12 : The Project Sponsor
Byford placed the cipher key into the laptop’s USB port and the system came alive.
No more than 1cm in size and looking like a wireless dongle for a mouse or other device, it unlocked the hidden partition on the laptop, which gave access to Hannover data and applications. Without it, the laptop booted up with the normal operating system and worked just like any other PC.
As he’d been instructed, he looked at the camera on his laptop and saw his face appear on the screen. A web of red lines and dots danced across the image of his face, before the points settled on his main features and the mesh of lines and dots turned green.
A seemingly garbled message came up on screen and Byford thought through the cipher he’d been briefed on the night before. Typing in what should be the unencrypted message, he saw the words ‘Access Granted’ appear on the screen, and this further layer of security was passed.
The communicator software was showing ‘1 unread message.’
He opened the message and saw the mission pre-briefing he was expecting. As usual, information from Hannover was on a need-to-know, as-and-when-you-need-to-know basis.
The entire document was encrypted in what the Hannover boffins had said was an unbreakable cipher. In fact, the message itself was not the only thing encrypted — the encrypted message was further encrypted. Meaning anyone intercepting it would have to crack two ciphers to read the message.
That assumed they could get onto the Darknet and find the servers where the communications were taking place.
For the likes of Byford, getting to these messages was made possible by the laptops and cipher keys Hannover issued their field agents. All of which were primed to destroy their hard-drives with a small explosive, in the event a user didn’t authenticate successfully via the face recognition software.
He’d also been told that trying to take them apart had similar explosive effects. Something another operative was rumoured to have proven when he’d dropped his laptop, splitting the case and setting off the fireworks.
Byford did a quick read through the document he’d been provided.
The main thing of interest was the travel time: he was to be flown out to the Shetlands at 11am this morning. He re-read the first few pages again — collection at 9am, flight at 11am, no personal items to be taken and no equipment needed. It was 7am, two hours left to pack and be ready for when the Hannover driver arrived to take him to the airport.
Byford showered and put on his travel clothes of jeans, T-shirt and fleece.
He took his watch, ring, passport and wallet and placed them into a small safe in his closet, then locked it shut, sliding a wooden panel back in place to hide the safe.
It was a routine practiced over many years.
He thought about what the new team members would turn up with, misinterpreting exactly what ‘no personal items’ would mean. In the years past, he’d seen everything from lucky charms to mobile phones to family photos. All of which would compromise the individual and potentially the team in the event they were lost or the operative was caught.
He went back downstairs and checked the laptop for any further messages. There was the message from Steven as promised, the sender identified only as ‘H’, for Handler.
‘Amber status. Confirm in a few days. Good luck’ was all it read.
Amber was the state that told Byford the run-up to the mission had begun, all preparations would start and the team were to be made ready, awaiting the confirmed ‘Green light Go’ status. At that point, all communications would go silent and the mission would be carried out come hell or high water.
He deleted the message from the system, took out the cipher key and reaching into his underpants, slid it into a small pocket just under his scrotum. Another odd practice he’d adopted.
If captured or searched, few tough guys were going to fondle his genitals to see if there was something hidden there. Even if they took his pants off, the little pocket would look like part of the underwear seams. So went the theory, anyway; hopefully he’d never have to find out.
That was something else he recalled needing to explain to the new team, who would no doubt have the cipher keys rattling around in their pockets or probably still inserted in the machines.
In which case they would boot straight to the face-scanning software.
“Jesus!” he said to himself, thinking about what he’d face, shaping the new team and leading a mission with them straight afterwards.
Two weeks of stress.
He checked the clock on the wall: 8.50am.
Looking around the house he did a final confirmation that all lights and the cooker were off and doors locked.
He’d only been back here a few days and was already off, but still, it felt like home again, even if his preference was for Spain now. The contrast of the regular life he lead between missions, compared to what he’d be doing in a couple of weeks, never ceased to humour him.
