Conspiracy Theory Pt. 03

"I'm sure I could arrange something if the Department felt it necessary." Rachel found her mind suddenly alert.

"I have the details here. How is it going with the regular members of the Committee at the time?"

"Three down, two to go." Rachel replied.

"Excellent," Denby paused. "You know I find it rather thrilling to be engaged in all this top secret shenanigans. It's such a long way from my usual activities. Oh yes, my contact asked me to say that a further ex-gratia payment will be arranged. You should find a passbook in the post."

It was a sore point that she was only on 27K a year. But even more than the money the knowledge that she was part of a super secret inner group within the Security Service really fed her ego.

'It's some low level press hound by the name of Hemmings." He said. "I'll forward the specifics to you." whatever he thought of her she was efficient.

"I understand Sir Lucas. Please tell your contact that I'll get to work on it as soon as the others are taken care of." The call ended as abruptly as it began, allowing Rachel to return to her bed. However, her thoughts were turned to matters beyond sleep.

After he'd put the phone down he considered matters briefly. He'd paid her three thousand pounds of his own money, ostensibly on behalf of his 'highest level MI5 contact'. He didn't have that much use for money. The children were all grown up and making their way in life, and Marjory had gone off with her lover to some ghastly place in America. Texas or Milwaukee or somewhere. That had been a real godsend.

So finding a few thousand pounds for this greedy bitch hadn't been a problem. And now thanks to Oracle there was no problem in providing any level of income he needed. He could imagine her eyes gleaming as she opened the passbook and realized what she had.

.

****

The Voice, Ludgate Circus

11:35 am

It was mid morning by the time Amy and Dan got into the office. After reporting the two break ins to the Police, Amy sat at her desk and plugged her laptop into the PC to begin transferring data across from one to the other.

"I've got to see Paul," Dan said, as Amy got comfortable. "I'll be back in a minute." She nodded as the two machines began to talk to each other, information passing through the narrow USB cable that anchored one to the other. She closed her eyes for a moment while the machines did their work.

****

Rachel locked the door to her flat and made her way down to the secure parking facilities that her building enjoyed – which was something of bonus in central London. She opened the boot and removed a couple of items stored within a bag. Making sure there weren't any prying eyes she then located one of several pairs of alternative number plates. Twenty minutes later the car drove out of the secure car park and into the damp morning air.

****

"There's something wrong with my computer." Amy's voice was cracking slightly. Dan looked at her.

"Define wrong." He said.

"Like there are things missing from it." Now she sounded worried. She turned in her chair to face the rest of the bullpen. "Has anyone been sitting in this desk since last night?" There was a generally negative response to her question.

"Maybe you've just put them in another folder." Dan said as he got up and moved around to her side of the desk. "I'm always doing that…" As he stood and looked at her screen he could see the generic layout of their word processing system staring back at him. "Have you tried doing a search?"

"Yes, I've tried that." Her irritation was more evident now. "And something else has vanished since I logged on…" Amy moved the cursor over another folder and double-clicked it. "These are the transcriptions of our interviews, source notes and…" as she spoke the small icon on the screen vanished.

"What the fuck…" Dan said as he watched it happen before his eyes. "Did you press anything?"

"No, nothing." Amy said – as a second file vanished, then a third.

"Jesus, someone's hacking into your PC." The realisation hit Dan like a brick. He scurried around the back of the machine and quickly unplugged the data access cable from it, severing the connection to the network. At the same time Amy yanked the connection between the PC and the laptop.

"There – it's stopped." She said as they stood and watched the screen for a few minutes.

"Did they get anything from the laptop?" Dan asked. Amy scanned through the files that were on the hard drive.

"No – looks like they went for the PC first."

"Okay – delete everything off the PC that's important. We'll have to try and keep all the electronic files on the laptop for now." Dan said.

"What about you?" Amy asked. "Maybe you should check your PC to be on the safe side?"

"I'm okay," he answered as he patted his briefcase. "All my notes are written down in here – I've never trusted a machine to keep them safe." He pushed the connection cables back into the hard drive casing. "Anything?"

