SPY LIFE

NINTENTION

Nintention. Alan remembered the file he had found in his dads office. Things were beginning to come together.

“The Nintention is being manufactured by Mantis Holdings, It is a high tech Integrated chip” Mrs. Sami said. “There‟s been a lot of talk about the design."

“It doesn‟t only look different,” Spencer cut in. “It‟s based on a completely new technology. It uses something called the Matrix processor. I don‟t suppose that will mean anything to you.”

“It‟s an integrated circuit on a sphere of silicon about one millimeter in diameter and many dimentional with highquality fibre material,” Alan said. “It‟s ninety percent cheaper to produce than an ordinary chip because the whole thing is sealed in so you don‟t need clean rooms for production.”

“Oh. Yes…” Spencer coughed. “I‟m surprised you know so much about it.”

“It must be my age,” Alex remarked.

“Well,” Spencer continued, “the point is, later today, Mantis Holdings are going to make a quite remarkable announcement. They are planning to give away tens of thousands of these high tech chips that can be programmed to any use.. It‟s an unparalleled act of generosity.”

“So the man‟s a hero.”

“So it would seem. He wrote to Downing Street a few months ago:

"dear Prime Minister. You may remember me from our school days together. For almost forty years I have lived in England and I wish to make a gesture, something that will never be forgotten, to express my true feelings toward your country.‟ The letter went on to describe the gift and was signed, „Yours humbly,‟ by the man himself.

Of course, the whole government was excited. The Cips are being assembled at the down in Port Tallon, Cornwall. They‟ll be shipped across the country at the end of this month, and on April first there‟s to be a special ceremony at the Science Museum in London. The prime minister is going to press the button that will bring all the programmable chips on-line … the whole lot of them. And—this is top secret, by the way—Mr. Manits is to be rewarded with British citizenship, which is something he has apparently always wanted.”

“Well, I‟m very happy for him,” Alan said. “But you still haven‟t told me what this has got to do with me.” Spencer glanced at Mrs. Sami, who had finished her meal while he was talking. She unwrapped another peppermint and took over. “For some time now, this department—Special Operations—has been concerned about Mr. Mantis. The fact of the matter is, we‟ve been wondering if he isn‟t too good to be true. I won‟t go into all the details, Alan, but we‟ve been looking at his business dealings—he has contacts in China and the former Soviet Union, countries that have never been our friends. The government may think he‟s a saint, but there‟s a ruthless side to him too. And the security arrangements down at Port Tallon worry us. He‟s more or less formed his own private army. He‟s acting as if he‟s got something to hide.” “Not that anyone will listen to us,” Spencer muttered

“Exactly. The government‟s too keen to get their hands on these computers to listen to us. That was why we decided to send our own man down to the plant. Supposedly to check on security. But, in fact, his job was to keep an eye on Mantis. He was there for three weeks and, like us, he didn‟t exactly take to Mr. Mantis. In his first reports he described him as short-tempered and unpleasant. But at the same time, he had to admit that everything seemed to be fine. Production was on schedule. The NINTENTIONS were coming off the line. And everyone seemed to be happy. “But then we got a message. Our guy = couldn‟t say very much because it was an open line, but he told us that something had happened. He said he‟d discovered something. That the Nintentons mustn‟t leave the plant and that he was coming up to London at once. He left Port Tallon at four o‟clock. He never even got to the freeway. He was ambushed in a quiet country lane. The local police found the car. We arranged for it to be brought up here.” Alan sat in silence. He could imagine it. A twisting lane with the trees just in blossom. The silver BMW gleaming as it raced past. And, around a corner, a second car waiting …

“Why are you telling me all this?” he asked. “It proves what we were saying,” Spencer replied. “We have our doubts about Mantis so we send a man down. Our best man. He finds out something and he ends up dead. Maybe he discovered the truth—”

“But I don‟t understand!” Alan interrupted. “Mantisis giving away the computers. He‟s not making any money out of them. In return, he‟s getting a medal and British citizenship. Fine—what‟s he got to hide?”

“We don‟t know,” Spencer said. “We just don‟t know. But we want to find out. And soon. Before these computers leave the plant.”

“They‟re being shipped out on March thirty-first,” Mrs. Sami added. “Only three weeks from now.” She glanced at Spencer. He nodded.

“That‟s why it‟s essential for us to send someone else to Port Tallon. Someone to continue where our best man left off.” Alan smiled queasily.

“I hope you‟re not looking at me.”

“We can‟t just send in another agent,” Mrs. Sami said. “The enemy has shown his hand. He‟s killed our best. He‟ll be expecting a replacement. Somehow we have to trick him.”

“We have to send someone in who won‟t be noticed,” Spencer continued.

“Someone who can look around and report back without being seen. We were considering sending down a woman. She might be able to slip in as a cleaner or a kitchen helper. But then I had a better idea.

“A few months ago, one of these computer magazines ran a competition. „Be the first boy or girl to use the Stormbreaker. Travel to Port Tallon and meet Herod Mantishimself‟ That was the first prize—and it was won by some young chap who‟s apparently a bit of a whiz kid when it comes to computers. Name of Felix Lester. Fourteen years old. The same age as yourself. He looks a bit like you too. He‟s expected down at Port Tallon two weeks from now.”