Cyber Terror

by Rose, Malcolm

  “Okay. How about consulting Angel?”

  “Even worse. Before I do anything in Unit Red, like talk to Angel or fish around for information about Raven, I want to find out more about Madison Flint. What do you think?”

  “Sounds sensible. But how?”

  Jordan smiled weakly. “I know someone who’ll dig around for me.” He started the engine with a thought and a password.

  “Yes, my contact’s getting you a passport,” Jordan said into his mobile. “A real one, not a fake. He’s about to go ahead, but he’d be impressed – and get it sorted quicker – if you drag up some more information for us.”

  “On what?” Dipak asked.

  “Some people this time.”

  “Give me names and a definite reference point – like an address, age, or where they work – and I’ll find out everything you’d want to know.” He hesitated before admitting, “I only failed once. That was with someone called Jordan Stryker.”

  “You tried to look me up, then. Bad idea. No. Try Madison Flint instead. She’s a bit of a mystery, but she used to work for HiSpec. Maybe still does.”

  “Madison Flint. All right. It won’t take long. I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks,” Jordan replied. “When you’ve got something, can you call me?”

  “All right.”

  “It’s just that I’m having a security issue with e-mails at the moment.” Really, he didn’t want Raven to see that he was checking out Madison Flint.

  “You said you wanted data on people, not a person.”

  “Yes,” Jordan replied. “I’d be very interested if there’s any document in the deep web that links Phil Lazenby, Victoria Truman, Carlton Reed and Paige Ottaway.”

  “Hang on. I didn’t get all those names down.”

  “I’m e-mailing them to you,” said Jordan.

  “All right. I’ll do my best. You’re sure I’m getting a genuine British passport?”

  “Certain.”

  Angel held a hurried and urgent meeting in the bunker. He gazed in turn at Jordan, Raven and Kate. “I’ve just found out that, a few minutes before Victoria Truman’s place burned down last Friday, something else happened in Sudbury.”

  “What’s that?” Jordan asked.

  “A judge called Edward Jackson died.”

  “How?”

  “This is the interesting part of the post-mortem.” Angel glanced down at his monitor and read, “The software of his pacemaker was hijacked and maliciously reprogrammed to administer destructive shocks to the heart.”

  For a moment, they all glanced at each other in silence.

  “Sounds like Short Circuit to me,” Angel said.

  No one in the room was going to disagree with him.

  Jordan looked at Raven. “That’s not in the same league as bringing a plane down.”

  She shrugged. “If the post-mortem’s right and the pacemaker got reprogrammed, it’s a lot harder than just stopping it – or killing a circuit or two in a plane.”

  Kate muttered, “A judge, a pilot, a charity worker, a musician and a disabled pensioner. Why?”

  It was then that Jordan remembered something. He told them, “Demi Reed said Carlton never missed his daughter’s birthday except the time he did jury service.”

  Spotting a fresh lead, Angel began to give out orders. “Right. You check, Raven. Was Edward Jackson ever sitting in court when Carlton Reed was a juror? Is there a link? Were the other victims ever jurors? Was it at the same time or even the same trial?” He paused to take a breath. “Jordan. Find out when Carlton Reed did his jury service. Okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “And you’re in contact with Paige Ottaway’s family,” he added, “so ask them as well. Just in case Raven can’t find what we need in official databases.”

  “Done.”

  14 TROUBLING INFORMATION

  In the workshop, Jordan watched Kate slotting an updated circuit board into the computer behind the Jag’s dashboard. At the same time, he said into his phone, “Yes. Jordan Stryker. I dropped by on Tuesday and talked about Carlton.”

  “I remember,” Demi replied. “And you say you’ve got another question?”

  “Yes. You told me Carlton missed your daughter’s birthday once because he was on a jury.”

  “True.”

  “When was that?”

  “Well, it would’ve been January. The thirtieth. Which year? Let me see. 2008. Yes. 2008.”

  “Did he tell you the judge’s name?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Or who was on trial and what for?”

  “They told him not to discuss anything outside the courtroom.”

