High Pressure

by Sam Blake

  Rob heard a distinct murmur cross the room. He was familiar with the situation, but it was always good to hear the briefing – there had been occasions when vital info had slipped between the cracks between agencies supposedly co-operating.

  Wesley continued: ‘Initially, social media sharing appeared to be spontaneous, much like previous incidents. But the Cyber Crime Unit has been analysing the pattern of dissemination and it’s starting to look like these hoaxes are being orchestrated centrally, a literal cry wolf campaign designed to distract us and stretch resources to breaking point. Terror threats are at their highest level ever, and we can’t risk not reacting when the wolf really does appear. As well as dedicated teams from Counter Terrorism, the Met Cyber Crime Unit and the National Cyber Crime Unit, we’re joined today by Rob Power from the US Central Intelligence Agency. We’re very much keeping our theories about the origins of these scares need to know only, but we worked closely together previously with Rob’s team on Operation Honey Bee.’

  He left the sentence hanging. The CIA had dovetailed with an investigation into a major terrorist campaign that had brought London to a standstill, literally in its tracks, and had bagged a serial killer to boot. It was an example of how successful intelligence-led cross-border policing could be.

  ‘Welcome, Rob. Good to have you with us.’

  Rob could see his image in the corner of the screen come to life.

  ‘Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for inviting me to join you. Over here in New York, my team is very like your National Cyber Crime Unit. One of our key areas of interest is hostile social media activity. Obviously with our president arriving in the UK imminently, all agencies are on high alert, including a dedicated unit from my team. Fake news –’ Rob paused significantly – ‘is a major issue at every level of society. We have seen how Twitter and Facebook were infiltrated by the Russians. With domestic terrorists and IS in the mix there, our threat level is at an all-time high. My guys are seeing patterns in the hoaxes occurring in London that have been mirrored in activity we’ve seen in the States.’ He paused. ‘It’s highly effective, as the simplest conspiracies often are.’

  He cleared his throat.

  ‘The perps orchestrating this have set up social media accounts that pick up a handful of follow backs. They connect to apparently random individuals’ personal accounts in the target location, building relationships by commenting and retweeting. Then, at a given time, they begin to disseminate photos, video and messages suggesting there is a terrorist attack in progress. They use the appropriate hashtags which generate organic growth, but when their followers pick up these messages, it becomes more credible and begins to spiral.’

  Rob paused, taking a sip of water from the glass in front of him.

  ‘You saw it first when a pop star tweeted he’d heard gunshots in Selfridges. Whatever happened, it’s infinitely possible some dude let off firecrackers to deliberately sound like gunshots. Maybe someone near this guy said it sounded like gunfire, and caused him to react, who knows?

  ‘But …’ He paused, taking a glance at the main screen. Despite the heat, he had their full attention. ‘As a result, as you know, the entire store was evacuated and that caused a ripple effect of panic right down Oxford Street. And it was Black Friday, so significantly more shoppers were out than normal. People outside began picking it up and panic spread. That reaction was totally understandable but it demonstrates how one piece of information can create a tsunami. Whoever is behind the current spate of social media activity is leveraging this – maybe that was the first attempt and they hit lucky with a celebrity doing their work for them.’

  Leaning forward on the conference table, Rob took another sip from the glass of water in front of him before continuing.

  ‘It’s very clear from our analysis that these hoax events are related. The pattern of escalation is common to each one.’ He paused. ‘We have to plan for the possibility that these fake news attacks are a smokescreen to conceal additional covert activity, that something big is being planned. Tracking through social media across all platforms, it’s clear the early tweets around each incident are being sent from the location the device is at. It gives them an added level of veracity, but it also means these guys are on the ground. Mike will tell you more –’ Rob nodded to Wesley – ‘but the message is that we’re all on high alert. It seems likely the escalation of activity you’re seeing is linked to the president’s arrival.’

  In London, Rob heard a rumble of discontent cross the room. They were all on the same page here. On the main screen he saw a hand rise in the audience. Mike Wesley indicated the officer should speak.

