Free Decoy by Simon Mockler Page B

lead us to. A good old-fashioned bluff. Classic cold war tactics. Like I said, the world might have gone high-tech but human psychology remains the same.”
    Jack looked at the device, thinking of the nine patients in the lab, thinking it was a high price to pay for a bluff that might not pay off. It was only a matter of luck he hadn’t suffered the same fate as them.
    â€œI had two questions, Sir Clive. You’ve answered the first but not the second. What do you want with me?”

17
    Later that night, as Amanda nestled in the crook of his arm, sated and sleepy after their love-making, he thought about Sir Clive’s offer. Part of him had known what the man was going to suggest before he said it, but he still wanted to hear it out loud. Let the last device be taken. Let the people who’d attacked the ward and murdered nine people cut it from inside him. The only way for the bluff to work. The devices had to be sold as a group of ten. The information they’d leaked in the run up to the theft had stated that specifically. Without a sale they’d have no idea who the players might be in a future cyber war. No way of making an effective pre-emptive strike.
    His head was telling him not to do it, to forget it and get back to the routine of his student life in Cambridge, but his heart was saying something different He’d been presented with a choice, a challenge, the chance to prove himself. As he wrestled with the decision he thought about Paul, his brother, the dark thoughts he had bottled up and placed out of reach. Childhood memories too painful to revisit.
    Paul was three years older. A lifetime when their ages were eight and eleven. They were playing in the snow outside the Herefordshire army base. A winter day, the cold air cutting through their wool scarves as the evening sun dragged the last minutes of daylight below the horizon. Jack was throwing snowballs, his brother ignoring him, saying they needed to get home. He remembered getting angry, he remembered trying to get his older brother’s attention. Paul was dad’s favourite, the strongest swimmer, the fastest runner. He always tried to act the grown up. Wouldn’t rise to Jack’s taunts.
    â€œHey Paul, look at me, look at me Paul, bet you can’t do this,” Jack had climbed on to the edge of the frozen lake, edging out cautiously, sliding his feet.
    â€œLook at me Paul, I’m the best skater and you can’t do it cos you’re a stupid scaredy cat,” he shouted, skidding over the ice, almost at the centre. “Scaredy cat scaredy cat sitting on the door mat!”
    â€œCome back Jack, don’t be stupid,” his brother finally replied. Only eleven years old, but already he knew the difference between stupidity and bravery.
    Jack realised he had Paul’s attention around the same time he realised the ice underneath him was starting to give way. A sharp crack, an unearthly creaking, like an ancient wooden ship. Then the black water seeping up onto the frozen white surface, covering his wellington boots. He turned towards his brother, his face no longer taunting. His face a picture of undisguised panic.
    The cold came upon him suddenly, paralysing, engulfing him in darkness. The world turned upside down. He flung his arms outwards, trying to grab at something, anything, but all he felt was ice, the water filling his mouth as he tried to scream.
    The next thing he remembered was hands pushing him upwards, pushing him towards the edge of the lake, smashing the ice in front of him, breaking a way through. He scrambled forwards, reached for the side, his fingers grabbing at the grass beneath the snow, numb to the knuckles, gasping for breath, coughing up water and rolling onto his back.

    Paul climbed slowly up the bank, stood over him, bent double.
    â€œIdiot,” he said, shaking his head, holding out his arm. Jack was too cold to cry. He reached up and took his brother’s hand. They