missing, he had requested authorization to use every tool available to catch him, but the computer specialist had proven a crafty opponent. He had avoided detection at every transport hub he must have used, and Anderson feared that he might have disappeared from the grid entirely.
But then fate had intervened, voice recognition software capturing a call from a payphone to the amusement park, Janklow’s voice requesting details of the opening times.
Anderson had reacted instantly, setting up observation posts around the park and putting it under constant surveillance. It had taken time, though, and Anderson had worried that Janklow might already have visited the park and left, to be lost once more. It also occurred to him that it was a red herring, Janklow’s idea of a joke to waste his pursuers’ time.
But then his men had seen him, first entering the park and then meeting up with the woman. It was obvious she was a contact, someone he had arranged to meet. But who the hell was she, and why was Janklow meeting her? Was she a girlfriend? Someone in law enforcement or government? Or even – and this would probably be the worst outcome – a reporter of some sort?
Anderson had ordered high-definition pictures taken, and government supercomputers were hard at work trying to identify her. But Anderson had ordered her death anyway, along with Janklow; he couldn’t take the risk of the information getting out.
But now she had escaped, this mysterious woman, and she carried who only knew what information from Janklow, with which she was going to do who knew what. And he still didn’t even know who she was.
But he did know one thing, he told himself as he leant back in his chair, stretching his aching body. Whoever she was, he was going to find her.
5
G ENERAL D AVID T OMKIN stretched out in his seat as he took the call, trying to get some life back into his tired limbs. He had spent a lifetime in the military, and had fought on every front his country had been involved in for the past thirty years, first as an infantry officer, then in Special Forces, and later in intelligence. He was an active man, even now in his late fifties, and the sheer inactivity of his latest job was enough to make him scream.
He was, admittedly, the highest-ranking military officer in his nation’s esteemed armed forces, a position he was proud to have been granted, and one he took very seriously indeed. But despite the important and highly prestigious office that he held, the fact remained that he no longer actually had any operational command over combatant forces; the role of Chairman of the Joint Chiefs was advisory only, and as such Tomkin spent far more time than he would have liked behind a desk.
But the job meant that he was enormously influential; he had command over personnel and budgets, and had control over the structure and utilization of the world’s most powerful military force. His ability to work the budgets was one he had never foreseen being so expert at. Back when he had been leading platoon attacks against hostile militias down in the world’s worst hellholes, fiscal policy was the very last thing on his mind. But over the years, as he had progressed through the ranks, he had realized the importance of correctly organized budgets; correctly organized in the sense that certain ‘black’ projects could be lost, forever beyond political scrutiny. He had developed a certain skill at manipulating military budgets over the years, and was now able to hide such programmes – weapons research, illegal prisons for terrorist suspects, covert ‘snatch squads’, paramilitary hit teams – in places that would never be found by prying eyes.
It was this skill that had brought John Jeffries, the Secretary of Defence, to call him that morning. ‘John,’ Tomkin said warmly as he picked up the secure line, ‘how are you doing?’
‘Good, David,’ Jeffries responded with equal warmth. ‘How’s the family?’
‘Can’t
But then fate had intervened, voice recognition software capturing a call from a payphone to the amusement park, Janklow’s voice requesting details of the opening times.
Anderson had reacted instantly, setting up observation posts around the park and putting it under constant surveillance. It had taken time, though, and Anderson had worried that Janklow might already have visited the park and left, to be lost once more. It also occurred to him that it was a red herring, Janklow’s idea of a joke to waste his pursuers’ time.
But then his men had seen him, first entering the park and then meeting up with the woman. It was obvious she was a contact, someone he had arranged to meet. But who the hell was she, and why was Janklow meeting her? Was she a girlfriend? Someone in law enforcement or government? Or even – and this would probably be the worst outcome – a reporter of some sort?
Anderson had ordered high-definition pictures taken, and government supercomputers were hard at work trying to identify her. But Anderson had ordered her death anyway, along with Janklow; he couldn’t take the risk of the information getting out.
But now she had escaped, this mysterious woman, and she carried who only knew what information from Janklow, with which she was going to do who knew what. And he still didn’t even know who she was.
But he did know one thing, he told himself as he leant back in his chair, stretching his aching body. Whoever she was, he was going to find her.
5
G ENERAL D AVID T OMKIN stretched out in his seat as he took the call, trying to get some life back into his tired limbs. He had spent a lifetime in the military, and had fought on every front his country had been involved in for the past thirty years, first as an infantry officer, then in Special Forces, and later in intelligence. He was an active man, even now in his late fifties, and the sheer inactivity of his latest job was enough to make him scream.
He was, admittedly, the highest-ranking military officer in his nation’s esteemed armed forces, a position he was proud to have been granted, and one he took very seriously indeed. But despite the important and highly prestigious office that he held, the fact remained that he no longer actually had any operational command over combatant forces; the role of Chairman of the Joint Chiefs was advisory only, and as such Tomkin spent far more time than he would have liked behind a desk.
But the job meant that he was enormously influential; he had command over personnel and budgets, and had control over the structure and utilization of the world’s most powerful military force. His ability to work the budgets was one he had never foreseen being so expert at. Back when he had been leading platoon attacks against hostile militias down in the world’s worst hellholes, fiscal policy was the very last thing on his mind. But over the years, as he had progressed through the ranks, he had realized the importance of correctly organized budgets; correctly organized in the sense that certain ‘black’ projects could be lost, forever beyond political scrutiny. He had developed a certain skill at manipulating military budgets over the years, and was now able to hide such programmes – weapons research, illegal prisons for terrorist suspects, covert ‘snatch squads’, paramilitary hit teams – in places that would never be found by prying eyes.
It was this skill that had brought John Jeffries, the Secretary of Defence, to call him that morning. ‘John,’ Tomkin said warmly as he picked up the secure line, ‘how are you doing?’
‘Good, David,’ Jeffries responded with equal warmth. ‘How’s the family?’
‘Can’t
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