Byford heard a beep of a horn outside and without further ceremony, grabbed his laptop bag and headed out of the house and to the car.
“You seem familiar, do I know you?” Byford said to the driver, through his open window.
“I’m new to this area, must be someone who looks like me,” the driver replied. “Do we need to stop off anywhere?” the driver asked.
“Straight there,” Byford said, without saying where there was.
“Very good, sir,” the driver replied, the planned dialogue out of the way.
Byford had never been convinced these scripts, as they were referred to, were secure in any way, but they gave passenger and driver some level of confidence each was who they were meant to be.
The drive to the airport passed without conversation and with no telephone to distract himself with, Byford took the time to think over the information he’d read in the briefing.
The location for training was the Shetlands, South Island; he’d stay there with the team for just under two weeks.
Byford recalled being there years ago. It was a small house, secluded and near the coast. There was room for about five people with their swimming and sailing gear.
The best thing there for swim training was the large amount of wrecks. The coast around the Shetlands was treacherous, scores of ships had been lost there for hundreds of years and were still being lost there today. Along with that there was plenty of coast along which to do fitness training, night manoeuvres and to practice all the other skills they’d need, away from curious eyes.
Though it was a short mission as far as Byford knew, this team needed all the skills of a tight military unit in two weeks.
“Bloody hell…” he said aloud, again cursing the job that was ahead of him.
“Sorry, sir?” the driver asked.
“Nothing, just talking to myself,” Byford replied, returning to his thoughts.
They arrived at the airport. A small private one outside central London, able to take jets and carry passengers. There existed an unwritten agreement that the airport didn’t ask too many questions about passengers and flights, so long as fees were paid.
As the car pulled up to the jet, he was surprised to see an operative near the plane and the stairs down ready to have him board straight away. Leaving the car, he headed over to the steps.
“Morning, mister Byford,” the operative said, waving him on board. “We’re ready to leave as soon as you’re on board, sir.”
Byford ran up the steps and headed into the cabin. There he was met by a stewardess, who greeted him and showed him his seat. It was one of just four seats in the cabin, behind a table with a continental breakfast laid out on it.
A car to collect him and a jet with breakfast laid on. Someone’s laying on the royal treatment for sure, he thought to himself.
A stewardess greeted him and showed him to his seat. On the opposite table, he noticed a few crumbs. He sat and strapped himself in just as the jet started to move off for the flight to the Shetlands.
“How long is the flight?” he asked.
“Just about an hour, sir,” she replied and walked off into the flight deck.
The flight quickly levelled off and the stewardess reappeared in the cabin, offering Byford tea or coffee.
“Who else is on board?” Byford asked, alluding to the untidy table opposite from him.
“Mister Daler, sir. This is his plane,” she said, pouring the coffee.
Byford reached for his coffee, he smelt it and recognised a rich medium Arabica roast. “Ah, someone’s been doing their homework,” he said as a compliment to the stewardess.
She smiled in acknowledgement and again returned to the flight deck, leaving Byford to enjoy his breakfast and the views.
About quarter of an hour into the flight, it was the turn of a tall, middle-aged man to appear from the flight deck and make himself known to Byford.
“Hello, mister Byford. I’m Daler, owner of the research plant you and your team will be visiting in a few days,” Daler said with an easy tone, offering him his hand.
Byford shook it and gave a half smile as greeting. “Well, slightly unexpected,” Byford said, waving Daler to the chair in front of him.
Daler sat and looked Byford straight in the eyes. If Byford was meant to be intimidated, it didn’t work. He was more taken with how well dressed Daler was, in a dark blue suit, tie, crisp white shirt and cufflinks. Byford thought he looked a bit too well-groomed to be running a refinery.
Na’er trust a dandy, son, his late father had once told him.
Looking at Daler, Byford didn’t trust him one bit.
