Whiteout (19 page)

They left the control tower and went down the stairs to the hangar. Elton got into the driving seat of the van. Daisy jumped in next to him. Nigel took the third seat. There was no more room in the front: Kit would have to sit on the floor in the back with the tools.

As he stared at them, wondering what to do, Daisy edged close to Elton and put a hand on his knee. “Do you fancy blondes?” she said.

He stared ahead expressionlessly. “I'm married.”

She moved her hand up his thigh. “I bet you fancy a white girl, for a change, though, don't you?”

“I'm married to a white girl.” He took hold of her wrist and moved her hand off his leg.

Kit decided this was the moment to deal with her. With his heart in his mouth, he said, “Daisy, get in the back of the van.”

“Fuck off,” she replied.

“I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. Get in the back.”

“Try and make me.”

“Okay, I will.”

“Go ahead,” she said with a grin. “I'm looking forward to this.”

“The operation is off,” Kit said. He was breathing hard, out of fear, but he made his voice calm. “Sorry, Nigel. Good night, all.” He walked away from the van on shaky legs.

He got into his own car, started the engine, turned on the headlights, and waited.

He could see into the front of the van. They were arguing. Daisy was waving her arms. After a minute, Nigel got out of the van and held the door. Still Daisy argued. Nigel went around to the back and opened the rear doors, then returned to the front.

At last, Daisy got out. She stood staring malevolently at Kit. Nigel spoke to her again. Finally she got in the back of the van and slammed the doors.

Kit returned to the van and got into the front. Elton pulled away, drove out of the garage, and stopped. Nigel closed the big hangar door and got into the van. Elton muttered, “I hope they're right about the weather forecast. Look at this fucking snow.” They headed out through the gate.

Kit's mobile rang. He lifted the lid of his laptop. On the screen he read: “Toni calling Kremlin.”

TONI'S mother had fallen asleep the moment they pulled out of the petrol station. Toni had stopped the car, reclined the seat, and made a pillow with a scarf. Mother slept like a baby. Toni found it odd, to be looking after her mother the way she would take care of a child. It made her feel old.

But nothing could depress her spirits after her conversation with Stanley. In his characteristic restrained style, he had declared his feelings. She hugged the knowledge to herself as she drove through the snow, mile after slow mile, to Inverburn.

Mother was fast asleep when they reached the outskirts of the town. There were still revelers about. The traffic kept the town roads clear of snow, and Toni was able to drive without feeling that at any moment the car might slide out of control. She took the opportunity to call the Kremlin, just to check in.

The call was answered by Steve Tremlett. “Oxenford Medical.”

“This is Toni. How are things?”

“Hi, Toni. We have a slight problem, but we're dealing with it.”

Toni felt a chill. “What problem?”

“Most of the phones are out. Only this one works, at reception.”

“How did that happen?”

“No idea. The snow, probably.”

Toni shook her head, perplexed. “That phone system cost hundreds
of thousands of pounds. It shouldn't break down because of bad weather. Can we get it fixed?”

“Yes. I've called out a crew from Hibernian Telecom. They should be here in the next few minutes.”

“What about the alarms?”

“I don't know whether they're functional or not.”

“Damn. Have you told the police?”

“Yes. A patrol car dropped in earlier. The officers had a bit of a look around, didn't see anything untoward. They've left now, gone to arrest Yuletide drunks in town.”

A man staggered into the road in front of Toni's car, and she swerved to avoid him. “I can see why,” she said.

There was a pause. “Where are you?”

“Inverburn.”

“I thought you were going to a health farm.”

“I was, but a family problem cropped up. Let me know what the repairmen find, okay? Call me on the mobile number.”

“Sure.”

Toni hung up. “Hell,” she said to herself. First Mother, now this.

She wound her way through the web of residential streets that climbed the hillside overlooking the harbor. When she reached her building, she parked, but did not get out.

She had to go to the Kremlin.

If she had been at the spa, there would have been no question of her coming back—it was too far away. But she was here in Inverburn. The journey would take a while, in this weather—an hour, at least, instead of the usual ten or fifteen minutes—but it was perfectly possible. The only problem was Mother.

Toni closed her eyes. Was it really necessary for her to go? Even if Michael Ross had been working with Animals Are Free, it seemed unlikely that they could be behind the failure of the phone system. It could not easily be sabotaged. On the other hand, she would have said yesterday that it was impossible to smuggle a rabbit out of BSL4.

She sighed. There was only one decision she could make. Bottom
line, the security of the laboratories was her responsibility, and she could not stay at home and go to bed while something strange was going on at Oxenford Medical.

Mother could not be left alone, and Toni could not ask neighbors to look after her at this hour. Mother would just have to come along to the Kremlin.