  “Yeah,” Jordan said, walking round to the front of his car. “But did he?”

  “Do juries swear on a bible or is that just the witnesses? Anyway, he was a God-fearing man who would’ve kept his word.”

  “Okay. Thanks. That’s good.”

  “You’re welcome. God bless.”

  Jordan paused. A technician had his head under the bonnet to install a new electronic starter unit. Its brand new microchips had come from a fresh source in Cardiff, so they were almost certainly untainted.

  Redialling, Jordan called Sam Ottaway. “Hi,” he said. “It’s Jordan Stryker here. Just wondering if your dad’s all right now.”

  “He’s doing great,” Sam replied. “He says thank you. I told him what you did. Oh. I asked him about forew as well. It didn’t mean anything to him. Sorry.”

  “Shame,” Jordan replied. “But I’m glad he’s okay. Just one more thing. Do you know if your mum was ever on a jury?”

  “No idea. What’s it got to do with her accident?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe nothing. It’s just something I’m working on.”

  “Well,” Sam said, “it’s the sort of thing she would’ve been happy to do. Serving the community and all that.”

  “It would’ve been early in 2008.”

  “Dad’ll probably know. I’ll ask him when I go to the hospital. All right? I’ll call you back.”

  “Thanks,” said Jordan.

  The familiar and distinctive smell of Raven’s perfume clung to the underground room. Normally restless, Raven sat motionless in front of her monitor. She said, “I’ve done all I can. I’ve accessed the jury database and our victims’ names just don’t crop up – not even Carlton Reed’s. Are you sure his wife’s got this right?”

  Jordan shrugged. “She seemed to know what she was talking about.”

  “I cross-checked with Justice Jackson cases going back years. There’s nothing.”

  “Not even in January 2008?”

  “Not then, not anytime.”

  Jordan thought about it for a moment. “I can’t see any reason why Demi Reed would lie or make it up, so why isn’t Carlton’s name on the database?”

  “Short Circuit’s pretty smart with a computer,” Raven replied.

  Jordan turned towards her. “Do you mean he could’ve got into it and deleted something or other?”

  Raven took a deep breath. “He’d have to get past some heavy protection. I can get in because I’ve got high-level clearance. If Short Circuit hasn’t, he’d have to be red hot to hack into these sorts of files. But I guess he is.”

  “Yeah.”

  “By the way,” she said, “I’ve got that HiSpec list for you, whittled down to fifty-four people with the expertise and authority to influence chip design. I copied it into your part of the system.”

  He nodded. “Thanks. Still fifty-four, though?”

  She frowned, apparently taking his comment as a criticism. “You should be pleased. That’s a lot better than 613.”

  “I guess so. I’ll take a look.”

  Jordan’s relentless afternoon of phone calls continued. His mobile hardly left his hand. “Hello? Is that Jordan Stryker?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Dipak Hardikar. I’ve got some news for you.”

  Jordan looked around. Raven was not wi
thin hearing. “Great. What is it?”

  “Not so great, I’m afraid. Madison Flint died in an accident sixteen months ago.”

  “What happened?”

  “A woman’s car broke down on an unmanned level crossing. A train ploughed into it. Big crash – and quite a lot of confusion. They thought five had died, but it turned out to be six. Madison Flint was one of them.”

  “Is there a description of her?”

  “Better than that. A newspaper printed pictures of all the victims. Just their faces.”

  “Can you send Madison Flint’s mugshot to my phone?”

  “Not immediately. Let me ring off and I’ll do it in a minute.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Jordan ended the call but kept the mobile in his palm. Every few seconds, he glanced down at it, hoping to see Madison Flint, half knowing what to expect.

  The phone bleeped when the image arrived. Even though he’d anticipated the face he would see, he still drew in a sharp breath. He recognized her immediately. Madison Flint was undoubtedly a slightly younger version of Raven.

  But what did it mean? Why hadn’t she told him that she once worked at HiSpec?

