The Persona Protocol

21


Lamplighter


The beach was a grim slate-grey, not sand, but gravel and shards of flint. The murky sea beyond was equally uninviting. It was the perfect setting for the objects at the centre of the photograph: rusted cage-like steel frames containing squat cylinders painted a sickly institutional green, metal vanes protruding from them. Corrosion-scabbed warning signs were attached to the cages. Most were unreadable to the majority of the observers, written in the Cyrillic alphabet, but one symbol was instantly recognisable. A trefoil, black on yellow.

The international radiation warning.

‘This is Operation Lamplighter,’ said Morgan, addressing the Persona Project team members gathered in the Bullpen. ‘This is what Muqaddim al-Rais is willing to spend seven million dollars to obtain.’

‘It’s a Russian radioisotope thermoelectric generator,’ Tony explained. ‘Or Soviet, technically, since they date back to the Cold War. RTGs are basically nuclear batteries. NASA uses them in its deep-space probes and the Mars rover. The Soviets used them here on Earth. To power lighthouses.’

He clicked a remote, and the image on the video wall changed to a map of Russia. Along the long coastline of the vast country were marked hundreds of dots, each containing a miniature version of the radiation trefoil. ‘They built them on the Arctic shipping lanes when they were free of ice,’ Tony continued. ‘But because large parts of the country are so remote and inaccessible, operating conventional manned lighthouses would have been a logistical nightmare. So they came up with an alternative. Build unmanned lighthouses, plug in an RTG, and then just leave them. In theory, they should have run without trouble for decades.’

‘Except, as we all know, theory and practice are two different things when it comes to our former communist friends,’ said Morgan. ‘After the Soviet Union collapsed, there wasn’t the money, or even the inclination, to maintain them as they started to deteriorate. And then there was the human factor.’ He nodded to Tony.

Tony switched to a new image. This was another photograph: a makeshift camp in a snowy wilderness, the line of the leaden sea on the horizon. The flattened perspective suggested that the picture had been taken from a distance with a telephoto lens. At the centre was the core of an RTG, wrenched out of its protective cage and with several radiator vanes damaged or missing. Part of the case had been broken open, the crowbar and chisels used still lying beside it.

Also beside it were four bodies.

The Arctic cold had preserved them to an extent – enough to show how their faces had been burned and blistered, the skin a savage, molten red. From their agonised expressions and contorted positions, the men’s deaths had been far from painless.

‘August 2004,’ said Tony. ‘This is an island in the White Sea, north-west Russia. These men decided to break into one of the lighthouses and strip it of everything valuable. They got more than they bargained for. Either they didn’t know what the warning symbol meant, or they didn’t care. But when they busted open the core, they got a lethal dose of radiation, enough to kill them in minutes.’

‘And this is not the only instance,’ Morgan added. ‘There have been more than forty reported cases of raiding or vandalism of RTG-powered lighthouses in the past ten years – in one case, a stolen core was found at a bus stop in a town in Leningrad Oblast. Then there are the accidents. At least nine RTGs have been dropped from helicopters during transport or were aboard ships that sank, and have never been recovered.’

‘And these are just the ones the Russians have admitted to. Our intelligence sources have found out that as many as six RTGs have . . . disappeared.’ Tony brought up another map, the same as the first – except that half a dozen of the dots, scattered along the Russian coast, were now circled in red. ‘Teams went to check on the lighthouses, and found that their RTGs were gone. No trace, no dead looters, no signs of excessive radiation in the vicinity.’

‘They’re out there, somewhere,’ said Morgan ominously. ‘But our operation in Macau has given us a lead on one of them. Ruslan Zykov is acting as an intermediary between al-Rais and a Russian army officer, Colonel Kirill Makariy Sevnik.’

