Midnight Empire Read Online Free Page B

his alarm for 5.30 a.m. so that he could witness a desert sunrise. He decided to run, get some exercise.
    He went east in the pre-dawn. The city looked fresh, quiet and clean. Long, cold shadows out of the hills, streetlights still shining, and soon he came to a suburb, cars facing pale streets, small houses in scattered lines, palm trees rising from a few front yards.
    The air was pure and his feet beat down. He took intersections randomly, jogged by garbage cans and children’s bicycles flopped sideways and a hula hoop in the middle of the road. There was the wire-hum of the power lines overhead. Not much activity on the streets—a few vans, a woman walking a dog, lights in the occasional kitchen, a man in a singlet staring into the dim.
    When the sun broke the crest of the hill he felt its warm light on his face. He started to feel a burn in his legs. Cars went by but on the streets there was hardly a soul.
    He crossed motorways and came to T-intersections and ventured down cul-de-sacs. He focused on his body, on a clarity of mind. The sky turned from darkest blue to light. A dog snarled at him through a fence while a child’s voice playfully called its name.
    Secular confessions. The idea of meeting the CIA made him uneasy. He didn’t understand why they wanted to interview him. He’d already been cleared top secret by the Australian Government, and the American DoD had informed LinkLock that that would be enough.
    He changed into a collared shirt and checked the adequacy of his shave.
    John Henderson buzzed at a minute past eleven, a man in his fifties with a moustache and wiry eyebrows, bifocals and a fair gut; sweaty. They sat at the lounge setting, Henderson with his briefcase open on the coffee table.
    â€˜Australia,’ he said. ‘Now why would you leave it?’
    â€˜Foolish, I suppose.’
    â€˜What age are you?’
    â€˜Twenty-six.’
    â€˜At twenty-six I was half as dumb. Are you married?’
    â€˜Girlfriend.’
    â€˜Burning the home fires?’
    â€˜In Canberra.’
    â€˜You’re an engineer?’
    â€˜Communications.’
    â€˜Networks.’
    â€˜That’s right.’
    â€˜So why am I here? You’re Australian and you’re technical. Should be a free pass.’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    â€˜What will you be doing at Creech?’
    â€˜Encryption.’
    â€˜Boring.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Technical.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Well, I guess we ought to start.’ Henderson took a document and an audio recorder from the briefcase. ‘Takes about an hour,’ he said. ‘If I ask a question that you don’t understand, get me to explain it. If you understand it but want to know why it’s relevant, ask me why it’s relevant.’
    â€˜Okay.’
    â€˜It’s routine, but answer honestly.’
    They began with his family. His father, Daniel said, was a banker, but not an investment banker, and he’d worked at the same bank for thirty years. His mother was a teacher. She worked with special-need students. His sister Jane lived in Gippsland, managing a farm with her husband on behalf of a Melbourne lawyer.
    His childhood had been nothing special, wet winters and dry summers and the things that children do.
    No, he’d never had a mental health problem. He’d never taken antidepressants and had no family history of schizophrenia.
    He’d never been in a fight. He’d never had a dispute with his employers, business partners or neighbours.
    He was not in debt. He had savings of thirty-four thousand Australian dollars, a Toyota worth eight thousand dollars and access to twenty-five thousand dollars on two credit cards.
    He rarely gambled.
    He knew two journalists, both friends of his girlfriend’s, but neither very well. He’d never written to a newspaper; had never even blogged.
    He’d never cheated on Hannah. She’d never cheated on him.
    He trusted