The London Cage

by Mark Leggatt

  The room fell silent for a moment.

  Gowrie leaned back in the chair, shaking his head. “With the greatest respect, Mr. President, that sounded like a shit speech from a Hollywood B movie.”

  “Enough, Gowrie.” The Prime Minster pointed to Kane. “Do what you have to do.”

  Chapter 23

  Kirsty stopped her bike under the cover of a tree and pulled out her iPad.

  Montrose was out of breath by the time he caught up with her. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do it.”

  “Yeah, right.” She held up the iPad. “They’re two streets away. Follow me.”

  He grabbed her handle bar. “Look, I’m sure you bought a big kitchen knife in that shop, but we can’t take them on.”

  “We’re wasting time. Let go of my bike.” She tugged the handlebars from his grasp.

  “Kirsty, those guys are ex-military. This is what they live for. Only pick fights you can win.”

  She stared at the iPad, then pointed to a junction at the end of the street. “They’re going to go straight past us.”

  Montrose looked up and saw a dark blue Audi drive past. “Okay, let’s follow them. That’s all. Then we work out a plan.” He set off fast, but she shot past him at full speed. “Kirsty, keep your distance.” He watched a black Range Rover flash past the junction. “Kirsty!”

  She waited until he pulled alongside. “You see that?”

  “That car?”

  “Yeah, the Range Rover,” she said. “Just like the one I saw outside the gates to the Russian Embassy.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Blacked out windows and fancy rims. And the driver. Mean-looking baldy bastard with aviator shades.”

  “Keep your distance. These guys are marksmen.” They stopped at the junction and saw the rear of the Audi, just as it turned into the gates of a high-walled courtyard. The Range Rover brake lights lit up. “Looks like the CIA are going to get there first. Let them do the dirty work.” He made to put a hand on her bike, then thought better of it. Maybe Kane is going to do it himself. He doesn’t need me. He doesn’t need her. This shit is over. “Kirsty, stay back. This could be messy.”

  “I bloody hope so.”

  They watched the Range Rover slow, then accelerate and drive straight past the house. It showed no sign of stopping and disappeared from view round a bend in the road.

  Shit. Is that it? No, they can’t be… “Kirsty, are you sure that was CIA?”

  “Same guy. I clocked him when he drove past. No doubt.”

  He looked back but the street was empty. They’re gonna let them do it. Kane wants this to happen. He’s making it happen. No. Even the CIA aren’t that crazy. They’ll be back. And tooled up. “Kirsty, the CIA know they’re there, right? No need to go charging in. We just need to know who lives there.”

  “Let’s find out. Follow me.” She cycled slowly down the road, checking out the house numbers.

  Montrose caught up with her. “Hey, we should stay back. The CIA could return at any moment and we don’t want to be in the firing line.”

  “That’s bollocks. Look.”

  Montrose saw the rear of the Range Rover come into view, parked at the end of the street, hidden by a curve in the road. Two men stood around dragging on a smoke.

  “They don’t give a shit,” said Kirsty. “We do this my way.”

  “Jesus, no.”

  “Connor, will you fucking relax? We’re not going to do the Charge of the Light Brigade on two mountain bikes.” She cycled past the gates where the Audi had turned in, crossed the street and dumped the bike outside a coffee shop. “I’ll check the local government voters’ register and Google the address.”

  Montrose shoved his bike against hers and looked across the road. The front of the house had a high gate and intercom, but no nameplate. It’s a total setup. Those bastards are working for Kane. Is that why he let Arkangel go?

  “It’s owned by the Iranian embassy,” said Kirsty. “Doesn’t give a name. Probably just a diplomat. Their embassy is right around the corner.” She pulled a meat cleaver from her bag.

  “Holy shit, Kirsty. C’mon, listen to me. We can’t go in there.”

  “Hey, I’m mental, but I’m not crazy fucking bonkers mental. They have the laptop. They have the access. And they’ll be online.” She shoved the iPad and the meat cleaver towards him.

  He looked down. I’ve got what I wanted. He tried to hide the cleaver behind the iPad. Bit late for that.

  She took out a laptop from her messenger bag and pulled open the screen. “Let’s see what they’re up to.”

  He caught movement in the corner of his eye. “Kirsty?” Through the bars of the gate they could see two men lifting a rolled up carpet into the boot of the Audi.

  “What are they doing?” said Kirsty.

  “That looks heavy. I’ve got a funny feeling that was the guy who lived there.”

  “Whatever.” She held the laptop in her arms. “I need to be closer.” She looked out from behind the van. “No cameras. Follow me.” She darted out and stood below the wall at the corner of the house, craning her neck towards the roof. “And no satellite dish or I would see it on Google maps. If they had a dish on a wall it would be on this side of the house, facing the satellite.” She pointed up at the high terraced buildings. “But they won’t get a signal. I’m going into their wi-fi.”

  “It’s unprotected?”