As she put the gearshift into first, a man got out of a light-colored Jaguar sedan parked a few cars farther along the curb. There was something familiar about him, she thought, and she hesitated to pull away. He walked along the pavement toward her. By his gait she judged that he was slightly tipsy, but in control. He came to her window and she recognized Carl Osborne, the television reporter. He was carrying a small bundle.

She put the gearshift back into neutral and wound down the window. “Hello, Carl,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you. I was ready to give up.”

Mother woke up and said, “Hello, is this your boyfriend?”

“This is Carl Osborne, and he's not my boyfriend.”

With her usual tactless accuracy, Mother said, “Perhaps he'd like to be.”

Toni turned to Carl, who was grinning. “This is my mother, Kathleen Gallo.”

“A privilege to meet you, Mrs. Gallo.”

“Why were you waiting for me?” Toni asked him.

“I brought you a present,” he said, and he showed her what was in his hand. It was a puppy. “Merry Christmas,” he said, and tipped it into her lap.

“Carl, for God's sake, don't be ridiculous!” She picked up the furry bundle and tried to give it back.

He stepped away and held up his hands. “He's yours!”

The little dog was soft and warm in her hands, and part of her wanted to hold it close, but she knew she had to get rid of it. She got out of the car. “I don't want a pet,” she said firmly. “I'm a single woman with a demanding job and an elderly mother, and I can't give a dog the care and attention it needs.”

“You'll find a way. What are you going to call him? Carl is a nice name.”

She looked at the pup. It was an English sheepdog, white with gray patches, about eight weeks old. She could hold it in one hand, just. It licked her with a rough tongue and gave her an appealing look. She hardened her heart.

She walked to his car and put the puppy gently down on the front seat. “You name him,” she said. “I've got too much on my plate.”

“Well, think about it,” he said, looking disappointed. “I'll keep him tonight, and call you tomorrow.”

She got back into her car. “Don't call me, please.” She put the stick into first.

“You're a hard woman,” he said as she pulled away.

For some reason, that jibe got to her. I'm not hard, she thought. Unexpected tears came to her eyes. I've had to deal with the death of Michael Ross, and a rabid pack of reporters, and I've been called a bitch by Kit Oxenford, and my sister has let me down, and I've canceled the holiday I was looking forward to. I take responsibility for myself and for Mother and for the Kremlin, and I can't manage a puppy as well, and that's flat.

Then she remembered Stanley, and she realized she did not care a hoot what Carl Osborne said.

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and peered ahead into the swirling snowflakes. Turning out of her Victorian street, she headed for the main road out of town.

Mother said, “Carl seems nice.”

“He's not very nice, actually, Mother. In fact he's shallow and dishonest.”

“Nobody's perfect. There can't be many eligible men of your age.”

“Almost none.”

“You don't want to end up alone.”

Toni smiled to herself. “Somehow I don't think I will.”

The traffic thinned out as she left the town center, and the snow lay thick on the road. Maneuvering carefully through a series of roundabouts, she noticed a car close on her tail. Looking in the rearview mirror, she identified it as a light-colored Jaguar sedan.

Carl Osborne was following her.

She pulled over, and he stopped right behind her.

She got out and went to his window. “What now?”

“I'm a reporter, Toni,” he said. “It's almost midnight on Christmas Eve, and you're looking after your elderly mother, yet you're in your car and you seem to be heading for the Kremlin. This has to be a story.”

“Oh, shit,” said Toni.

THE Kremlin looked like something from a fairy tale, with snow falling thickly around its floodlit roofs and towers. As the van with “Hibernian Telecom” on its side approached the main gate, Kit had a momentary fancy that he was the Black Knight riding up to besiege the place.

He felt relieved to get here. The storm was turning into a full-scale blizzard, contrary to the forecast, and the journey from the airfield had taken longer than expected. The delay made him fearful. Every minute that passed made it more likely that snags would threaten his elaborate plan.

The phone call from Toni Gallo worried him. He had put her through to Steve Tremlett, fearing that if he played her a fault message she might drive to the Kremlin to find out what was going on. But, having listened in to the conversation, Kit thought she might do that anyway. It was lousy bad luck that she was in Inverburn, instead of at a spa fifty miles away.

The first of the two barriers lifted, and Elton moved the van forward and drew level with the gatehouse. There were two guards in the booth, as Kit expected. Elton wound down the window. A guard leaned out and said, “We're glad to see you laddies.”

Kit did not know the man but, recalling his conversation with Hamish, he realized it must be Willie Crawford. Looking past him, Kit saw Hamish himself.

Willie said, “It's good of you to come out at Christmas.”

“All part of the job,” Elton said.

“Three of you, is it?”

“Plus Goldilocks in the back.”

A low snarl came from behind. “Watch your mouth, shitface.”

Kit suppressed a groan. How could they squabble at such a crucial moment?

Nigel murmured, “Knock it off, you two.”