"Yeah – the system seems to be rebooting." Amy realised she was holding her breath. "It's up now." She clicked the mouse around the screen and brought her working environment back to life. "Shit – they've gone."

"All of them?" Dan asked.

"Most of them." She slumped in her chair. "Oh, hang on…" the mouse moved over to her e-mail inbox that was flashing at her, indicating she had received a new message. She opened it – and found it bemusing to her.

To: amy.hemmings@newsmedia.com

From: ilovebees.com

William Hamilton

"What is going on?" Amy said as Dan looked at the obscure message. "First of all someone hacks into my computer and starts erasing files, then I get some weird e-mail…" her eyes widened as something clicked. "Shit! That's it – William Hamilton was one of the contractors bidding at that software committee."

"And?" Dan asked, equally confused.

"He's the only one of the bidders who didn't get a look in – he was from the Midlands from what I recall – he's also the only guy I haven't been able to get hold of yet." Amy answered as she trawled through the piles of minutes and notes from the committee that she had received by courier late the previous evening. "There! That's it – he was giving the last presentation."

Dan snatched the piece of paper from her and looked at it. There, at the bottom of the sheet was William Hamilton's name – and right next to it was the name of his presentation.

Oracle

****

When Simmons got into his office after completing various menial errands he found himself staring at a vaguely familiar Japanese woman sitting at his desk.

"So you're the mysterious visitor the desk sergeant mentioned?" He asked as he closed the door behind him. "I have to say, I was expecting someone else." He paused for a moment to take off his jacket. "You were with Pryke the other night weren't you?"

"Correct," Yuriko replied. "My name is Yuriko Obato and Pryke-san believed I might be able to assist you in your investigation – it appears that we have several mutual interests."

"Mmm," Simmons mumbled as Yuriko handed a small wallet to him. He looked at it and then passed it back to her. "Okay – you tell me what you know and I'll do the same." He turned back towards the door. "But I need a drink before we begin."

****

"So, who first?" Amy asked as she followed Dan out of the office.

"I'll see Armstrong, you see what you can find out about Hamilton." Dan said as they reached his car. "I'll drop you at the station and meet you back here tonight."

****

"So, let me get this straight," Simmons said as he cradled his cooling cup of tea. "You're telling me that William Hamilton, a computer software engineer based out of the Midlands, designed a rudimentary artificial intelligence and was killed by somebody in order to steal it? Why didn't they just buy it off him?"

"Too much of a paper trail," Yuriko said matter-of-factly. "And too much of a risk he could duplicate and improve upon his work."

"How do you know about it?" The question had been burning away at the back of Simmons' head since they had started talking.

"Ah," Yuriko began to speak as her face flushed. "I am…ashamed to say that I was part of a team who tried to steal the software some five years ago. Our action was not entirely unsuccessful. However recent events have convinced me that the program has now evolved beyond its original parameters."

"And some guy from Birmingham developed this?"

"Detective Simmons, what do you understand artificial intelligence to be?" Yuriko countered his question with one of her own. Simmons responded with a shrug of his shoulders. "Whenever you use a search engine on the Internet, that's a rudimentary form or artificial intelligence – you input your parameters and ask it to locate relevant pages for you to view. The ASIMO robot designed by Honda is a functional artificial intelligence within a series of defined parameters that are child-like in their simplicity, yet it's capable of complex interactions with consumers," she took a sip from the glass of water Simmons had provided for her. "This program – the Oracle – is far more advanced than any of these and from both of our experiences it is capable of covertly entering foreign environments, adapting to them very, very quickly and exploiting them."

"You mean the benefit system in the UK and your mainframe system in Japan, right?"

"Precisely," Yuriko answered. "Whoever is using this program is testing its abilities so far, seeing what it's really capable of." She took another sip. "My concern – and that of my superiors – is that it may become corrupted from its original purpose into something dangerous."