A new picture came up, a computer-generated facial composite of a middle-aged man, every deep line in his thin, tired face seemingly etched with a chisel. ‘We don’t have a photo of Sevnik, but Adam used Zykov’s persona to produce this,’ said Tony, with a brief sidelong glance at Adam on the group’s periphery. ‘It seems he’s had enough of serving in Siberia and wants to take early retirement somewhere tropical. The RTG is his retirement plan. Zykov will take a big cut, of course, but the deal will still give Sevnik five million dollars – and al-Rais a new terror weapon. He won’t be able to use it to build a bomb, but at our minimum estimate, the RTG contains enough radioactive strontium-90 to lethally poison two million people if it were released in a major city.’

A shiver of concern ran through the assembled group. ‘Adam learned from Zykov that the deal has been agreed,’ he went on. ‘Zykov hasn’t met al-Rais in person yet, but will be doing so soon to make the exchange. NSA’s now monitoring all Zykov’s phone and Internet use to find out when and where it’s going to happen – a job we made a lot easier for them by giving them all his passwords, by the way.’ The comment eased the tension slightly. ‘Once we know that . . . we can catch al-Rais.’

‘F*ckin’ A!’ said Kyle under his breath, though still loudly enough to draw a disapproving glare from Morgan.

‘Will we be involved in the mission to capture him?’ asked Holly Jo.

‘That hasn’t been decided yet,’ Morgan replied. ‘But considering the value of the information we got from Zykov, even if there were some, ah, hitches’ – Bianca, standing near Tony, looked uncomfortably at her feet – ‘I’d say we will be involved, yes. I want everybody to prep for an operation on that assumption. Once Zykov makes his move, we might not have a lot of time to react. So, get to it. Oh, and one more thing,’ he added as the meeting began to disperse. ‘Good work on the last mission.’

‘Yes, good work, all of you,’ added Kiddrick, stepping forward. ‘What the Persona Project has done is bring us one step closer to smashing al-Qaeda. Excellent work, everybody.’

‘Boo-yah!’ Kyle pumped a triumphant fist, the sympathy shared more subtly by others in the room. Everyone started to head back to their posts. Kiddrick was about to leave when Morgan took him aside, his expression stern.

Tony joined Bianca. ‘Martin really doesn’t like it when people take credit for something they had no part in,’ he said. ‘Kiddrick will have a metaphorical boot-print on his butt for a week.’

‘Shame it’s not a real one,’ she said.

‘Yeah. So, how did you like being a field agent?’

‘To be honest?’ she said. ‘Not much.’ She took a moment to reconsider. ‘All right, parts of it were almost enjoyable. The parts where I could pretend I was a glamorous international super-spy.’

‘You weren’t pretending,’ he pointed out.

That caught her off guard. ‘Wow. I suppose I wasn’t, was I?’

‘No. And you know something else?’

‘What?’

He grinned. ‘You did okay.’

‘Well, except for the part where I completely cocked things up by injecting Zykov too soon.’

He pretended to wince. ‘Yeah, that had us worried! But everything worked out okay. We got the information we needed from Zykov, and he doesn’t even know we have it. He’ll lead us right to al-Rais.’

‘So what now?’

‘Like Martin said, we wait for Zykov to make a move – and the President to decide whether we stay involved. I think we probably will be – in fact, I hope we are. I want to see this through.’

‘Well,’ said Bianca, ‘can I stay in the van rather than needing Adam to rescue me?’ She glanced in Adam’s direction, expecting to see him retreating into the Cube, but instead found him still standing there, watching her thoughtfully. Wondering what was on his mind, she looked back at Tony. ‘It seems a lot less stressful.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’ He checked his watch. ‘So, do you have any plans for this evening?’

‘Nothing beyond lying around in my hotel room . . .’ Tired from what she had been through in Macau and the long flight back to the States, it took her a moment to pick up on his subtext. ‘Why, do you have a suggestion?’ she asked, with a hint of mischief.

Tony, on the other hand, got her meaning immediately. ‘Well, it occurred to me that you haven’t had a proper chance to experience Washington yet. Maybe you’d like someone to show you around?’

