Everybody is dressed to maim, which makes Parlabane feel even more uncomfortable for having been vomited into the place in this fucking suit. He feels like he’s turned up in his school uniform. And then it gets worse, because Candace appears and it’s like his mum has shown up to collect him.
He feels his mobile buzz moments after she has greeted him, and gets a literal slap on the wrist before he has even pulled it from his pocket.
‘I don’t even want to see a phone tonight, Jack. It’s a party.’
Lee was right: Candace is all about parading him like a star signing this evening. She’s got him on her arm and is making a show of introducing him to all these media types: people who are eagerly shaking his hand, congratulating him on his recent scoops. Bastards who wouldn’t have given him a subbing shift not so long ago are now doing the full fake-and-shake. He’s wondering whether Candace will be so pleased about marrying herself to his reputation twenty-four hours from now.
He keeps feeling the vibration in his top pocket. He can’t answer but he knows who it is.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Kill. Kill. Kill.
He is supposed to be in position, ready to rob, but instead he’s trapped here.
If Sam thinks he’s bailed on her, there’s no knowing what she might do. She won’t take the zero option yet, surely, but she’s bound to be getting twitchy, and having all these people glad-handing him is a timely reminder of just how far she could cause him to fall.
He recalls bitterly all the dark times when he might have fantasised about something like this: being led around an open-bar party in Islington on the proud arm of a new-media mogul keen to show investors and industry players what a real reporter looks like. Now that he’s living it, all he can think about is how fast he can get away without offending Candace.
Then he realises he can use this.
He can’t be in two places at once. A moment ago, this was his problem. Now it is his opportunity.
Half the media in London have seen him at this party, an affair where people will be drifting in and out of each other’s company all night. The CCTV camera in the vestibule will have recorded his arrival. It will record him leaving several hours hence too. So if he can find another, unseen route out of here, and if nobody witnesses him sneaking back in later, he’ll have one hell of an alibi.
OUTSIDE INFLUENCE
I fish through the debris for a mug and make myself some tea, telling myself I’m not going to take any action until I’ve drunk it. With the roof falling in on everything I have been planning, it is a way of forcing me to calm down and attempt to be rational as I consider my options.
My first instinct is to think about how I can light a fire under Jack, though my whole problem right now is that I can’t get in touch with him. I have already dug out the countdown blog post I blackmailed him with, but just the sight of it makes my heart sink. It strikes me that maybe the reason Jack isn’t answering is that he’s not scared of this anymore. Perhaps now that he has got to know the real me behind Buzzkill, he is calling my bluff, convinced I won’t pull the trigger on my threat.
This leaves me to consider a harsh alternative: could I do it myself?
I have never been beyond the entry barrier at Tricorn House, so unlike Jack I have no prior knowledge of where I would need to go once I was inside Synergis. It would have been easier if he’d made it out of there with the video files he recorded, though if I have an all-access swipe card, it surely wouldn’t take me too long to find the vault.
With a few keystrokes I confirm that I can still access the GEM system. What I can’t confirm is if there is anyone on reception and if they would issue a new swipe card at this time of night. Plus, duh, conspicuous. Once they know they’ve been robbed, they are going to investigate, and someone going up to the front desk and asking to pick up a swipe card at nine o’clock at night is going to be very memorable. That was why Jack went to pick one up at lunchtime when the place was teeming.
Another issue is that I can’t hack into the security systems and wander around the building at the same time. Well, strictly speaking I could execute the hack, but I would have to kill all the CCTV feeds at once before entering Synergis, which would alert security that something is wrong. There are good reasons why this was always going to be a two-person job. Which is not to say that it can’t be done by one person – just as long as that person doesn’t mind getting arrested for it a few hours later.
I am actually asking myself which might carry the bigger sentence – getting busted for hacking RSGN or getting busted for breaking into Synergis – that’s how desperate this is getting.
How could he do this to me? Is this his revenge, for all the things I’ve done to him? Stringing me along and dumping me right at the moment when I thought we were about to carry this off?
Well, fuck you, I decide. I’m going to remind him that if he hangs me out to dry, I have nothing to lose by returning the favour.
I am getting ready to restart the countdown website I threatened him with previously, when suddenly my mobile rings.
‘Jack, where the fuck have you been?’
‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t answer my phone.’
‘Why not? I was panicking here.’
‘It’s complicated. I’m on my way now, though.’
He is panting, and there is a weird rhythm to the background noise of the call.
‘Are you running?’
‘Yeah. I got sidetracked. I still need to get home, get changed and pick up my gear.’
‘Why don’t you jump in a cab?’
‘Are you kidding? Tube strike.’
‘Sorry. Not thinking. You should be able to take a bus when you’re heading for Monument. They’ll be much quieter in that direction.’
‘Appropriate too, for a heist. I always loved that bit in Die Hard when Hans Gruber got the Number 21 to Nakatomi Plaza.’
Jack calls again about half an hour later, to say he’s a few minutes away from the target.