  “It is from me. I can see their IP on Zac’s tracker and I can crack it from there. Listen, I’m going to clone Zac’s laptop from the Cloud and then shut those bastards down. Zac and I, we have...” She stopped for a moment. “We had an arrangement. You remember I said all the evidence I had on the Westminster pedophile ring was wiped? Well, that won’t happen again. Zac had my back. And I had his.” She typed quickly into the keyboard. “Everything he had is on the Cloud.” She jabbed a finger at the house. “And I’ll get into his laptop through the coffee shop wi-fi. The best thing I can do is delete and scramble any connection method other than wi-fi before they work it out and block me.” She nodded to the meat cleaver. “Stopping their wi-fi is your job, but only when I say I’m ready. Then they’ll be dead in the water. Understand?”

  “Kill the wi-fi? Aren’t they going to notice?”

  “When it goes down? Yeah. Fuck ’em.”

  “What if they’re using another laptop? Their own access?”

  “They don’t need Zac’s laptop to access the Red Star, but they’re gonna need comms. Without wi-fi they could use a 3G phone signal, but Zac’s laptop is a serious piece of kit. It’s got more back doors than that whorehouse in Soho.”

  “You can hack it?”

  “Oh, yeah. It has a cell phone signal blocker. Zac used it on trains to shut up the arseholes in suits when he wanted some peace. Blocks all cellphone signals within twenty feet. I can activate it. They’ll never see me or know it’s there.” She stared at the house. “We’re gonna shut them down.”

  Montrose looked along the road towards the Range Rover. “Okay, but we better keep out of sight.”

  She pointed to a coffee shop. “I’m going to be at that window. When I say kill the wi-fi, do it.”

  “How?” He looked around.

  She pointed to a green communications box at the side of the café. “That’s mine. Don’t touch it. But see over there?” She pointed to a side street around at the corner of the house. “That’s where I need you.”

  He saw another green communications box set against the wall bordering the house.

  “You might want to use that big fuck-off meat cleaver. And the bike tools in your bag. Every phone line and internet access for the far side of the street will go through there. Open that comms box and rip out every cable you see. Ready?” Her laptop beeped. “Go!”

  “Wait, what are you going to do?”


  “That coffee shop has wi-fi. And a tall Americano. Let’s see what these pricks can do when I have control.” She closed the laptop and ran over to the coffee shop.

  Montrose kept close to the wall and hurried over to the communications box. He pulled the toolkit from the messenger bag as he ran. The lock on the box was a triangular metal stub, but there was nothing in his tool kit that looked like it fitted. He took out a small mole wrench and clamped the teeth around the stub, then shoved a screwdriver into the handle of the wrench and twisted them around. The lock turned on the box and the pliers slipped off and clattered to the sidewalk.

  He pulled the door open. The box was full of trays containing hundreds of tightly packed wires. He pulled a handful, but they were hardwired to the trays. Lifting a pair of wire cutters from the bag, he tried to snip every cable he could see. This could take forever. He traced the wires to several thick core cables leading underground. That’s it. Do the cores. No, wait for the signal. Looking up, he saw Kirsty at the coffee shop window giving him the thumbs up. He dropped the wire cutters and gripped the meat cleaver. Don’t fuck up. Do them all. He brought the cleaver down hard on the first core. It sliced through the insulating sleeve and bit deep into the metal wires. He chopped down hard again, straight through the core and slashed at what was left, then stepped back. Kirsty was at the window, concentrating on her laptop. He looked back along the street and saw an identical comms box twenty yards away. Shit. I can’t take the chance. He grabbed his tools and ran down the street.

  *

  Arkangel hovered over the technician, holding the Nokia in his hand and checked the coordinates on the screen.

  The technician sat back in his chair. “The attack plan is ready. Awaiting confirmation.” His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

  “Do it.” He turned away and typed a message into the Nokia.

  Attack underway.

  He stared at the screen, waited for the ‘send’ confirmation, then pulled out the SIM card from the phone. He held it in his hands for a moment before snapping it between his fingers. A simple text message, he thought, that would earn him four hundred million dollars. Enough money to hide from Moscow. Though once the origin of the Red Star was leaked to the press and Jerusalem and Tehran were a nuclear wasteland, the current regime wouldn’t last a week. The hawks in Washington and the outcry from the Western governments would take care of that. The riots in Red Square would be well funded. And those waiting in line to wear the crown, would do what they were told for the right price.

  “Sir?” The technician spun around in his chair. “I’ve lost wi-fi.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t send the attack command. The wi-fi is down.”

  Chapter 24

  An image of Zac’s laptop flashed up on her screen. She saw the satellite control program window open, the cursor moving across the screen as the coordinates were entered. She opened the wi-fi settings and found the IP address, then flicked back to her laptop and ran an internet program to bombard it with data. Flicking back, she watched the wi-fi activity climb until it flashed red. “I need more,” she murmured. She looked out of the window and saw Connor kneeling beside the communications box. “Get on with it!”