‘That might be nice,’ she said, flattered by his attention. It was certainly preferable to Zykov’s. ‘Although I really am exhausted after the last couple of days, so—’

‘Bianca?’ Adam appeared beside her as though he had teleported there, taking her by surprise. ‘I wondered if you’d like to go for a drink with me this evening.’

She didn’t quite know how to react. Tony was equally startled by the proposition. ‘Er . . . what, after work?’ she finally managed.

‘Yes. I’d like to talk to you. Not about the mission,’ he clarified, seeing that both Morgan and Kiddrick had now taken an interest. ‘About . . . other things. Something that came up the other night, when you had that problem with your car.’

She was intrigued, but before she could answer, Kiddrick bustled over. ‘No, no, that’s absolutely out of the question,’ he said, interposing himself physically between Adam and Bianca. ‘I can’t allow that. This is a United States government intelligence operation, not speed dating.’

While Adam’s expression was normally inscrutable, it was now perfectly readable: disdain. ‘Is that an order?’

‘Yes, yes it is,’ Kiddrick replied huffily.

‘Well, Nate,’ said Adam, surprising everyone again with the unveiled sarcasm in his tone. ‘First: as the project’s scientific adviser, you don’t have the authority to give me orders, or anyone else for that matter. Second: what I do in my free time is my business, not yours.’

Kiddrick now resembled a beached fish, eyes wide and mouth uselessly gawping. ‘Martin!’ he finally protested. ‘You tell him!’

Morgan was clearly still annoyed with the scientist. ‘Tell him what? He’s not a soldier; he’s not confined to barracks when he’s off duty.’

‘But you know that—’ He clammed up.

Bianca couldn’t resist. ‘Know what, Nate?’

Her use of the diminutive annoyed him even more. ‘Martin!’

Morgan gave Kiddrick a stern look over the top of his glasses. ‘I know what you’re saying, but I don’t see how that applies here. Or are you suggesting Adam can’t be trusted to have one drink without bellowing national secrets down the length of K Street?’

‘No, but – alcohol could cause complications,’ he blustered. ‘We don’t know.’

‘It never caused me any trouble,’ said Tony. His expression told Bianca that while he was somewhat annoyed by Adam’s unexpected usurpation of his social offer, he wasn’t going to block it. ‘And so long as it doesn’t affect security, I don’t see any problems.’

‘Security!’ exclaimed Kiddrick, seizing a lifeline. ‘That is an issue. As an intelligence operative, Adam is strictly prohibited from unauthorised meetings with foreign nationals. And she’ – he pointed at Bianca – ‘is a foreign national.’

Bianca was already angry at his high-handed attitude, and the stab of his finger only increased her ire. ‘Excuse me, Nate, but I have full security clearance granted to me by the Director of National Intelligence himself.’ She held up her ID. ‘I think that authorises me to talk to Adam whenever I like, inside or outside the office.’

All eyes turned to Morgan. ‘I’d say that was correct, yes.’

Kiddrick went red with fury as he realised he had been outmanoeuvred. ‘This – this isn’t over!’ he spluttered, stalking away. ‘I’ll take it higher if I have to.’

Morgan started after Kiddrick. ‘Nathaniel – my office. We need to talk in private.’ He paused to look back at the little group. ‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t go bellowing national secrets down K Street.’

‘I don’t think that’ll happen,’ said Tony. Morgan nodded and followed the fuming scientist. ‘Will it?’

‘It won’t,’ Adam told him.

‘Good. Of course, none of this actually matters unless Bianca actually wants to go.’ He regarded her questioningly.

In the heat of the discussion she hadn’t had a chance to think about that, but now she knew there was only one possible answer. ‘Adam? Yes, I would love to go for a drink with you this evening.’

‘Good. Thank you,’ Adam replied. He didn’t quite smile, but he still appeared pleased.

‘Well, you kids have fun,’ Tony said, before adding with faint warning: ‘Don’t do anything crazy, okay?’

‘I’m too tired for that,’ Bianca assured him.

Adam, on the other hand, said nothing.





22


Where Nobody Knows Your Name


The bar to which Adam took Bianca was called the Rose & Crown, an ersatz British pub incongruously located on the ground floor of a glass and steel office block. ‘I thought this might make you feel at home,’ he said.