Willie did not appear to have heard the exchange. He said, “I need to see identification for everyone, please.”

They all took out their faked cards. Elton had based them on Kit's recollection of what the Hibernian Telecom pass looked like. The phone system rarely broke down, so Kit had figured no guard was likely to remember what a genuine pass looked like. Now, with a security guard scrutinizing the cards as if they were dubious fifty-pound notes, Kit held his breath.

Willie wrote down the name from each card. Then he handed them all back without comment. Kit looked away and allowed himself to breathe again.

“Drive to the main entrance,” Willie said. “You'll be all right if you stay between the lampposts.” The road ahead was invisible, covered with snow. “At reception you'll find a Mr. Tremlett who can tell you where to go.”

The second barrier lifted, and Elton pulled forward.

They were inside.

Kit felt sick with fear. He had broken the law before, with the scam that got him fired, but that had not felt like crime, it was more like cheating at cards, something he had done since he was eleven years old. This was a straightforward burglary, and he could go to jail. He swallowed hard and tried to concentrate. He thought of the enormous sum he owed Harry Mac. He remembered the blind terror he had felt this morning, when Daisy held his head under water and he thought he was dying. He had to go through with this.

Nigel said quietly to Elton, “Try not to aggravate Daisy.”

“It was just a joke,” Elton said defensively.

“She's got no sense of humor.”

If Daisy heard, she did not respond.

Elton parked at the main entrance and they got out. Kit carried his laptop. Nigel and Daisy took tool boxes from the back of the van. Elton had an expensive-looking burgundy leather briefcase, very slim with a brass catch—typical of his taste, but a bit odd for a telephone repairman, Kit thought.

They passed between the stone lions of the porch and entered the Great Hall. Low security lights intensified the churchlike look of the Victorian architecture: the mullioned windows, the pointed arches, and the serried timbers of the roof. The dimness made no difference to the security cameras, which—Kit knew—worked by infrared light.

At the modern reception desk in the middle of the hall were two more guards. One was an attractive young woman Kit did not recognize, and the other was Steve Tremlett. Kit hung back, not wanting Steve to look at him too closely. “You'll want to access the central processing unit,” Steve said.

Nigel answered. “That's the place to start.”

Steve raised his eyebrows at the London accent, but made no comment. “Susan will show you the way—I need to stay by the phone.”

Susan had short hair and a pierced eyebrow. She wore a shirt with epaulettes, a tie, dark serge uniform trousers, and black lace-up shoes. She gave them a friendly smile and led them along a corridor paneled in dark wood.

A weird calm seemed to descend on Kit. He was inside, being escorted by a security guard, about to rob the place. He felt fatalistic. The cards had been dealt, he had placed his bet, there was nothing to do now but play out his hand, win or lose.

They entered the control room.

The place was cleaner and tidier than Kit remembered, with all cables neatly stowed and logbooks in a row on a shelf. He presumed that was Toni's influence. Here also there were two guards instead of one. They sat at the long desk, watching the monitors. Susan introduced them as Don and Stu. Don was a dark-skinned south Indian with a thick Glasgow accent, and Stu was a freckled redhead. Kit did not recognize either one. An extra guard
was no big deal, Kit told himself: just another pair of eyes to shield things from, another brain to be distracted, another person to be lulled into apathy.

Susan opened the door to the equipment room. “The CPU is in there.”

A moment later Kit was inside the inner sanctum. Just like that! he thought, although it had taken weeks of preparation. Here were the computers and other devices that ran not just the phone system but also the lighting, the security cameras, and the alarms. Even to get this far was a triumph.

He said to Susan, “Thanks very much—we'll take it from here.”

“If there's anything you need, come to reception,” she said, and she left.

Kit put his laptop on a shelf and connected it to the security computer. He pulled over a chair and turned his laptop so that the screen could not be seen by someone standing in the doorway. He felt Daisy's eyes on him, suspicious and malevolent. “Go into the next room,” he said to her. “Keep an eye on the guards.”

She glared resentfully at him for a moment, then did as he said.

Kit took a deep breath. He knew exactly what he had to do. He needed to work fast, but carefully.

First, he accessed the program that controlled the video feed from thirty-seven closed-circuit television cameras. He looked at the entrance to BSL4, which appeared normal. He checked the reception desk and saw Steve there, but not Susan. Scanning the input from other cameras, he located Susan patrolling elsewhere in the building. He noted the time.

The computer's massive memory stored the camera images for four weeks before overwriting them. Kit knew his way around the program, for he had installed it. He located the video from the cameras in BSL4 this time last night. He checked the feed, random sampling footage, to make sure no crazy scientist had been working in the lab in the middle of the night; but all the images showed empty rooms. Good.

Nigel and Elton watched him in tense silence.

He then fed last night's images into the monitors the guards were currently watching.

