by N C Mander
Chapter Eight
0658, Friday 30th June, Canary Wharf, London
After his early start, Edison had chosen to walk the three miles to the office. It was bright, and there was warmth in the sun. Edison enjoyed the journey. It was an opportunity to think. He began trying to unpick the conversation with Kat from the previous evening. He was hopeful that she would call later. Edison realised that it wasn’t just an update on her visit to Grimsby he was hoping for. He found himself longing to hear her voice and to know what she had been up to. Edison shook his head with surprise. Something was changing in their relationship. He wasn’t sure it was a good thing.
Canary Wharf rose out of the Thames, a gleaming icon of capitalism, and Edison’s thoughts turned to the day that lay ahead of him. As a matter of priority, he needed to meet Christoph and Emma, secure a copy of Jamie’s algorithm and get hold of a list of the fund’s investors.
When he arrived on the fifteenth floor, Christoph, Tariq and Billy were already hunched over their desks. Tom was pacing his office with an earpiece in. On seeing Edison look over, he waved a greeting and mouthed the words, ‘Hong Kong.’
‘He has a weekly with the reps in Hong Kong,’ Tariq said.
Edison nodded and sat down at his desk. ‘He works long hours.’
‘Nonstop,’ said Christoph, he spoke in a clipped German accent, over-pronouncing every syllable. ‘We didn’t really meet properly yesterday, for which I apologise. Can I buy you breakfast?’ Christoph offered with a smile.
‘That would be nice,’ said Edison, casting his eye over his inbox. There were three emails from Tom, with further instructions, and one from Anna, arranging an introductory meeting with the head of sales, David Murray, for the following Wednesday. There was a note apologising for the delayed date of the meeting. David was on the road until the middle of next week.
Christoph led the way out of the building in silence. The next words he spoke to Edison were once they were standing in the queue at a nearby coffee shop, ‘What would you like?’
Edison looked longingly at the pastries but remembered his resolve to get fit and ordered the granola and yoghurt. ‘To drink?’ asked Christoph.
‘Tea, please. Shall I grab us a table?’
‘Yes.’ Edison was growing accustomed to Christoph’s curt responses. He found them a spot in a quiet corner of the café and waited. His companion set down a tray a moment later and took a seat.
‘So,’ said Christoph. ‘Steven, you are here to make sure we’re playing by the rules?’
Edison evaluated his colleague. He didn’t detect a hint of irony in the question but decided to counter with some of his own. ‘Yes, are you playing by the rules? It would make my life a lot easier if you could just own up to all your indiscretions now.’
‘My fund is totally compliant,’ Christoph said, his tone hard and serious.
‘In which case, we will get along swimmingly.’
‘Where did you work before? Your LinkedIn profile was a little sparse.’
Edison didn’t miss a beat. It was a tricky balancing act for the team at Thames House when creating legends in a world where everyone had such a comprehensive digital footprint across social media. An analyst would have been tasked with creating Edison’s digital cover as Steven Edwards. A LinkedIn profile would have been written with just enough information to be plausible without enough detail to allow someone intent on snooping to find the holes. ‘Ah yes, LinkedIn.’ He grinned. ‘I’ve always been a bit rubbish at the whole social media thing.’
Christoph’s expression didn’t change. ‘That is clear. Your Facebook does not give much away either.’
‘You’ve been checking up on me.’ Edison sounded light-hearted but was beginning to wonder whether Christoph’s interest in him had more sinister motives. Did he have reason to be cautious? Was he in some way caught up in the fraud? He was not a technical member of the team, and he thought it unlikely he had access to the trading code. Jamie had said that the Austrian had little skill when it came to computers.
‘I like to know who my colleagues are. So where did you work before?’
‘I worked in the Home Office but was seconded to the Bank of England to work on their cryptocurrency working group.’
‘So, you are a technology person?’
‘That’s me. I understand you manage the infrastructure fund?’ Edison wrenched the conversation away from his personal history.
