Alchemist by Peter James

of its position accurate to within ten feet – together with a written description of its location and a road map to any desired scale. The computer also recorded a log of all the vehicle’s journeys for the preceding four weeks, and compared it against a log of the previous twelve months to show any significant change in pattern.
    Another system on this floor was Gunn’s own invention and he was particularly proud of it: ‘Retrace’. Every time an employee swiped their smart-card or inserted it to move through a door, a signal was transmitted to Gunn’s database. The computer would analyse each employee’s movements over the previous month and compare it to the pattern of the previous twelve months, and alert Gunn of any significant variations that should be checked out.
    Less sophisticated aspects of Gunn’s monitoring set-up included the ability, from his own office, to listen in on any telephone call made to or from any Bendix Schere building, and the ability to eavesdrop on any conversation taking place on company territory. Additionally, all laboratory activity could be observed through closed-circuit television.
    Satisfied that everything was running smoothly, he returned to his comfortable lair on the forty-eighth floor, closed the door, sat down in front of his battery of screens, and turned to the next item in his unvarying weekly routine:
new employees
. He tapped a key and brought up the list.
    The name ‘Conor Molloy’ was one of three on the list of twenty names that was highlighted. Gunn tapped in the command for Conor’s computer log and saw there had been very little activity. One eMail, from Charley Rowley, this morning, and one Colleague Data Sheet filled in. He activated ‘Retrace’ and checked Conor’s movements yesterday. It looked like a pretty thorough introductory tour. No worries. Then he called up the Colleague Data Sheet and looked at it carefully.
    Only two points short of the maximum. He frowned. Charley Rowley had been on his danger list for a long time as someone with an attitude problem. It was improbable thatanyone of sound judgement would award him such a ludicrously high score. It indicated either that Conor Molloy’s character-assessment abilities might be suspect, or that he was trying to suck up, or that he had simply made up the score.
    It wasn’t uncommon for new employees to give high marks out of fear of retribution. They needn’t worry about that – the comments were kept completely confidential, but of course they had no way of knowing that. Conor Molloy had done nothing serious by his action, not lit a warning beacon or anything as dramatic as that, but it was, all the same, just one tiny mark against his name. Sometimes, Gunn had found, enough tiny marks would start, eventually, to point to something. And Gunn already felt a slight unease about the new American patent lawyer.
    There was nothing specific, no colours he could nail to a mast, but from his years of surveillance he had developed an instinct for people who were up to something, and that instinct was telling him to watch Molloy.
    He called up Conor’s original application details and read through them carefully. The American had an impeccable background, that was for sure. Biochemistry degree cum summa from Harvard. Masters at Stanford in Organic Chemistry. Two years in Molecular Biology at Carnegie Mellon. Three years back at Harvard at law school, taking his bar and then Patent Office exams. Finishing Harvard, he had been head-hunted and grabbed by Merck, where he had spent two years in the patent department.
    Merck was the fourth largest pharmaceutical company in the world. They were good employers and good payers. So why had Molloy switched horses? The reason was right there on the application form: Molloy believed that Bendix Schere had a more progressive genetics programme. Fine, that was true, Gunn had no quarrel with that. Bendix Schere