, and Sarah thought for a moment he had seen the gun and was going to ask Johanna what was happening. But instead he said: 'The disc showed up on the network again last night.'

'Is it active?' Johanna asked.

'No. Just being read.'

'Does Stabfield know?'

The waiter nodded. 'He got the initial observation report from the tap-in to their local systems.'

'Good.' Johanna sat back and called out to the driver: 'Right, let's make the home run.'

Peterson and Eleanor arrived at Hubway at nine o'clock sharp. Eleanor seemed unusually nervous, which Peterson a.s.sumed was simply because she was in awe of his responsibility and importance. Peterson himself was in his element. He strode through the rooms and corridors of the Queen Anne house making deprecating comments about the decor, the cleanliness and the architecture.

Bill Westwood followed Peterson, nodding occasionally but otherwise uncharacteristically quiet. He knew where the funds for Hubway came from, and while Peterson might not be able to stop them, he could make life very difficult.

'This is another of the workstation areas.' Westwood opened the door to another room and ushered Eleanor in ahead of him.

Peterson pushed through in front of her. 'Who's that?' he asked pointing across at a figure hunched over a keyboard at a desk halfway along the wall.

127.

Westwood had not been expecting to find anyone in the room. He stared for a while at the figure. It was a tall man with a ma.s.s of dark hair curled over his head and a scarf the length of the croquet lawn spiralling from the floor to his neck. A large amorphous hat sat on the desk beside the keyboard and as they watched the man pushed it on to his head and cracked an enormous smile.

'Oh yes,' Westwood's memory cleared and he recalled the MI5 request for computer time and resource. 'This is a visiting expert from the Security Service. We accorded him the equipment to do some research.'

'I thought I specified essential personnel only,' Peterson said.

He waddled across towards the man at the computer, who swivelled in his chair and c.o.c.ked his head on one side to watch him. 'Is this man essential personnel?'

'Well I am to me,' the man said before Westwood could answer. 'How about you?'

Westwood concealed a smile. 'Harold Sullivan at MI5 did say the matter was extremely urgent when he made the request.'

'Did he indeed?' Peterson stopped behind the desk and peered at the screen.

The man at the desk leaned forward and switched it off.

Peterson straightened up. 'I want this man out of here within the hour, Westwood.'

Westwood sighed.