by John Marrs
“How?” asked Dalgleish, but his question was ignored. “What should I do?” he said instead.
“You wait until I instruct you.”
The room fell silent as they watched the trespassers remove a cylindrical device from a backpack and clamp it to the trailer’s roof. They moved as if walking on the moon, and Dalgleish assumed magnetic footwear was preventing them from losing their balance.
“They’re not trying to hijack it, they’re going to steal from it while it’s still moving,” Dominique exclaimed. Suddenly there was a cloud of smoke, and a gap the size of a manhole cover appeared in the roof.
“What’s the road’s status?” a second nameless superior asked.
“The lorry is on the M90 and about to join the Queensferry Crossing Bridge, approaching the first of the three towers that supports it,” said Dalgleish.
“And traffic?”
He scanned the motorway ANPR cameras. “Moderate, no delays.”
“Collateral damage?”
Dominique scanned her tablet. “Low if we act now.”
Dalgleish could smell sweat beneath the aftershave of the man as he leaned across the desk and tapped furiously into the keyboard. A box appeared on a separate screen where he then inputted a long code before placing his fingerprint against it. A projection of a button appeared on the desk below. He turned to Dominique.
“Are we in agreement?” he asked. She looked to the screen just as the first assailant disappeared inside the hole in the roof.
“Yes. Red alert,” she replied.
They waited until the third figure entered before he pressed the button.
Flames and smoke shot out of the hole and the lorry began to veer left. It remained on the road and continued past the first bridge tower, gradually picking up pace until they watched in silence as it ploughed through the metal safety railings at seventy-eight miles per hour and plunged over the side of the bridge. More than two hundred metres later, it was engulfed by the depths of the river Forth below.
PART ONE
** CONFIDENTIAL **
TOP SECRET: UK EYES ONLY, CLASSIFIED “A”
THIS DOCUMENT IS THE PROPERTY OF HIS MAJESTY’S GOVERNMENT
MINUTES OF JOINT CYBER-ESPIONAGE/INTELLIGENCE COMMITTEE ASSESSMENT MEETING 11.6
“THE ALTERNATIVE APPROACH TO STORAGE OF CLASSIFIED DOCUMENTS”
** Please note this is an account of the minutes taken from the above meeting. Portions of text and certain participants have been redacted to prevent threats to security. **
LOCATION:
█████, ███
MEMBERS PRESENT:
Edward Karczewski, Operations Director, █ █ █ █
Dr. Sadie Mann, Director of Psychiatric Evaluations
Dr. M. J. Porter, Head of Neuroscience
██████████, Ministry of Defence (MoD), Porton Down
██ ███, MI5
William Harris, HM Government’s Minister for Central Intelligence
NONMEMBERS PRESENT:
Prime Minister Diane Cline
EDWARD KARCZEWSKI: For the benefit of the Prime Minister, who has not been privy to our meetings to date, I’d like to begin by summarising how we have arrived at where we are today.
PRIME MINISTER: But first, Edward, I would like it noted in the minutes of my displeasure at having only been made aware of the existence of this programme in the last twenty-four hours. Prior to this, I have been deliberately kept in the dark. I will therefore be launching an internal investigation as to how this came to be.
EDWARD KARCZEWSKI: And you will have our full cooperation. But I hope that by the end of this meeting, you’ll have gained a greater understanding as to why it’s been kept under wraps. So, to summarise, two and a half years ago, an organisation made up of cyber criminals and widely referred to as the Hacking Collective infiltrated our burgeoning driverless vehicles network and reprogrammed hundreds to collide with one another. This malicious act of terrorism caused 5,120 deaths and injuries and was the single biggest loss of life on British soil since the coronavirus pandemic of 2020. The Collective claimed that the attack was an act of “ethical hacktivism” and that they had a moral responsibility to bring to the world’s attention our former Government’s unlawful interference in how autonomous vehicles made life-or-death decisions in the event of an accident. These actions were not, as we were led to believe, based on preserving the highest number of lives, but on social and economic factors. The more value a person was prejudged to have in our society, the higher their chance of survival.
WILLIAM HARRIS: May I take this opportunity to clarify this was not the fault of the Government in its entirety, only certain participants. █████████████████████████████████████████ have all been dealt with, the exception being the late Member of Parliament Jack Larson.
PRIME MINISTER: His murder by the Hacking Collective was regrettable but not entirely unexpected given the leading role he played in organising that interference. But nobody deserves to be executed in a car bomb and have it live-streamed.
EDWARD KARCZEWSKI: Indeed. Now it appears vehicular hacking was only the tip of the iceberg. Recently the Collective has taken a new approach—hacking countries in ransomware attacks. Turkey and Albania were first. By breaking into their 5G phone networks, the Collective disabled government hardware and shut down everything from data control centres to traffic lights, emergency services, and pay networks for shops and businesses. They also overloaded their smart grids, leading to nationwide blackouts, and sent their satellites spinning off course to burn up in the earth’s atmosphere. Both countries paid a ransom of tens of millions of bitcoins to return to operational status and restore damaged data. But that was loose change compared to what the Collective had planned next for Estonia and Romania. The latter have had all their sensitive information held to ransom, from weapons locations to federal reserves. And the Collective threatened to make this and their state secrets public if they weren’t financially recompensed.