  ‘PC Blake, Limehouse. All social media accounts have to be registered with an email address. Can you trace the IP addresses they were set up with, find out where these people live?’

  ‘Good question.’ Rob nodded. ‘That’s exactly what we do. We take every scrap of information from the accounts involved – locations, profile photos, connections. We look across all social media platforms, building pictures of every individual, their backgrounds, and their relationships, both virtual and terrestrial. We look for the intersections, for common ground. It’s big, but we’ve been developing programs to do exactly this.’ He paused. ‘What we’re finding is that the majority of the first response accounts have been set up using VPNs – Virtual Private Networks. Which, while it masks the user, also indicates this is an orchestrated campaign.’ Rob scanned the room pictured on the screen in front of him. ‘We can’t say for sure who this is yet, but there are some likely suspects. Jihadist safe havens used to be physically located in Afghanistan, north-west Pakistan, Yemen and the Islamic State, but now they are online, hidden in the Dark Net where they are using encrypted communication channels and cryptocurrencies. As you know, the Dark Net is unindexed. IS draw interested sympathisers from the surface web, identifying them via social media, and bring them into the Dark Net where they use end-to-end encryption apps like Telegram to indoctrinate and radicalise individuals. It’s like a swamp, for want of a better term – it’s where the pond life gathers to breed.’

  In London, DCI Mike Wesley moved forward at the top of the room.

  ‘It’s clear from what Rob’s saying that we need to move fast. There have been five hoax attacks so far, including Trafalgar Square and Wimbledon Lawn Tennis Club at lunchtime today. The techs on the ground are reporting finding smoke canisters and a home-made explosive in Trafalgar Square, which was more about noise than damage. We could be lulled into thinking this is some sort of schoolboy prank, but everything is pointing to it being much more significant than that. We’ve got the usual crazies claiming responsibility, but there is physical evidence at the scene today that suggests an IS link.’

  Mike Wesley frowned as he put his hands on his hips.

  ‘You’ve all been selected for this team because of your experience, whether that’s in community policing, surveillance, linguistics or cybercrime. We’re going to be pulling in information on every suspect across the city and cross-matching with the Cyber Crime team to find the patterns. If we can identify the individuals who are at the heart of each of these scares, we can find out who, why and what next. The escalation in activity suggests the clock is ticking. It’s about to get even hotter out there.’

  Chapter 7

  In the Irish embassy, Brioni flipped the bolt on the door of the staff toilets and fell against it, finally allowing herself to breathe. She’d told Siobhan she was feeling faint with the heat, and Niamh had taken over upstairs for a few minutes. There was a fifteen-minute break while the speeches were on, which gave her fifteen minutes to work out if Steve had seen her and what she would say when he did. Christ, if she’d known her obnoxious brother-in-law was going to be here, she’d have stayed in the kitchen.

  Seeing him across the room, she’d frozen for a moment, then slipped away, looking frantically around for Marissa the whole time. Actually stopping to listen on the landing to the conversation spilli
ng from the room, she’d discovered that this was a Women in STEM thing, a PR exercise by Cybex to sponsor a scholarship with Trinity. Surely Mar had to be here somewhere? But Brioni had passed the reception desk on her way to the kitchen and had checked with the girls manning it – Mar’s name wasn’t on the guest list.

  How weird was that?

  Brioni felt her skin chill. Steve had smothered and controlled her sister since the moment he’d met her. Insisting their wedding was in Charleston instead of Dublin, so nobody could go. Insisting she didn’t work once they were married, didn’t even drive. How mad was that? He even watched her when they went to the supermarket, never letting her out of his sight. Brioni had said it to Marissa, but she’d been in love and deaf to any criticism, had accused Brioni of being jealous.

  Younger sisters had no idea, apparently, even halfway clever ones. Mar had shut down, only available to listen to her mega-manipulative new husband who told her how much he loved her every night. Apparently. Brioni had started to argue, to try and explain what she was seeing in the relationship – she could remember the scene so clearly now, sitting on the balcony of Steve’s stunning apartment overlooking Central Park. It hadn’t felt real, and maybe that was the root of the problem. Brioni had tried her hardest, but then she’d had a plane to catch and her own self to find before she could deal with anyone else’s emotional issues.