  Raven probably deleted her real name from the list to cover up her past. That seemed to be the way in Unit Red. She had apparently died – like Ben Smith – and then resurfaced as an agent with an entirely different name – like Jordan Stryker. In reality, she probably hadn’t been anywhere near that train crash. Angel was powerful enough to arrange a funeral for Ben Smith and alter the details of Phil Lazenby’s death. He’d probably set up this fiction so Madison could disown her history and emerge as Raven.

  But Jordan feared there was an alternative explanation. Raven had suggested that Short Circuit might be a microchip designer at HiSpec. Maybe she was right. But Raven herself had been a microchip designer at HiSpec. By removing her old name from the HiSpec staff list, was Raven hiding her past identity or the possibility that she was a murderer? And what was Jordan going to do about it?

  Coming into the room, Angel interrupted Jordan’s thoughts. “That amateur pilot who got on board Flight BA460 was quite like Toby Cotterill. But natural similarity wasn’t enough. He’d had plastic surgery to finish the job. Anyway, I’ve checked him out. No particular knowledge of electronics and no connection with Suffolk. He’s not Short Circuit. As far as I can see, you stumbled on a different plot altogether. I’ve given him to the normal security services.”

  “Okay,” Jordan replied.

  “Is something bothering you?”

  “Er...no.” Jordan wasn’t yet ready to talk about Raven. First, he wanted to make up his mind how to deal with the troubling information he’d just received.

  Angel frowned. “Sure?”

  “Yes.”

  It wasn’t true, of course. He felt utterly unsure.

  Angel’s sudden appearance reminded Jordan that, when he’d phoned from Ipswich, his chief had said, “I don’t know where Raven is, but she’s not here.” That meant Raven too could have been in Ipswich. And, with her inside knowledge, she would know enough to take control of his Jaguar for one disastrous minute.

  “All right,” Angel said, realizing that Jordan didn’t want a discussion. “I’ll leave you to it. But first...” He handed Jordan a British passport. “That’s for your hacker, Dipak Hardikar.”

  Straight after breakfast on Friday, Jordan took Kate into the cemetery where they would not be overheard. There, he told her that Madison Flint had been Raven’s name before she’d joined Unit Red.

  “Ah, that’s it, then,” Kate replied as they strolled past the overgrown monuments. “She was just covering up her history when she scrubbed that name from the HiSpec list. It’s not a big deal.”

  “But...”

  “What?”

  “You know when we were in Sudbury? Where was Raven?”

  Kate inclined her head in the direction of the Unit Red house. “Here. You called her on the way back to London.”

  “That was late. Where was she when Victoria Truman and the judge died?”

  Kate came to a sudden stop. “What are you saying?”

  Jordan shrugged. “I’m just...thinking aloud. She doesn’t like me. Keeps giving me funny looks.”

  “Haven’t you worked out why? I reckon she’s wary of you because she can never be sure she’s private when you’re around. Know what I mean?”

  He nodded. She was referring to his terahertz vision. “But I haven’t looked through her clothes. To be honest, there’s not much to look at.”

  Relaxing, Kate laughed. “But she’s proud of what she’s got. A bit vain, even.”

  As they resumed their walk, Jordan gazed at his handler. “You don’t seem so touchy about it.”

  “I’m a firefighter and engineer – or I was. Surrounded by big beefy blokes. I couldn’t afford to be precious about such things. You ought to have heard the comments. On second thoughts, maybe you shouldn’t.” She hesitated before changing the subject. “Short Circuit didn’t have to be in Sudbury, you know. If he’s doing it all by hacking, he could be anywhere as long as he’s in front of a computer.”

  “He’s got to be close if he’s using hardware Trojans. That’s what Raven said. Either way, he – or she – must have been in Ipswich on Saturday to know Phil Lazenby was in my car.”

  “True,” said Kate. “Good point.”

  Interrupted by the ringing of his phone, Jordan stopped by a crooked cross and answered the call.

  “I’ve been on this all night,” Dipak complained. “I’m getting nowhere with HiSpec’s bank and the workers on its payroll now.”

  “Forget it, then,” Jordan replied. “Anything else?”