PRIME MINISTER: How did they gain access to this information?
██ ███, MI5: The countries concerned stored their sensitive information in data centres and bunkers like ours, which have extreme physical security. But these are static, immovable locations and were identified by their enemies. The Collective managed to break encryption keys and infiltrate the centres’ biometrics, interlocks, and CCTV through both sites’ online cooling systems, which had a lower level of protection. And once they had access, they located all the sensitive information they needed.
PRIME MINISTER: What is the current status of both countries?
██████████, MoD: Satellite footage taken this morning reveals that Estonia’s northern states have already been picked off by Russia, and ground-source intelligence suggests that the southern states appear ready to surrender. With no weapon codes to prevent invasions, Libya has paid in full. Its security and borders are intact, but it’s now bankrupt. This morning, Saudi Arabia came under attack. This is likely to become a global epidemic.
PRIME MINISTER: What is the threat level to the United Kingdom?
██ ███, MI5: Severe, which is one point below imminent.
WILLIAM HARRIS: We have invested billions in protecting ourselves both on the ground and online. Are you saying this was wasted money?
██ ███, MI5: No, but the risk is escalating. We have every available programmer, both in-house and outsourced, battling to ensure that our servers remain impenetrable. But we are fighting a losing battle, Prime Minister. Quantum te
chnology means that the enemy’s computers are tens of thousands of millions of times faster than many of our own, which makes breaking our encryption codes easier. The tech to defend ourselves isn’t moving as quickly as that built to attack us. It’s like running away from a machine gun that has a never-ending supply of bullets. Eventually, we are going to be hit.
PRIME MINISTER: So you’re telling me that the one and a half million men and women who lost their lives fighting for our freedom in two world wars died for nothing? Because it sounds to me like a hundred years later, an invisible, faceless enemy is about to rob us of everything that made us great.
EDWARD KARCZEWSKI: They can’t if there’s no information to steal.
PRIME MINISTER: What are you suggesting?
EDWARD KARCZEWSKI: Six months ago a decision was made to take our National Archives, both historical and current, offline.
PRIME MINISTER: By whom?
EDWARD KARCZEWSKI: It has been part of an ongoing top-secret project that began before you came to power. It culminated in all our sensitive information being taken offline and put on the road. Seven articulated lorries, a plane, and a cargo ship were used to take hard copies of everything we didn’t want made public on continuous journeys across the country, the air, and the sea. And for months, it was a success. Until yesterday, when a lorry was compromised and we were forced to abandon the programme.
PRIME MINISTER: What kind of information was being transported?
EDWARD KARCZEWSKI: Everything that wasn’t needed on a daily basis or that wasn’t fluid. Before computers, they were filed in secret locations throughout London. Then they became stored electronically in data centres hidden around the country, crammed with hard drives and processors. And that’s where they are again. But even though they are protected by military-standard physical security and Californian earthquake-resistance standards, these hackers will eventually find a way in. So I’m suggesting a fresh approach into keeping our data offline.
PRIME MINISTER: More lorries? I can’t believe such a ludicrous idea was ever green-lit in the first place!
EDWARD KARCZEWSKI: No, no more lorries. That was only a temporary measure while we were developing an alternative approach to keeping our classified information secure and impossible for outside sources to locate. All I ask is that when you learn of our idea, you try to keep an open mind. If I can direct your attention to the video screen ahead.
** EDWARD KARCZEWSKI has used an electronic keypad to turn on a screen **
PRIME MINISTER: Why are there dozens of random shapes, numbers, and letters speeding around the screen?
EDWARD KARCZEWSKI: It’s how we are going to find the people we need to protect our country.
CHAPTER 1
FLICK, LONDON
Oh, come on!” Flick protested. “You’re living in cloud cuckoo land if you think you’re going to get that much for it.”
She shook her head as an estimated asking price of £445,000 appeared on the television screen. The sum delighted the young couple who’d renovated the formerly dilapidated bungalow. But not Flick. As a regular viewer of daytime television shows, she had become an armchair expert in anything property related.
Flick removed a cigarette from a packet lying on the coffee table and lit it with a disposable lighter. She flinched ever so slightly at the sound of the flame and the cigarette crackling to life. Then she took a long, deep drag until the smoke and heat blazed the back of her throat. The astronomical price of cigarettes meant she had promised to limit herself to a handful a day. However, it was only midmorning and this was her fourth.
The TV screen suddenly split into two, catching her off-guard, and an image appeared of someone outside her front door. Even with the head tilted downward, facial recognition software recognised him as Theo, one of her brothers. She took another long drag and chose to ignore him. Twice he pressed the bell before shouting through the letter box.