  Brioni took a deep breath. She was going to have to face Steve after the speeches. And then what would he say? Would he have an explanation for Mar not returning her calls? Would he have a good reason why his wife, who was Irish, and had a first-class honours degree in biochemistry from Trinity College, wasn’t in the room at a Trinity College event to celebrate more women getting into science?

  Holy fuck, she couldn’t believe this was happening.

  Or that she was hiding in the loo.

  She needed to get out there and confront him, to take control of the situation. Brioni took a deep breath, pulling her shirt away from her body. It was boiling down here and she was sweating.

  She’d thought India was hot.

  Bending over the basin, turning the cold tap on full, Brioni splashed water over her face and hands, trying to get her thoughts in order. Steve Hunt was a bastard who wouldn’t let Mar out of his sight, but he was a direct connection to her. And right now Brioni was having problems remembering their home address. It had been on the good luck card Mar had given her, but that was in her suitcase and, like a total idiot, she hadn’t thought of writing it down in her diary. She knew it was number 44, but she couldn’t quite remember the name of the road. She could remember it was Highgate, though, so that was a start.

  She needed to see Mar, and the odds were that Steve was 100% of the reason that she hadn’t been in touch. But he could hardly pretend she didn’t exist now.

  Brioni shook off the excess water and looked at herself in the mirror. She was going to go and talk to him, all smiles and surprise, and she was going to find out what was going on.

  Chapter 8

  ‘Donal, you remember Professor Anna Lockharte from Trinity, and Anna, this is Steve Hunt, CEO of Cybex Security Systems.’ In the elegant main reception room at the Irish embassy, Isolde Mulcahy introduced Anna. ‘You don’t have a drink, Steve. Let me get you some more champagne.’

  ‘Good to meet you, Professor Lockharte.’ Steve Hunt put out his hand and smiled as Anna juggled her glass and phone into the same hand so she could return his handshake. But he looked away a second after it had finished. Surprised, Anna tried hard not to raise her eyebrows. As if he realised he needed to say something, he turned back to her. ‘What do you do in Trinity?’

  He obviously hadn’t bothered to read his briefing notes. Impressive.

  Anna answered: ‘International politics, but with a focus on terrorism.’ She paused. ‘An area I rather wish wasn’t quite so topical right now.’

  ‘Terrorism is the deadliest form of warfare and it’s constantly evolving. And it’s getting bigger online than ever before. That’s where we come in.’

  A smile fluttered across Anna’s face. She always loved it when men told her about her speciality.

  ‘How are we doing for time?’

  Perhaps he’d noticed Anna’s look, but Donal Mulcahy cut in before she could answer, looking around vaguely as if there should have been a clock on the wall. Before anyone could answer, Isolde materialised beside them, handing Steve a glass.

  ‘Sorry that took so long, I got caught on the way. It’s chilled, quite delicious. It’s just after three o’clock, Donal. Should we get started when Mr Hunt’s had a moment to enjoy his champagne?’

  As Isolde spoke, Anna’s phone vibrated silently in her hand, signalling a text arriving.

  What was Rob like?

  He’d been texting her since she’d arrived in London. His team were working closely with the British police on a case – he hadn’t been able to explain what over the phone, but with the controversial presidential visit already in the diary, he needed to get over to meet with his colleagues in New Scotland Yard. And she couldn’t wait to see him.

  Not that getting to see him made their situation any less complicated. Nothing had happened, but the spark between them had been there for so long, and as time had gone by, they had become closer and closer friends. True soul mates. Rob’s marriage had been dicey for years, but the real problem was that he was married to her brother-in-law Charles’s sister.

  Whenever Anna thought about it, she still couldn’t believe it. Before she’d been killed, her own sister Jen had dropped the occasional hint that she suspected Rob was attracted to her, that things weren’t good for him at home. He and Rebecca didn’t have any children, and even then they’d both doted on Jen and Charles’s daughter Hope. Anna hadn’t been able to tell Jen that actually something had been smouldering since the day they’d met.