The interior was more a caricature than a reproduction of the real thing, but she decided to keep any mockery to herself. There were more interesting things to discuss. ‘Have you been in here before?’

‘I don’t know,’ he replied. On her questioning look, he went on: ‘It seems kind of familiar, but . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Which is why I wanted to talk to you, outside of STS.’

They ordered drinks, then found a table. Bianca sat facing him. ‘What did you want to talk about?’

‘The other night, when you were asking about my past, and I wouldn’t tell you?’

‘Yes?’

‘I realised afterwards that . . .’ He searched for the right words. ‘It wasn’t so much that I wouldn’t tell you. It was more that I couldn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘That’s the worst part – I don’t even know. But once I started thinking about it . . .’ He looked down at his drink for a moment, then back at her. ‘Ask me something about my past. Anything.’

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Ah . . . do you have any brothers or sisters?’

‘I can’t disc—’ he began, suddenly cutting the words off. ‘You see? I didn’t mean to say that, it just came out before I’d even had a chance to think about it. Like a programmed response.’

He was trying to cover it, but she could tell he was distressed by the realisation. ‘But do you have any brothers or sisters?’ she asked gently.

‘I’m . . . not sure,’ he managed to say.

‘What about anything else?’ The standard PERSONA questions came to her mind. ‘Do you know your mother’s maiden name?’

A look of pained puzzlement. ‘I . . . no. I don’t know.’

‘Your best friend when you were a kid?’

‘I don’t know! I never thought about it until you brought it up; it didn’t even occur to me to try. But now that I have . . .’ He rubbed his temple with his fingertips. ‘I can’t remember anything about my past. At all.’

Bianca was shocked. ‘Nothing?’

‘Nothing specific. I know general things like . . . like I was in the military – I know how to field-strip weapons, unarmed combat techniques, things like that. I even know some obscene marching songs.’ They both smiled a little at the brief injection of frivolity. ‘So I’ve been trained, and I remember the results. But I don’t remember where I was trained, or who trained me.’

‘And it’s the same for everything else about your past?’

‘Yeah. I went to school, but I don’t know where. I must have had a dog, because the other morning I saw a kid having trouble getting one to behave and I knew what he should do to train it, but I don’t remember the breed, or even its name. And I obviously must have had parents, but . . .’ A deep sadness filled his eyes. ‘I don’t remember them.’

She couldn’t help but be affected, and reached across the table to put her hand on his. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No need to be. It’s not your fault.’

‘No, but . . .’ Even in her sympathy, part of her mind was still being analytical, scientific. ‘This kind of very specific declarative memory loss is extremely rare, whatever Hollywood might think. Considering that it’s also non-ongoing, because you aren’t having trouble storing new memories . . .’ She broke off, thinking.

‘What is it?’ Adam asked.

She leaned closer, lowering her voice. ‘Isn’t it obvious? Part of what you do involves giving people drugs to suppress their short-term memories. I think somebody’s done the same to you.’

‘But my short-term memory’s fine. And I’ve never been given Mnemexal.’

‘That you remember.’

Bianca hadn’t intended the comment to be dramatic, but Adam reacted as if an electric charge had run through him. He straightened sharply, eyes wide. ‘You think someone did this to me deliberately? It’s not some PERSONA side effect?’

‘Well – I don’t know,’ she said, flustered by his sudden intensity. ‘I mean, Tony doesn’t have the same symptoms as you.’

‘You make it sound like an illness.’ He considered her wording more carefully. ‘You said symptoms, plural. There’s something else besides the amnesia?’

She blushed, knowing she was about to broach an awkward subject. ‘Um . . . okay, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way and be offended . . .’

He withdrew his hand. ‘After saying that, you’ll have to risk it, won’t you?’

‘Yeah, I suppose I will.’ She tried to think of the best way to phrase it, but all the alternatives seemed equally bad. ‘Okay. When you aren’t using someone else’s persona, your behaviour tends to be . . . unusual.’