  She checked the wi-fi screen and resisted the temptation to disable the wi-fi. No, she thought, then they’ll know I’m shadowing and they’ll come looking. The wi-fi symbol flickered then greyed out. “Gotcha!” she said.

  An old lady appeared at her side with a mug of coffee. “Having fun, my dear?”

  “Yeah. Kind of.”

  The old lady placed the coffee beside her and leaned in towards the screen. “Is that one of them ‘shoot them up’ computer games?”

  Kirsty looked up at her and smiled. “You know, that’s exactly what it is. But it’s all over now.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Enjoy your coffee.”

  She ran her fingers down the screen, trying to decipher the commands, and saw the coordinates highlighted in bold. She sat back and reached for the coffee, but her hand froze in mid-air. The command line at the bottom spelt out flashing words in red.

  Нанести удар. Да/Нет?

  She copied the words on the screen then flicked over to a Google translator and pasted them into the search box.

  Commence attack Yes / No?

  “Fucking hell.”

  “Language!” said the old woman from behind the counter.

  Kirsty looked out of the window and saw Montrose kneeling on the sidewalk, shoving tools into his bag. He looked up and she punched the air. He nodded and began to walk towards her. She turned to the old woman and muttered an apology, then flicked back to the screen on Zac’s laptop. The Red Star, she thought, I can wipe it. I have control. Her hands trembled over the keyboard. She looked down at the command line. “And then run like hell,” she whispered.

  Her finger hovered over the ‘N’ key. Nada, she thought, or nyet. That’s about all the Russian I know.

  She hit the ‘N’ key. The screen spun up a list of files then stopped at the command line. She recognized the c: prompt. “Bloody hell. It worked.”

  This is early DOS, she thought. They must have stolen it from the Americans. She sat back. They must have seen me do that. She brushed her hair from her face. No, they’re disconnected from the satellite. I’m the only one connected. They can’t see me. Her mouth dropped open. Holy crap, she thought, I can kill this stone dead. Or at least long enough to get out of here. She brought up the admin command and typed in chgpwd. All I have to do is change the password and rename the .exe files. It would take them too long to work it out. The new password function blinked at her, then she stared at it for a moment. Just think of a word.

  The café door opened. Three men walked in followed by a tall man. She recognized the face from the photographs in the Soho restaurant. Arkangel. She froze.

  They strode straight past her to the counter. “Do you have wi-fi?” said Arkangel.

  “Yes, of course,” replied the old lady. “I must say it’s very popular today.”

  Arkangel and two technicians sat at the table and crowded around a laptop. A guard stood at the door.

  “We have coffee, too,” said the old lady.

  Arkangel nodded to the security guard.

  “Four coffees,” said the guard.

  “Certainly, what kind would you like, my dear?”

  “I don’t care.”

  Kirsty glanced at them. They would link to the café wi-fi in a second. And then they’d know. Think of a password. She thought of Zac, his face on the screen and the flash of the blade. The grief hit her and she felt her stomach tighten. Not now, she thought, not yet. I will grieve. But only when they are dead. The photos flashed up in her mind and the words written on Pilgrim’s arm. Like a tattoo, she thought. I’m Welsh. If I die here, they can work it out in the morgue when they look at my ass. She typed in ‘ddraig’.

  The cursor flashed and returned the prompt. She hunched over the screen and typed out the rename DOS command, then changed the name of every .exe file. She watched them scroll down the screen and then stop at the cursor. Okay, work that shit out, you wankers. Flicking back to Zac’s laptop, she typed in the FDISK function. The numbers started scrolling, wiping the disk. She was reaching out to close the lid of the laptop when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She could smell the coffee on his breath.

  Arkangel took her hand and placed it in her lap. A guard sat beside her and took her bag. Arkangel spoke softly into her ear. “You will tell us what you have done and you will tell us right now.”

  “What do you want from me? Who are you? I’m going to call the police.” She made to get up but a hand pressed her to the chair.

  The other man leaned in and pulled a hunting knife from his jacket. He held the serrated edge to her breast. “You are too pretty for this blade. I will not use this side like I u
sed it on your friend. Zac was his name, no? I tore open his throat.” He spun the knife and held up a long sharp bladed side. “I will use this. Your corpse will look better.”

  Blinding light burst through the cafe and a pressure wave snapped her head back. Through a blur she saw the window shatter into a thousand glistening fragments and glimpsed black-suited figures storm through the door with machine pistols raised. Tumbling to the floor, she watched the guard’s head disintegrate from the machine gun fire. Arkangel flew backwards, blood erupting from his chest.

  *

  Kane’s shoes crunched over broken glass. Behind him he heard the rattle of automatic fire from the house as the remainder of Arkangel’s team were taken out. An old woman and a customer staggered past him, holding onto each other. Kane stood over Arkangel. “I changed my mind. Can you tell?”