He could feel himself already annoyed that Daler was here at all. Experience told him a sponsor doing this was a sign of an egoist. Most were intimidated enough by Hannover to avoid meddling with how they did what they did.
Daler smiled, realising that Byford was not going to play the game.
“Yes, and I thought that while we had some time in private, I could give you a little insight into the facility. Your Handler of course approved this or I wouldn’t be here,” Daler said.
“No, you wouldn’t be,” Byford replied, now staring Daler in the eyes. “Well, go ahead. We’re landing in under 20 minutes, so you haven’t much time.”
“Indeed,” Daler replied.
“You may wonder why I want you to attack my facility and steal my research,” Daler said.
Byford said nothing but noted the snippet of information Daler had just given away. It revealed a lot. This was clearly no distraction job, not if they were stealing research too. This was a cover up, real action. That also meant the team Byford was to train wasn’t as green as he’d been anticipating.
Daler noted Byford’s silence and continued.
“Truth be told, it’s for a number of reasons. The most personal being that the majority of research has nothing to do with Dr Kirby. The good doctor, who is about to walk away with all the know-how and claim all the glory, only joined us recently. Relatively speaking. But despite that, one by one, he’s managed to get the board of directors over to his side.”
“I thought you owned the company, so why worry about the board? Anyway, the fact we’re having this conversation says you sanctioned the action and are in with Hannover. We wouldn’t be face to face otherwise. So where exactly is the problem?” Byford asked.
“There are several problems! The first is that it was a good friend of mine who did most of the research. A good friend who is now dead, and he would not have wanted the research to be… horse traded by a thief… for career and financial advancement,” Daler said, almost spitting.
“So your dead friend wanted to save the world with his new bio-fuel, stick it to the oil companies and now his legacy is being trashed by a chancer, who’s going to steal the formulas and the glory?” Byford said, goading Daler a little to test his character.
“Correct, in part. It’s Kirby’s intent to make the bio-fuel formula available commercially. He doesn’t want to save the world, you understand; just make a name for himself, to get rich in the process no doubt. Stealing five years of research he never did, I might add. It’s his push for profit that’s got the board all engaged with him and it’s very, very stupid. I’ve only managed to contain them as I still hold the majority of shares!”
“I’m still lost. Did you approach Hannover with this project?” Byford asked, still wondering what the problem was.
Daler stood up and paced away from the table a few steps. After several moments of staring out of the window at the sky, he turned back to Byford.
“Yes, I approached Hannover after it became obvious I couldn’t get Dr Kirby to go quietly out of the way, via a move to Terminal Fuels. A company in which I also have a considerable share, in case you’re wondering. Kirby persisted, the board granted larger research facilities and he began in earnest to find a bio-fuel formula that was stable and marketable.”
Byford thought about the mission briefing he had quickly looked over, but couldn’t recall anything about the research; full details were still to come. He took a guess.
“You want your finest researcher to move to a pure oil company, who will moth-ball the bio fuel and so halt research on your friends work. He said he wouldn’t go, because he wants to complete the research I guess. So now we’re about to shut down that research, force him to Standard, grabbing the formula ourselves… to give it to Terminal? Colour me confused. This is why I’m not interested in explanations. Why the hell do I need to know all this anyway?” Byford asked.
Daler gave a soft laugh.
“Byford, the research and materials must make it safely out of Cosgrove Research, but must never make it to Terminal. The products of the research hitting the market was never the intended outcome. Do you know what would happen if bio-fuel actually replaced oil-based fuel? No!” Daler exclaimed.
“So, what would happen?” Byford asked, leaving the issue of securing the research to one side, out of interest for what was going around Daler’s mind.
Daler walked back and sat in his chair, resting his hands on his lap.
“Why do you think we even bothered doing the research, if we were never going to do anything with it?” he asked.
Byford looked at him with his best blank expression. “Enlighten me.”