  “You asked me about four people. Phil Lazenby, Carlton Reed, Paige Ottaway and Victoria Truman. I found out lots about the pilot, the bass player and the councillor, but Victoria Truman’s a blank and there’s nothing that links them all.”

  “Oh. That’s a shame. To say the least.”

  “If I can’t find it, I doubt if anyone can,” Dipak said. “In fact, if I can’t find it, I doubt if it exists.”

  Jordan sighed.

  “I’ve done all I can,” Dipak continued, “so what about my passport?”

  “I’ve got it. I’ll put it in the post today. And thanks.”

  Jordan ended the call. He was about to put his mobile back in his pocket when it rang again. This time, it was Sam Ottaway. Paige’s son said, “Dad’s not precise about when, but he reckons Mum did jury service quite a few years ago.”

  At once, Jordan’s heart began to beat faster. “Is he sure? It’s important.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes,” Jordan said.

  “Well, he’s sure. He remembers because she was proud of being made the jury foreman.”

  “Did she say what the case was?”

  “I don’t think so. Anyway,” Sam said, “I don’t see what it’s got to do with Mum’s treatment and the hospital’s mistake.”

  “Neither do I,” Jordan replied. “But there might be a connection. Thanks.”

  Straight away, he said to Kate, “Paige Ottaway was on jury service.”

  “It’s beginning to look significant.”

  “Yes. She was foreman of the jury.”

  Kate smiled. “I think you’ll find she was forewoman.”

  Jordan’s mouth opened and he stared at her, his spine tingling.

  “What have I said?” she asked.

  “Forewoman. Which begins with forew. Which is as far as Phil Lazenby got when the car went into overdrive. I bet he was writing forewoman on her photo. He recognized her! He must have done. He must have been on the same jury!”

  15 OPEN DISTRUST

  “Right,” Angel said. “Jordan’s onto something. It looks like Phil Lazenby, Paige Ottaway and Carlton Reed were on jury service in East Anglia. And Justice Jackson was in the same area. You can link Lazenby to Ottaway for sure, because of what he wrote in the car, but I don’t yet see a certain con
nection to the others.”

  “They’re all dead,” Jordan replied immediately.

  “Through electronic mishaps,” Kate added.

  Angel nodded. “Mmm. But strangely, we haven’t got an official record of them being on the same jury – or any jury, if it comes to that. I suppose Short Circuit – clever with computers – could have hacked his way in there and destroyed the jury list.” He looked around at them all. “So, what’s our next move?” He was probably full of ideas, but he wanted to hear theirs.

  Jordan was not going to announce his intentions when there was a chance that Short Circuit was in the room. He was concerned that Raven had the necessary clearance to open and perhaps alter the jury database. Knowing that she’d already deleted an entry from the HiSpec file, he was wondering if she had tinkered with the court records as well.

  “Because,” Angel continued, “it strikes me it’s rather important. If we identified the trial – if they were all involved in the same one – we’d probably know who Short Circuit is. He’d be the one accused of a crime. Remember what he said in one of his rants? It’s all about dignity and fairness. Maybe now we know what sort of grievance he’s got. If he was on trial, he probably thinks it wasn’t fair. That’d be his motive: revenge for his appearance in court. So, if we had a list of jurors, the prosecution barrister and the police officer in charge of the case, we’d probably know his next victims. In Short Circuit’s eyes, they’d all be responsible for denting his dignity.”

  Jordan leaped up and, at full stretch, plucked a cricket ball from the air with his right hand. He threw it to the young bowler who, taken aback by the speed of the return, dropped the ball and blew on his stinging palms. At once, the boys began to argue among themselves. They were split on whether a player could be dismissed by a passing stranger taking a catch. Jordan smiled and continued to wander through Waterlow Park.

  He was thinking about the latest theory. If Short Circuit had been on trial, surely he wouldn’t have a motive for revenge unless he’d been found guilty of something. So, if he’d worked at HiSpec, one of the fifty-four employees with design experience would have a criminal record, dating from early 2008. That was what Jordan was keen to check.