I have all my research documents open on the screen so that any information I am likely to need is to hand. Right now the file at the top concerns security personnel. I called a couple of nights ago to establish who would be working this shift, then went into social-media research mode.
I say a few things out loud to get into using this particular voice. I sound a little shaky, but it’s not a bad thing if I come across as nervous. I take a couple of breaths and begin dialling, spoofing the home number of a genuine Synergis employee, in case they check the records later.
‘Hello, Tricorn House.’
‘Oh, thank God there’s someone there. I wasn’t sure there would be anybody still in Synergis at this time. Honestly, you’re my saviour.’
He isn’t, yet, but I’ve just given him a high status and he will be reluctant to strip himself of it.
‘Oh, no, this is Tricorn House Security,’ he corrects me. ‘I thought there was still somebody up there in Synergis but I guess not, so that’s why you’ve come through to here.’
‘I see. Tricorn Security. Hang on, I know that voice. Is that . . . Aaron?’
‘It is.’
He sounds pleased and surprised to be recognised. I chucked in the pause to give him that moment of hoping I get it right.
‘Yeah, this is Cheryl from Synergis, Cheryl Hayes. You remember? We talked about Tenerife because you were going there on holiday.’
‘Oh, yeah.’
It’s my estimate that he must have a dozen small-talk chats every day. Chances are he’s talked about his holiday destinations with enough people that he’s not going to link the subject with anybody specific. The main thing is that it establishes me in his mind as somebody who passes through here all the time.
‘May, you’re going, isn’t it?’ (Thank you, Facebook.)
‘That’s right. So how can I assist?’
‘Oh, God, Aaron, I’m like: help me, Obi Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope. What it is, it’s taken me two hours to get home be
cause of this Tube strike, and it turns out I’ve only gone and left my phone at the office.’
‘Oh no.’
‘Nightmare, right? But it gets worse. I’ve got this major project I need to get finished for the morning. It was supposed to be next week, but I just opened my laptop and there’s an email saying the client has had to bring his trip forward, and he’s flying in from China and blah-blah-blah. I could do it on my laptop here at home, but all the project files are on the internal network and I can’t log in because I need my phone for the new login thingy.’
‘The 2FA?’ he asks.
‘That thing, yeah.’
I take a breath. Here we go.
‘Can I ask a massive favour? Could you run upstairs to Synergis and get my phone, then read the PIN to me? I’m pretty sure I’ve left it on my desk. It’s dead easy to find. I sit right next to Oliver Greenberg.’
I have no idea where Cheryl sits, but I know from my research that both Aaron and Oliver are Spurs fans, so there’s a greater chance Aaron remembers him, meaning the use of his name will further cement my credentials.
‘Oh, yeah, I know Oliver. I’m really sorry, Cheryl. I’d love to help, but I don’t have authorisation. My swipe card only lets me in certain areas. I’d only be able to override that and get into Synergis if there was a full-scale emergency.’
A fact I am counting on.
‘Of course. I forgot. Thing is, I’d come back in and get it myself but it took me all this time to get home. So near and yet so far, eh? Could be looking at a three-hour round trip, all for the sake of a four-digit PIN number.’
I dangle this out there and let it hang. I’ll ask explicitly if it comes to that, but it’s better if I give him the chance to offer, so that he thinks the idea came from him.
‘I know. There’s nothing I can do, though. As I said, I can’t get into Synergis. I mean, obviously I’ve got the 2FA app on my phone too, but I don’t imagine that helps you.’
Oh, but you’d be wrong.
‘No. ’Fraid not. Hang about, though, actually, it does,’ I add, sounding like this has just occurred to me. ‘Aaron, you’re a genius. The 2FA thing generates a PIN that lets you log into the system. Doesn’t matter who uses it: that’s what usernames and passwords are for.’
‘So if I generate a PIN on my phone, you’d be sorted?’
‘And owing you a massive, massive favour, yeah.’
‘All right. Problem solved. Let me launch the app. Okay, here we go. You ready for this now?’
I’ve been ready for days, mate.
CAMERA SHY
Parlabane calms his breathing as Tricorn House rises into view. This place has turned into a citadel in his mind, a prison he can only escape by breaking into. He can’t remember being so nervous about an act of trespass; not even the first time he ever did this in search of evidence supporting a story he knew to be true.
He is still in the suit, a small rucksack slung over his shoulder. He worries a little that it might look an incongruous combo, but it’s after hours. He is also wearing a hat and glasses to make his face that bit harder to recognise on CCTV footage, in the event that Sam isn’t able to disable the cameras or erase the tapes. He has to look like he belongs, look like he does this two or three times a day.
Parlabane approaches the barriers, where he will confront the night’s first big moment of truth. As he grips the card he is already rehearsing excuses that will allow him to retreat inconspicuously in the event of failure.
Yeah, my card isn’t working. Never mind, I’ll get it sorted in the morning. I was only popping in to pick up a DVD I’d left in my drawer.
He taps the card to the sensor and the glass gates slide apart.
It’s on.