‘In what way?’ he asked, eyes narrowing.

She felt more embarrassed than ever. ‘Oh God. How can I put this? You often seem, ah . . . blank.’

He certainly wasn’t blank now. ‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Look, I’m sorry, okay? But you asked, and I’m just telling you what I see. When you’re at STS, you almost never show any kind of . . .’ She trailed off.

Adam was not going to let her off the hook. ‘Any kind of what?’

‘Emotion?’ she managed.

‘That’s not what you were about to say. Tell me. I want to know.’ A beseeching look. ‘I need to know.’

Bianca cringed in advance. ‘I was going to say that you don’t show any . . .’ She forced out the word. ‘Personality.’

That produced the expressionless mask she was used to – except this time, it clearly was being used to conceal some very strong feelings. ‘You think I don’t have any personality.’

‘I’m saying that you don’t often show it. That’s not the same thing.’

‘Maybe I’m just a naturally reserved kind of person.’

‘Are you? You tell me.’

‘I can’t discuss . . .’ The mask broke. ‘God damn it! Why can’t I remember?’ His hands clenched into anguished fists. ‘Why can’t I even think about remembering?’

She took hold of his hands again. ‘I’m sorry. Adam, it’s okay. Look, if something was done to you to affect your memory, Roger’ll know about it. He must do – he developed the drugs. I’ll talk to him tomorrow and find out what he knows.’

‘What if he won’t tell you anything?’

‘Then I’ll poke his bullet hole until he does.’

It took him a moment to realise she was joking. ‘You know, you Brits do that whole deadpan thing really well.’

‘We are a nation of experts at hiding our true feelings.’

He smiled slightly. ‘So that’s how you made your assessment of me? It takes one to know one?’

‘Something like that.’ She returned the smile, which seemed to please him, before becoming a little wistful. ‘Although . . . there’s another reason.’

‘What?’

She leaned back in her seat. ‘I, ah . . . I lost two of my grandparents to Alzheimer’s. It was awful, watching their minds – their selves – being eaten away. But one of the worst things was not knowing how much of them was still trapped inside. Up to a certain point in the illness, occasionally a flash of the real person would come through. And when it did . . . God, I would try to hold on to it so hard. But it always slipped away.’ A morose sigh. ‘I was always watching for those flashes, though. I still do. And . . .’

‘You think you’ve seen them in me?’

‘Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘Your case is different. It’s not a disease, it’s something that’s been done to you.’

‘But you still want to hold on to those flashes?’

‘Well, I am a doctor . . .’ Bianca stopped, seeing that something behind her had caught his attention. She looked round. Two men had entered the bar. She recognised them: Spence and Fallon, members of Baxter’s tactical team in Macau. They scanned the room like human radars, locking on to Adam. ‘I don’t think they’re here for a drink,’ she said as they marched over.

‘Nor do I.’ Adam looked up as they reached the table. ‘Yes?’

‘We need you to come with us back to STS, Mr Gray,’ said Fallon.

‘Is there an emergency?’

‘I can’t say. We’re just following orders.’

‘Orders from whom?’ Bianca demanded.

No reply. ‘Well?’ said Adam. ‘Whose orders?’ Still no answer. ‘It was Kiddrick, wasn’t it?’

The two men were losing patience. ‘Mr Gray,’ said Spence, ‘come with us, please.’ The final word was an insincere afterthought.

‘Just a minute,’ said Bianca. ‘I think he deserves an answer.’

Fallon was unimpressed. ‘This doesn’t concern you, Miss Childs.’

She bristled, standing and rounding the table. ‘First of all, it’s Ms Childs, not Miss. And second of all, it’s Doctor Childs to you. He asked you a question – are you going to answer it?’

‘We’ve got our orders,’ Fallon said, patience fraying. He raised a hand as if to shove Bianca aside. ‘Mr Gray—’

Adam’s hand snapped up and grabbed his wrist.