‘Yes, I prefer bridges and tunnels to bytes and blockchains.’ For the first time a smile crept around Christoph’s lips and he chortled at his own wit. Edison humoured him with a hearty laugh.
‘You’re from Austria, aren’t you?’ Edison steered the conversation toward Christoph’s background.
‘Yes,’ came the monosyllabic answer.
‘Whereabouts?’
‘Innsbruck.’
‘Did you study there?’ Edison wondered whether Christoph was being evasive or whether he was tacit by nature. It was impossible to tell.
‘No, I studied in Vienna,’ Christoph replied then added, without prompting, ‘Economics.’
Perhaps he’s warming up, thought Edison, filing the mention of Vienna and the possible link to HAPSBURG. ‘Beautiful city. Do you go back often?’
‘Yes, I have some business interests there.’
‘Oh yes? What kind of business interests?’ Edison kept his tone light and conversational, but Christoph’s face immediately clouded over.
‘Nothing of interest to you,’ he said abruptly and drained his coffee. ‘I must return to the office. Are you complete?’
Edison nodded. He had eaten the granola in only a few mouthfuls and was already wondering how he would make it until lunchtime. He picked up his paper cup of questionable-strength tea and followed Christoph back to the office.
The floor was a hive of activity as the rest of Tom’s team had arrived. Jamie grinned at Edison. ‘Morning,’ he said. ‘How was Christoph’s sparkling repartee this morning? I’m sure he’s told you his life story, and you couldn’t get a word in edgeways.’ Christoph glared at the young programmer and plugged himself into a large pair of headphones. ‘Did you bring your running kit?’ Jamie went on.
Edison cursed himself for forgetting and missing the opportunity to get to know Jamie better. ‘Oh, sorry mate, I completely forgot.’ Edison chose his words carefully, mimicking Jamie’s from the day before.
‘How convenient,’ Jamie laughed. ‘Not to worry. Monday?’
‘Sure.’ Edison turned his attention to the computer screens in front of him and immersed himself in the humdrum activity of his day job, trying not to get distracted by thoughts of the case.
Edison worked industriously through Tom’s instructions until late afternoon. ‘Jamie,’ he said.
‘Yes mate.’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to send me that access to the repository?’
‘You read my mind,’ he replied. He clicked his mouse with a dramatic flourish. ‘There’ll be an email in your inbox in seconds with a username and password. Be gentle with it. It’s making us a fortune.’
Edison laughed. ‘Will do. Thanks.’ He opened the email and snorted. ‘Game of Thrones user names, really?’
‘It’s a bit of a laugh. Do you not fancy being a Greyjoy?’
‘I’m more worried about what the regulators might think.’
Jamie shrugged.
‘I assume you’re a Lanaster,’ Edison went on.
‘Naturally. And Maria’s a Targaryen and Billy’s a Baratheon.’
‘And it’s only the tech team who have access to the repository and log?’
‘No. The FMs have users too. Em’s a Tyrell, Christoph Arryn and Tariq’s a Martell. They dabble with coding occasionally, particularly for their client’s front-end portals although, more often than not, I have to come in and tidy up the mess they’ve made.’ He laughed whilst Christoph glowered at him. Edison figured his headphones were only for effect, the Austrian was evidently
listening to everything that was happening on the office floor. ‘We make sure they can’t touch the trading codes, access is carefully audited,’ Jamie went on obsequiously. ‘That should satisfy the FCA even if they’re not keen on our avatars.’
Edison ignored the comment and turned his attention to his computer. He navigated to a secure web browser and pulled up the full script for the trading algorithm. The screen filled with letters, numbers and symbols. Edison scrolled through the code and let out a deep breath.
On hearing that, Jamie looked up at him, ‘Bit dense, isn’t it?’