"Hmm," Simmons muttered as he removed the files from his desk draw. "Well, this is what I have…"

Thornton Road, Bradford

8:48 pm

The Conservative Party constituency office was a substantial detached house in an area that had seen better times. The surgery finished at nine pm, but with the rain Rachel had seen no one enter for twenty minutes. The salmon coloured duffle coat gave her some protection as she finally walked over the road and entered. The surgery room was on the left so she knocked and entered. In her left hand she held the coke bottle she had taped to the muzzle of her black market 9mm Makarov automatic.

There were two people in the room. One was a tall balding white Englishman in a lounge suit and wearing a blue tie over his striped shirt. He was sitting at a desk with a computer watching a monitor. Her target was just putting her coat on.

"I'm afraid we've just finished for the evening. Unless it is really urgent." Anita Rodriguez looked smart in a navy skirt suit. Several strands of pearls were visible over the cream blouse.

"Oh I can safely say it's a matter of life and death," said Rachel. She raised the bottle to eye level with her left as her right hand moved over and slipped around the automatic's butt.

"I know you," said Anita.

"Too bad," replied Rachel and squeezed the trigger.

Ploomph!

Part of her noticed the inside of the bottle turn opaque as the gasses from the explosion were contained. But her main attention was focussed on the man who slipped sideways from his chair with a small black hole partly hidden by the grey hair. A wash of red partly covered the monitor and keyboard. One down!

Rodriguez had opened her mouth to scream as Rachel fired again.

Bloomph! Blamph!

The noise of each discharge was louder as the containment was reduced by the enlarging hole in the base of the bottle. Her target's scream was reduced to a moan as the two bullets impacted her chest and pushed her breath from her. Her hands fluttered as she stepped backwards to compensate for the impacts.

Rachel walked forward and pressed the bottle against Rodriguez. With the seal restored by the woman's body the noise was further reduced.

Plup! Plup! Plup! Plup!

Rachel angled the awkward weapon downwards and moved the aim to send the bullets tearing through her target's lungs and heart.

"MI 5," said Rodriguez, then her face twisted and she slumped to the floor. Her body shook for a moment but Rachel was too busy tossing leaflets on to the floor. She tore the bottle free and dropped it, slipping the empty Makarov into her pocket. Then she drew out the spray can.

TRAITER she sprayed on the man's back. ASEANS GO HOME on the wall above the woman. There! The racist slang and poor spelling should focus attention on the BNP fringe. She gave one quick professional check of the woman. Blood had flowed over her chin but otherwise she hadn't moved. Her eyes stared back accusingly but there was no animation there. Mission accomplished!

She'd toss the gun and spray can on her way back south. For now she headed back out into the rain and to where her car was parked a hundred yards down the road.

****

Dan poured himself a drink as he looked over his notes from his interview with Robert Armstrong. He allowed himself a moment to look over the comments he'd written down. He swilled the liquid around in his glass as he re-read them again. He picked up his phone and pressed the redial button. As he bought the handset up to his ear he took a swig from the glass.

"Amy?" he asked as the phone was answered. "It's Dan."

"Evening," she answered. "I've just got back." He could hear her moving around her flat. "Those new keys I ordered turned up and its taken bloody ages to get in."

"How was your trip?" he asked, making a mental note to do the same thing with his own property in the morning.

"Another dead end," Amy answered. "Literally – William Hamilton died in a house fire five years ago."

"What?"

"Yeah – apparently it was ruled as an accident – I'm just about to type up the transcript and e-mail it over to you." Amy replied.

"Well Armstrong was a case of more of the same really," Dan replied. "Although he was more illuminating than anything else we've had so far – if a little excitable."

"Do you know that he's the ninety sixth interview that we've conducted looking into this thing?" Amy said as Dan could hear the sound of her fingers dancing over keys.

"Ninety six?" Dan sounded shocked. "Wow – normally I get to about ten and everything unravels, this is something of a record for me." He fired up his own PC. "Right, I'll get this typed up and I'll talk to you in a bit."