Fallon’s reaction was almost instantaneous, the trained, automatic response of a soldier. He tried to pull his arm free, at the same time thrusting his other hand at Adam’s elbow to break it—

Adam was quicker. He sprang up, dodging Fallon’s blow. Faster than Bianca could even follow, he twisted the other man’s arm up behind his back. Fallon gasped, but the sound barely had time to pass his lips before Adam scythed his legs out from under him with a spinning kick.

Fallon crashed against Spence, both men tumbling to the floor. The bar’s other occupants looked round in shock. Bianca was in much the same state. She gawped at Adam – and found that he had a beaming, delighted smile on his face.

It widened. He grabbed her hand. ‘Run!’

Before she could protest, he pulled her with him, heading for an exit at the bar’s rear. Fallon and Spence struggled back to their feet, unhurt except for their pride.

That was enough to inflame them. Faces twisted in anger, they pursued.

‘Adam!’ Bianca cried, but his grip was unbreakable. He reached the door and barged it open. She had no choice but to run to keep up. They charged down a hallway. A glowing red sign marked a fire exit at the end. Timing his footfalls perfectly, Adam kicked the locking bar and sent it flying open. They barrelled through without stopping, emerging in an alley.

She expected him to head for the street, but instead he went the other way. ‘It’s a dead end!’ she protested, seeing only dumpsters in a ragged line against a brick wall.

‘Climb over,’ he said. Before she could reply, he had effortlessly swept her up and deposited her atop one of the bins. She gasped in surprise. Down the alley, Spence and Fallon burst through the door and charged after their quarry.

Bianca thought Adam was going to fight them, but instead he leapt up beside her. ‘Go on, climb up!’

Half scared, half exhilarated, she scrambled over the wall. The drop into another building’s loading dock was about twelve feet. She hit the ground hard and fell to an undignified landing on her backside.

Adam climbed over after her – but didn’t jump down. Instead he hung from the edge of the wall by both hands, feet up high to hold him in a frog-like crouch.

The mystery of what he was doing was revealed to Bianca a few seconds later. Metallic thunks came from the other side of the wall as Fallon and Spence climbed on to the dumpster. The latter’s face appeared over the brickwork – then Adam popped up right in front of him. ‘Boo!’

Spence let out a startled yelp, losing his hold and falling back with an echoing crash. Twin explosions of swearing told Bianca that he had knocked Fallon down with him. Adam dropped to the ground beside her. His expression as he pulled her back upright was nothing short of mischievous glee. ‘Come on!’

They ran to the street. Adam almost seemed to be dancing as he crossed the road, dodging and weaving through the cars. Bianca followed with rather more apprehension. They reached the other side and ran down the next block.

‘Stop, stop!’ Bianca gasped as they rounded a corner. While she tried to exercise as often as she could at home, the sheer unexpectedness of the chase had caught her unprepared.

Adam slowed to let her catch up. He was almost buzzing with energy. ‘Damn!’ he said, laughing. ‘That was fun.’

‘That’s your idea of fun?’ she complained. ‘Being chased by – okay, I don’t want to call them “goons”, because you work with them, but . . . by goons?’

‘They wouldn’t have hurt you.’

‘I don’t know, they seemed pretty angry.’

‘I wouldn’t have let them.’ There was a matter-of-factness to the statement that made her very glad he was on her side.

‘Won’t that cause you a lot of trouble at STS, though?’

He shook his head. ‘Those two overstepped the mark. Anyway, don’t worry about it. Are you okay?’

She recovered her breath. ‘More or less. Oh!’ She twisted to check her trousers, and found a dirty mark across her buttocks. ‘Bloody hell. I landed in some mud.’

‘Sorry. I’ll take you somewhere you can get cleaned up.’

She was about to suggest her hotel, when impulsive curiosity took over. ‘Your place?’

Adam appeared briefly surprised, but then nodded. There was not a trace of lascivious intent, though. ‘Sure. We can carry on our conversation.’

‘About?’

Another smile, but one tinged with disquiet. ‘About why that was literally the most fun I can ever remember having.’