‘I’ll say. Definitely calls for a cuppa.’ Edison locked his computer and pushed his chair back. ‘Anyone else?’ Everyone around him declined the offer, and Edison made his way to the kitchen to make himself a very strong cup of tea. He texted Charlie – Drink tonight? The reply came back before he was a back at his desk – 9 at the Red Lion?
Edison confirmed he’d be there. The location gave away that Charlie was at New Scotland Yard and Edison thought it unlikely that his friend had managed to manoeuvre himself onto the reopened Billingsgate investigation. He hoped Charlie would at least have some intel to share.
Sipping at his scalding tea, Edison focused on the pages of code on his computer screen. Following the master branch, he found the section for the crypto algorithm. It was going to take him time to dissect the reams of code, work out the mechanics of it, before he investigated the log repository for any discrepancies. It was late in the day, and the team were starting to drift off. Billy interrupted his focus and asked if he wanted to join them in the pub. ‘No thanks,’ Edison declined.
‘Don’t work too hard,’ Jamie said, shutting down his computer and following Billy and Tariq toward the lifts.
‘Are you sure you won’t join us?’ asked Maria with a seductive smile a few minutes later. ‘We’ll be in Davy’s if you want to come later.’
‘Thanks, but you know what it’s like when you’re new,’ Edison said. ‘Loads to get on top of. I just need to get my head down for a bit longer.’
Maria offered him a sympathetic smile and picked up her expensive handbag. ‘Well, you know where we are.’
Edison returned her smile and watched her leave. He looked around the office. Christoph, his headphones still firmly wedged over his ears, was pecking at his keyboard using two index fingers to laboriously tap out an email. Behind Edison, Anna was shuffling papers into a file that she dropped into her out tray with a satisfied sigh. ‘Home time,’ she said. ‘Chris, are you done?’
Edison remembered that the colleagues lived together and imagined that Anna’s commute home was unlikely to be filled with engaging conversation. Christoph pulled off his headphones and nodded. They left the office together. Edison observed their retreat. There were none of the tell-tale signs of a clandestine affair. He turned back to his computer screens. Only Tom was left, still hammering away at his keyboard in his fishbowl. He was glad that he could work without worrying about anyone looking over his shoulder.
On one monitor, he had the algorithm in all its complexity. On the other, he pulled up the IRC where 4hire had told him he’d last heard from RubiksKube. At the bottom of a thread in which RubiksKube had got into an argument about the most effective way to launch a phishing scam on a high-street bank, Edison posted, using a newly created alias:
He left the bait and focused back on the trading algorithm, combing through the code with all his concentration. Half an hour later, an alert pinged on the message board. Gotcha, thought Edison and he swivelled on his chair to read what his folly had to say.
Edison had spotted the unusually precise language in RubiksKube’s plethora of previous posts. In the early days of Usenet, when it was emerging from its service to academics in the late eighties, pedantry around spelling and grammar had been a popular rouse for trolls wanting to keep the boards exclusive. Since then, Usenet, BBS and 4Chan had been the birthplace of the acronyms and emojis familiar to anyone with a messaging service on their phone. Spelling and punctuation had become a lot more fluid in favour of speed. Edison began to craft a reply when another message popped up.
Edison ignored the slight but noticed his adversary did stoop to using the board’s recognised jargon. N00bs were users new to a message board and typically the target of a sustained harassment campaign to test their mettle in the hostile environment. He typed:
No reply. Damn it, thought Edison and returned his focus to the crypto algorithm.
When Tom emerged from his office, a gloomy twilight had descended on the silent fifteenth flour. ‘Steven, hi.’ Tom was taken aback to find his newest recruit still hunched over his workstation so late on a Friday. The interruption brought Edison abruptly out of his digital wormhole. He looked up, startled. ‘I would have thought you would have been in the pub with the others long ago,’ Tom went on, rummaging in a cupboard for his jacket and throwing it over his shoulders.
‘Just trying to tick a few things off before the weekend,’ replied Edison.
‘Same here.’ Tom waved expansively at the paperwork still strewn across his desk, ‘But it’s half eight, and the wife will be wondering where I am if I don’t get away soon.’