  Anna sighed to herself. Perhaps when Hope was older he’d look at getting a divorce – it wasn’t Anna’s place to ask, but Hope’s stability since Jen had been killed was vital to the whole family. The events in Paris had brought them all closer together; Anna had become Hope’s guardian in Ireland, and no matter how strongly she and Rob felt about each other, the last thing any of them needed was a scandal ripping their family apart. ISIS had already tried, and neither of them were ready to open those wounds.

  Interrupting Anna’s thoughts, Steve Hunt took a polite sip of his champagne.

  ‘Thank you. It’s delicious, but I can’t have much, I have to speak in a few minutes. Is Eva here yet? She was bringing some guy from The Guardian.’

  Donal Mulcahy gestured towards the low-rise podium, set in front of an enormous mirror that dominated the rear wall of the long narrow room.

  ‘There were some security issues earlier – perhaps they got held up? She emailed your speech, we have it ready on the lectern. Will we just check the microphone while we wait for her to catch up? It’s so hot we don’t want to overrun. I’ll say a few words and then introduce you?’

  ‘Perfect. None of us want to be here any longer than necessary.’

  Anna caught the look of surprise in Isolde’s eye and pursed her lips, biting back a response.

  Maybe this was the time to make that speech of hers a bit longer?

  There were so many inspirational Irish women she could talk about who had made their mark in science. She could talk at length about X-ray crystallographer Kathleen Lonsdale, or space physicist Susan McKenna-Lawlor.

  As Anna turned to follow Steve to the podium, she caught sight of a flash of pink. The girl she’d spoken to earlier was standing just inside the door, watching what was happening. She moved further into the room and Anna could see that she had a strange look on her face. She was frowning, but it wasn’t a worried frown; her eyes were hard.

  There was something about her that reminded Anna strongly of Hope. She was a few years older but had that same sharp, appraising look Hope had, and even from their brief conversation, she could tell, the same quick min
d. Anna had a feeling they’d get on very well, would laugh over the same things on Reddit, understand the maths nerd jokes that Hope always had to explain to her. And looking at her now, Anna got the distinct impression that the girl didn’t have a lot of patience for things or people that annoyed her – just like Hope.

  Anna watched her for another second. She seemed to be studying someone across the room, but before Anna could figure it out who, she was distracted by her phone vibrating again. Ahead of her, the ambassador was already tapping the microphone. She couldn’t possibly look at the screen until the presentation was finished, but could feel a smile curling across her lips. Honestly, for a highly respected spook, Rob was so full of mischief, messing about sending texts like a teenager in the back row of the cinema.

  He made her laugh so much, sent her the most hilarious emails, about going to a wedding and turning up at the wrong one, or missing his train because he stopped for a sandwich. His ability to tell a story with brilliant comic timing made him all the more adorable. She just wished she could see him more often; she loved every minute of his company. They never ran out of things to talk about and her heart raced the moment he entered the room.

  Tuning back into the reception, Anna listened to the ambassador’s introduction about the importance of encouraging women to study STEM subjects. Anna felt a surge of emotion; there were so many brilliant women who had had to fight at every turn to be heard by men who felt threatened by successful, intelligent women. How long would it take to change thousands of years of history?

  Anna glanced over again to Brioni. She had her arms firmly folded and was obviously listening, her waitressing duties forgotten for a moment. Women like her were the future; they brought a different way of thinking to the table. It never ceased to amaze Anna that the thing men didn’t seem to realise was that women were strong – they gave birth and survived small children. Sleep deprivation and incessant questioning were interrogation tactics in other parts of the world, for God’s sake. Women were ready to face obstacles, ready to overcome, and they would use every opportunity, like this bursary, to take giant leaps. In her book it was always better to work with people, to find the common ground, than to work against them. As long as the patriarchy continued to keep their wagons in a circle there would be women slipping under the wheels, finding ways to get what they needed despite the barriers. They might have to work harder and be a lot wilier in their approach, to be tougher and more determined, but they’d never stop.