“Three million pounds a year research and development funding from the Department of Energy and Climate Change, that’s why. Three million to keep them informed of the energy options the UK has via research from companies like ours. Jonathon and I, he’s the friend I mentioned, couldn’t believe our luck. They wanted basic accounting, that was all, which we happily cooked up. The money could then be spent on whatever we wanted, really. Almost zero accountability and to be kept secret. Probably what killed him off, he had a penchant for cocaine and dancing ladies.”
Daler laughed at the thought and it seemed to brighten in his demeanour, remembering his dead friend’s vices.
“Why?” Byford asked.
Daler looked at him, seeming slightly confused.
“I’ve no idea, useless with the ladies I guess and just too much high living for a man of his age.”
“No, no. I mean, why doesn’t the DECC, want the bio-fuels to replace oil?”
“Oh, I’m with you!”
Daler leant his elbows on the table, fingers steepled, chin resting on his thumbs.
A moment passed with him looking at the clouds through the window.
He turned to Byford.
“Oil, or more precisely energy, is power, mister Byford. Those who control it have the means to control the world and do as they wish. They of course being the great nation of the USA, using their tool of control, the US dollar. It’s the world’s global reserve currency, after all, and the USA need it to stay that way; a deficit of billions of dollars every month makes it imperative. If you introduce alternatives to oil and the dollar, that reduces their power, which pisses Uncle Sam off no end.”
Daler sat back in his chair, now clearly in the flow of conversation.
“Why do you think Saddam Hussein was taken out? He was going to trade oil in currencies other than the US dollar, the Euro I believe was his preferred choice. You can’t have that, it devalues the dollar. Get rid of him, maintain the dollar’s value and take his oil as a bonus. Why do you think they got rid of Gaddafi? He was planning to accept payment for oil in gold, via an African gold dinar for god’s sake. You think the UK or US has enough gold to use for oil purchases or would even want to? It would cause a chain reaction. Imagine the Saudis following suit. Never going to happen, US dollar or nothing. Same problem, same solution. Get rid of him, take his oil and 144 tonnes of gold in his vaults by all accounts. A double bonus and a very strong message to the world!”
“I heard these type of conspiracies but never thought this stuff was real,” Byford said.
“You’re not supposed to think it’s really the truth of things, go back to sleep, little man!” Daler replied. “We actually have six viable formulas, you know? But none will hit the market unless they say they want it to. That’s what Dr Kirby doesn’t realise, partly because he can’t be told of course. It’s why I’ve set him up to go to my other company. I’m not being an ass, I’m trying to save his life. If he convinces the board to commercialise it or if he goes anywhere else with it, to another company for example, I won’t need to sue him. He won’t see the next sunrise, I guarantee you that,” Daler said.
He turned to face Byford directly.
”So now you know why this is so important. Byford, you are to intercept Dr Kirby and take the research from him, before he arrives at Standard or does anything stupid. This may not be explicit in your instructions, but it is essential.”
“Well, now I see why you’re telling me all this. If he goes walk-about then you’re on the line too,” Byford said.
“We cannot simply hope Kirby will arrive safely to Standard Oils where we can pick it up, too much is at risk if the research fell into the wrong hands. I need Kirby tucked away at Standard and the research to disappear en route.”
Byford looked at Daler, now understanding what this conversation had been for. Though initially annoyed at Daler being there, he’d given so much away Byford was pleased that the conversation had taken place.
“Of course you do. The money from the Department is nice and living isn’t too bad either, eh? But to be clear, if it’s not in my instructions, I won’t be doing anything. Just so that’s clear.”
Daler sat back in his chair once more.
“Well then, I shall have to speak to your Handler again.”
“You do that.”
As if having been waiting for the conversation to end, the stewardess came out of the cockpit and greeted the two men.
“Ten minutes to landing, gentlemen,” she said, clearing the breakfast items away and returning to the galley.
Daler stood and took a seat at the opposite table, fastened his seat-belt and resumed looking out of the window at the clouds.
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