He put the phone down and started typing

From interview Number 96 with Robert Armstrong, (Department of Trade and Industry)

A: Yes I remember the Oracle trials. It was a real pity. The program was really something. Okay the compression wasn't so good. We had to continuously attach more memory. But it behaved almost like an AI. It wouldn't just try and brute force the other applications. It could recognise patterns and take shortcuts in the process.

C: How do you mean?

A: Basically there are only two ways to tackle this kind of project. Link up half a dozen Crays and run them until they get something. Brute force like I said. Or you can do something intuitive. That's what Hamilton did. The guy was a real genius. I gather he topped himself when they wouldn't take it on board. What a waste!

C: There were several teams working on the evaluation I believe.

A: Four I think. Each was kept separate to make the results more statistically valid. Our evaluation was Oracle C.

C: And it was impressive?

A: Brilliant. It passed every test. Apart from the memory thing the only negative was that there was no real organisation behind him for software support and upgrade. Mind it passed every test we could come up with. But there would have been bugs.

(A pauses)

Off the record we tried to muck around with it a bit. We had a sixty-day limit on the evaluation. When we had two days to go we tried to make a copy to get another sixty days but it detected it right off and shut down early.

C: But it was good

A: The evaluation was five years ago but I've not seen anything nearly as good in the field even today.

When he had finished he called up his e-mail and opened Amy's notes.

Extract from Interval number 87 with George Tipplewell Fire Officer (retired)

Amy: You were the local station officer and were at the fire. So how did Hamilton die?

Tipplewell: You'd have to get the details from the post mortem but it was basically suffocation due to smoke inhalation. Not that there was much left of him to do the PM on.

A: What about the fire? Was arson suspected?

T: We are always suspicious but no, not really. He was one of these nerdy types who'd spent all his time at his computer. Some big project hadn't worked out and his friends said he was pretty low.

A: Nothing out of the ordinary then?

T: There was some evidence of accelerant present. A point source that looked to have been a bottle of methylated spirits. There are all sorts of domestic uses for that. And there was a trace of what seems to have been whisky. So it was probably just an accident and that's what the Coroner ruled. Accidental death. If it had been arson I would have expected several sources of conflagration and there was just the one. As I recall the victim had a younger sister and the coroner probably didn't want to leave room for any query about suicide.

A: So accidental death or suicide?

T: The coroner said accidental and that's good enough for me.

"So, we have a dead programmer and a missing program that no one can find." Dan said as he swilled back another drink half an hour after reading through Amy's notes. The time in between he had been thinking furiously. Then he called mailed Amy his interview notes with Armstrong and then called her back.

'You realize what this means, Amy? All these deaths can't be a coincidence.'

"Oh my god,' responded Amy as the realization sank in. 'This really is a conspiracy Dan. Every regular member of that committee except Sir Lucas Denby, Darren Priest and the secretary recording things has died in the last two weeks." Amy said as she read his notes on her computer. "The irony is that the fact that those fundamentalists tried to blow him up with that bomb six years ago may have saved Denby's life! He got a MI5 bodyguard after the attempt on his life. Without the protection he might well be there too. Someone is arranging deaths," Amy said. "And they are doing it wholesale!"

'Right. Get to the office as quick as you can in the morning. Bring what you've got and I'll, no we'll put it to Pete." Dan said. "Oh, and Amy, well done.'

Friday, 7:13 am

If she was going to be with the editor for a major meeting she wasn't going in dressed like a slob, thought Amy. She piled up the stuff she'd got ready then headed upstairs. She got her smart suit and a clean shirt out and laid them on the bed. Then she stripped off and headed for the shower.

****

Killing a member of the press is a dangerous business. They will try hard to avenge their own, and along the way give the killing a lot of publicity. Rachel had considered and rejected a hit and run. This time it was just too iffy. A shooting would focus attention on what she was researching. A mugging might be possible. But Rachel also wanted to remove any notes that Amy might have made. That only really left a crazed random killer.

This was by way of a reconnaissance. She could bug the place and then come back when she knew Amy was alone. But as she entered she heard the sound of a power shower. It was a pretty small flat. Rachel was actually surprised that a junior reporter could afford the rent. But the shower offered her the ideal opportunity.