Endworlds - Nicholas Read [50]
“WE’VE HAD another break-in?”
Alex McGregor, Burroughs Labs’ Chief of Security, stood facing the open door. Within the underground vault were kept the alpha versions of the laboratory’s especially sensitive projects. Not sensitive because they were likely to break, but sensitive because the less the public knew about them, the better.
Accompanied by lab chief Dimitri Hemmel, he entered the laboratory vault and paused before a shelf labeled ‘Detrusion Project XII’. Atop the shelf was a small case of transparent polycarbonate. The case was empty.
It contained, or had contained, two-dozen small cylinders not much bigger than a fingernail. Each tube represented thousands of hours of development. The extraordinary little batteries were being built to power military communications in the field for weeks on end without the need for troops to recharge. Substituting another, far more common element for the rarer lithium to be found in similar batteries, they were less prone to overheating and designed to last far longer. The battlefield applications were numerous, the commercial potential profound.
There wasn’t a military or industrial concern on the planet that wouldn’t have given anything to gain access to the battery’s design specifications. Likewise there was no limit to what outsiders would pay for an actual sample.
So who had paid for the theft of all twelve prototypes? That was a question for the industrial forensics specialists, McGregor knew. As Security Chief, he was far more interested in how the vault had been entered again. Not to mention the matter of the lock on the polycarbonate box itself, to which only three company scientists supposedly had access.
All three, including Hemmel, had been subjected to rigorous questioning. Despite the exhaustive interrogation none of the three had protested at their treatment. A bad sign, he knew. It meant that all three were likely innocent. It meant that he had no leads.
Coupled with last month’s disappearance of the microwave pistols from the same complex, it also meant that his job was in jeopardy.
He had not risen to his present position by being a careless man. If anything, his reputation for being overly cautious, plotting every conceivable way to beat his own security measures and then plugging those gaps, had earned him the industry’s accolades. Since the theft of the pistols he had personally reviewed every security protocol, every personnel dossier, every unexpected means of entry. He had even assigned the task to several think-tank teams in different countries, concerned that as designer of the security systems he might be too close to the problem to see something obvious.
The results were discouraging. No omission could be found. No method of illegal entry presented itself.
How did one go about rectifying an oversight that could not be identified?
“When was the last time you yourself saw or worked with the batteries?”
Hemmel had a bad habit of cracking his knuckles when he was nervous. In the confines of the vault the sound was doubly irritating.
“Two days ago.” He pointed at the case. “They were all in there two days ago. Every one of them. I know; I counted.”
“So you were the last one to see and work with them, then?”
The scientist nodded, sipping at coffee long cold in the cup. “My team was together, yes. The devices are fully functional already, but we think we can reduce the weight even further by shaving the casing.” He looked helpless. “Now the whole program is going to be set back by months while we develop a new set. Not to mention how this impacts my budget.” He eyed the Security Chief. “Who do you think took them, Alex?”
McGregor shook his head irritably. “We haven’t a clue. The security recordings