‘Half eight?’ Edison looked at his watch, finding it difficult to believe where the time had gone. ‘I’m due in Westminster in half an hour.’
‘You better get a move on,’ Tom said over his shoulder as he moved toward the lifts. ‘Have a good weekend.’
‘You too,’ Edison called after him, his focus back on his screens. His hand hovered over his mouse. He was tempted to delve back into the code for another ten minutes and beg Charlie’s forgiveness for being late. His fingers itched to comb the log of repository. There was something in the code that had caught his attention, like an errant fingerprint at a carefully cleaned crime scene, and he was eager to investigate it further. Perhaps he could come in over the weekend? No, that would draw too much attention to himself if anyone were to find out. Perhaps he could pretend to be a keen new starter, desperate to get ahead of his workload and impress the boss. No, still too risky. The puzzle would have to wait until Monday. Reluctantly, he shut down the computer.
*
2100, Friday 30th June, The Red Lion, Westminster, London
By nine o’clock on a Friday evening, the Red Lion in Westminster was beginning to empty. Post-work drinkers were slinking off to their homes or in search of dinner. Edison arrived to find Charlie at the bar, paying for two pints of beer and a glass of wine. Edison eyed the red wine with suspicion. Charlie gestured toward the back of the pub, where Tanya was sitting watching them both. ‘I didn’t know we had company,’ Edison said to his friend, ducking behind Charlie so Tanya couldn’t interpret what he was saying. Anyone with a history in the field was an expert lip-reader.
Charlie, who had his back to where Edison’s boss sat, said, ‘She called to ask after the Billingsgate affair. I mentioned I was seeing you, so she invited herself along. I could hardly say no, could I?’
Edison shrugged and picked up his pint. He took a small sip to prevent too much of the amber liquid sloshing onto the floor as he negotiated his way through the thinning crowd.
‘Good evening,’ said Tanya as he approached.
‘Hello, how are you?’
‘Very well, thank you,’ said Tanya, accepting the glass of wine from Charlie. He and Edison both perched on stools. Tanya was seated on a wooden chair with curving armrests. The stools were significantly lower than the chair and the two men
looked like naughty schoolboys in the presence of the headmistress. ‘How have the first few days been?’
‘Uneventful,’ said Edison. ‘Pursuing a couple of possible leads but nothing obvious.’
‘It’ll take a bit of time. You always were impatient.’ Tanya turned to Charlie, ‘Speaking of impatience, my own, that is, your esteemed colleague, Superintendent Colchester is being typically unresponsive.’
‘He’s been orchestrating a merry band of junior officers all day from what I can see,’ Charlie said. ‘I had a quick look at the incident board before I came out.’
‘Anything on the address my officer passed on? Or the “refugees”?’ she air-quoted with her fingers.
‘What refugees?’ Edison pounced on the titbit of information about the case.
Tanya’s face hardened, knowing that she’d already said more than her agent’s security clearance permitted him to know. Cagily, Tanya recounted Kat’s report from Grimsby, sparing as much detail as possible to assuage her own conscience. ‘I was dashing into the Joint Intelligence Committee, which is why I’m a bit light on detail,’ she concluded.
‘Anything interesting come up at the JIC?’ Edison pressed. Traditionally, it was the Service’s director general alone who attended the meetings, but John Featherstone, who had succeeded Sir Donald Hughes after his departure, liked to give his senior team exposure to what he called ‘the rusty wheels of democracy’ and attended meetings accompanied by a member of his top team each time.
‘HAPSBURG was originally just a footnote in the meeting’s minutes but had been moved up the agenda after yesterday.’ Tanya was warming up a little. She’d missed having Edison in her inner circle and was secretly relishing the top-class operative’s return to the field. ‘I stressed the need for cooperation between the police, National Crime Agency and us, given the suspected links to the Met’s still-open murder investigation.’