Somewhere inside the computer system, John Finch has been logged as entering the building at 21.02. Sam’s hack of the Gatekeeper software has delivered on its first challenge. He feels a surge of relief, a pressure valve venting somewhere inside his subconscious, yet at the same time he can’t help feeling that every door this card opens takes him one level deeper into the mire.
He follows the route he was taken on his previous visit, around the back of the reception area to the lifts, where he puts on his Bluetooth headset. He took time to devise call-names for both of them, as well as a series of coded references so that they would each know what the other was talking about without saying anything that might be incriminating were it to be played back in a courtroom. Sam just laughed and looked at him as though he had suggested using tin cans and hairy string.
She explained that such code words and aliases would be redundant as they would be using an encrypted voice-over IP connection and that – once she had jailbroken it – his mobile would be sending no audio telephony signals: only data.
In an attempt to regain some cred and establish that he knew what she was talking about, he had told her how he used one of the earliest VOIP iterations back in the late nineties, adding how its economic benefits for international communications were reduced by having to pay per-minute for a 28k dial-up modem connection.
From her expression he could tell that if she was at all impressed, it was by the fact that a man clearly over a hundred years old could still use a computer.
‘Barb, do you read? I’m in.’
‘I read. Where are you?’
‘Approaching the lifts. Hoping my visit is not being recorded for posterity. How are you progressing on that front?’
There is an unsettlingly long pause.
‘Working on it.’
Arse.
He enters one of the elevators and subjects the card to its next test. It passes, letting the lift raise him six storeys, while simultaneously plunging him one level deeper into the shit.
There is a friendly chime and the doors open on to a bright landing, the glass walls allowing him to look down into the vestibule. Pressing himself close and peering directly down, he can see the main reception area from behind. The angle reveals that there is a bank of screens running along the desk, embedded beneath the shelf where the receptionists’ computer monitors sit. He is too high to make out any details, but it looks like CCTV feeds.
He glances around the landing, spots a camera high on one wall.
‘Any word on Tricorn’s Funniest Home Videos?’
‘Still working on it.’
He taps the card against a sensor: another open door, another crime committed, another step further into damnation.
Synergis’s expensively furnished interior reception area lies before him, partially lit by the glow from the landing behind him and the lights of the city through the windows dead ahead. Everything in between is in darkness, only the occasional blink of an LED visible among the desks and workstations.
He takes a moment to get his bearings, disentangling his memory of where Tanya first took him from his recall of where he actually needs to be. Then he walks forward, at which point the lights ahead of him begin flickering into life.
Exhibiting remarkable composure and lizard-brain reflexes, he freezes to the spot and just about manages not to shit himself before realising that this sudden illumination was merely the response of a motion-activated power-saving switch.
There is nobody here. More significantly, there are no alarms. Sam has deactivated the security systems.
As if reading his mind, her voice sounds in his ear.
‘Did something happen? You made a weird noise.’
‘Tripped the auto for the lights, gave myself a jolt.’
‘Well, that’s not all it tripped. I’ve tapped into the CCTV feed for the monitors that the security guard is watching. So far it’s been running a sequence, toggling through locations in rotation, but when those lights came on, it switched straight to where you are.’
‘Must be automated to do that, draw attention to anything unexpected. No alarms, though.’
‘No, it didn’t trigger anything,’ she confirms.
‘But the alarms are deactivated, right?’
/> ‘Yes,’ she replies, sounding testy. ‘I wouldn’t have let you proceed unless—’
‘Okay. Just clarifying.’
‘Bear in mind you’re going to be tripping the lights and camera feeds wherever you go. That shouldn’t raise suspicion if you’re only walking through some offices, but the thing to be aware of is that when you get to R&D, you’ll need to wait for the camera feed to switch again before you start messing with the vault.’
‘Roger. But I thought you were going to be in control of these cameras.’
‘Working on it.’
‘You’ve said that twice already. And I’m not going to be messing with the vault unless you can supply me with the daily code. How are you doing with that part?’
‘Working on it.’
UNWANTED GUEST
Shit toasters.
This isn’t quite going according to plan. It’s not falling apart on me either, otherwise I’d have given Jack the word to abort, but I can see problems ahead, and if I can’t perform some top-of-my-game hack-fu on them, things might get very messy.
If I was being completely honest with Jack, if I was being completely honest with myself, I would give him the word to abort. I’m not sure I can handle this. That on its own ought to be reason to bail, but the bitch of it is, I’m not sure I can’t handle this either, and I only have one shot. I’d say I’m gambling with both our fates, but the selfish part is that I’m actually only gambling with his. Whether I get caught in the act or I abandon the attempt, I am equally fucked. My only safe way out of this is via a result, so I have no option but to gamble with the stake I’ve got.
As soon as Aaron gave me a PIN, I logged into Matthew Coleridge’s account, allowing me high-level access to Synergis’s security systems. In case there were any session-time limits, the first thing I did was disable the 2FA on both his and Jane Dunwoodie’s accounts. I could have disabled it for the whole show, but I don’t want anybody logging in from home then reporting it up the line that the system didn’t ask for a PIN.
Want You Gone Page 24