Now someone could walk around BSL4 doing anything he liked without their knowing.

The monitors were fitted with biased switches that would detect equipment substitution, for example if the feed came from a separate videotape deck. However, this footage was not coming from an outside source, but direct from the computer's memory—so it did not trigger the alarm.

Kit stepped into the main control room. Daisy was slumped in a chair, wearing her leather jacket over the Hibernian Telecom overalls. Kit studied the bank of screens. All appeared normal. The dark-skinned guard, Don, looked at him with an inquiring expression. As a cover, Kit said, “Are any of the phones in here working?”

“None,” said Don.

Along the bottom edge of each screen was a line of text giving the time and date. The time was the same on the screens that showed yesterday's footage—Kit had made sure of that. But yesterday's footage showed yesterday's date.

Kit was betting that no one ever looked at that date. The guards scanned the screens for activity; they did not read text that told them what they already knew.

He hoped he was right.

Don was wondering why the telephone repairman was so interested in the television monitors. “Something we can do for you?” he said in a challenging tone.

Daisy grunted and stirred in her chair, like a dog sensing tension among the humans.

Kit's mobile phone rang.

He stepped back into the equipment room. The message on the screen of his laptop said: “Kremlin calling Toni.” He guessed that Steve wanted to let Toni know that the repair team had arrived. He decided to put the call through: it might reassure Toni and discourage her from coming here. He touched a key, then listened in on his mobile.

“This is Toni Gallo.” She was in her car; Kit could hear the engine.

“Steve here, at the Kremlin. The maintenance team from Hibernian Telecom have arrived.”

“Have they fixed the problem?”

“They've just started work. I hope I didn't wake you.”

“No, I'm not in bed, I'm on my way to you.”

Kit cursed. It was what he had been afraid of.

“There's really no need,” Steve told Toni.

Kit thought: That's right!

“Probably not,” she replied. “But I'll feel more comfortable.”

Kit thought: When will you get here?

Steve had the same thought. “Where are you now?”

“I'm only a few miles away, but the roads are terrible, and I can't go faster than fifteen or twenty miles an hour.”

“Are you in your Porsche?”

“Yes.”

“This is Scotland, you should have bought a Land Rover.”

“I should have bought a bloody tank.”

Come on, Kit thought, how long?

Toni answered his question. “It's going to take me at least half an hour, maybe an hour.”

They hung up, and Kit cursed under his breath.

He told himself that a visit by Toni would not be fatal. There would be nothing to warn her that a robbery was going on. Nothing should seem amiss for several days. It would appear only that there had been a problem with the phone system, and a repair team had fixed it. Not until the scientists returned to work would anyone realize that BSL4 had been burgled.

The main danger was that Toni might see through Kit's disguise. He looked completely different, he had removed his distinctive jewelry, and he could easily alter his voice, making it more Scots; but she was a sharp-nosed bitch and he could not afford to take any chances. If she showed up, he would keep out of her way as much as possible, and let Nigel do the talking. All the same, the risk of something going wrong would increase tenfold.

But there was nothing he could do about it, except hurry.

His next task was to get Nigel into the lab without any of the guards seeing. The main problem here was the patrols. Once an hour, a guard from reception made a tour of the building. The patrol followed a
prescribed route, and took twenty minutes. Having passed the entrance to BSL4, the guard would not come back for an hour.

Kit had seen Susan patrolling a few minutes ago, when he connected his laptop to the surveillance program. Now he checked the feed from reception and saw her sitting with Steve at the desk, her circuit done. Kit checked his watch. He had a comfortable thirty minutes before she went on patrol again.

Kit had dealt with the cameras in the high-security lab, but there was still one outside the door, showing the entrance to BSL4. He called up yesterday's feed and ran the footage at double fast-forward. He needed a clear half hour, with no one passing across the screen. He stopped at the point where the patrolling guard appeared. Beginning when the guard left the picture, he fed yesterday's images into the monitor in the next room. Don and Stu should see nothing but an empty corridor for the next hour, or until Kit returned the system to normal. The screen would show the wrong time as well as the wrong date, but once again Kit was gambling that the guards would not notice.

He looked at Nigel. “Let's go.”

Elton stayed in the equipment room to make sure no one interfered with the laptop.

Passing through the control room, Kit said to Daisy, “We're going to get the nanometer from the van. You stay here.” There was no such thing as a nanometer, but Don and Stu would not know that.

Daisy grunted and looked away. She was not much good at acting the part. Kit hoped the guards would simply assume she was bad-tempered.

Kit and Nigel walked quickly to BSL4. Kit waved his father's smart card in front of the scanner then pressed the forefinger of his left hand to the screen. He waited while the central computer compared the information from the screen with that on the card. He noticed that Nigel was carrying Elton's smart burgundy leather briefcase.