“I know you’re in. I can smell the smoke coming from under the door.”
Flick rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to be troubled by Theo or any other member of her family today. Or any day, in fact. But there was no point in pretending she wasn’t there. She was always there. She rolled the tip of her cigarette against the side of the ashtray to preserve the rest until later and picked up a can of air freshener to spray it around the room. She unlocked three bolts and two latches before typing a code into a pad. As the door opened, the youngest of her four brothers eyed her up and down.
“You look like shit,” he scoffed.
“You’ve grown a beard,” she replied. “You look like Grandad.”
“It’s the same one I had the last time you saw me.”
Flick shrugged.
“That’s how long it’s been since you’ve got off your lazy arse and bothered to come and see us.”
“If this is a tough-love routine, then don’t waste your breath . . .”
“No, this is a friendly dose of reality.”
Daylight was creeping in through a gap between the closed curtains. It highlighted a fine, smoky mist. Theo drew them wide open and dragged his fingers across a coffee table. They left three clear lines between a layer of dust and the woodgrain. Even without the gesture, Flick knew he was judging her on the unwashed dishes, piles of dirty clothes spread across the kitchen floor, two bulging bin bags, a box of empty wine bottles, and a full ashtray. She couldn’t criticise Theo for his negative assessment.
Like many of her failings, she blamed the mess on someone else. Him. Only afterwards, when she had seen for the first time inside his flat courtesy of photographs uploaded online, did she question how she’d have coped with such fastidious tidiness. She figured the obsession with an organised home was likely born from the chaos of the rest of his life. A part of her recognised she’d had a lucky escape from who he really was. The other, smaller part still retained belief that she might have been the one to change him.
“I tried calling you at the restaurant because you never answer your mobile or respond to voice mails,” Theo continued. Flick didn’t reply. She had an inkling of what was coming next. “So imagine my surprise when they told me you’d employed a manager to do your job because you’d taken time off for personal reasons. A year ago.”
Flick shrugged. “I’m on indefinite leave. So what?”
“What personal reasons?”
“The clue is in the word personal. People take work sabbaticals all the time.”
“But you’ve taken a sabbatical from your whole life. You’re still pining over him, aren’t you?”
“Who?” she replied, but they were both aware of who he meant.
“You know this can’t continue, Felicity. Just because it didn’t work out doesn’t mean it won’t work out with somebody else.”
“He was my Match,” Flick replied.
“You could’ve been one of those couples whose results were tampered with. That happened to thousands, didn’t it?”
“We Matched after that happened,” she said again, her tone firmer. Theo had no recourse.
Flick recalled with clarity the day an email informed her of her successful Match Your DNA pairing. Years earlier, scientists had discovered a gene that all humans possessed and was shared with just one other person. They could be of any sex, religion, age, or location, but they were the one your DNA was genetically programmed to be with. Your soul mate. In the space of a few short years, it had become the most popular means by which couples came together, with 1.7 billion people registering their DNA through a simple mouth swab.
Flick’s email confirmation had arrived months after a malicious security breach in which thousands of couples had been falsely Matched. His previous Match had turned out to be faked, but it was too late for Flick to meet him. He had been murdered.
She had only just started coming to terms with his death when she learned who he really
was, and it had left her hollow.
Theo flitted around the lounge, tidying up papers, throwing away empty crisp packets and sweet wrappers, and collecting castaway clothes. “I’m trying to help you, sis,” he continued. “It’s not just me who’s worried about you, it’s Mum and Dad and the rest of the family. You didn’t even come to Gran and Grandad’s sixtieth anniversary party.”
Flick spat out a laugh. “Yes, that’s just what I need, isn’t it? To be surrounded by people reminding me that no one is ever going to love me enough to be by my side sixty years from now.”
Theo muttered something under his breath and began throwing clothes into the washing machine. “Hey,” Flick protested, “leave them. They need to be colour separated.”
“Right, because separating colours is a priority for you in this pigsty, isn’t it?”
“I said leave them,” she snapped, but Theo ignored her and opened up the machine’s drawer, pulling out an empty washing cartridge.
“Where do you keep the spares?”
“Theo, I’m telling you, leave my stuff alone.”
When he began rifling through her kitchen cupboards, Flick stopped holding back. She marched over to him, grabbing his arm. Despite being slighter and smaller than her brother, she twisted it behind his back and frogmarched him towards the door.
“For fuck’s sake!” Theo yelled. “I want to help you.”
“I didn’t ask for it, and I don’t want it,” she barked, and opened the door, only releasing her grip once he was across the threshold.
“I’m telling you this as your brother and as your friend,” he continued, shaking the ache from his limb. “Match or no Match, he’s not worth throwing it all away for.”
Flick wiped her brimming eyes with the cuffs of her jumper. And with the saddest smile she had ever mustered, she closed the door on him.
