This was one possibility I hadn’t considered before, but it all made perfect sense now. I had no idea how much it would cost to arrange a death, but seven thousand pounds seemed a remarkably small amount to end two lives. By themselves, the words on the website were inconclusive but coupled with the location where I had discovered the scrap of paper, the logic was inescapable; it appeared the killer had accidentally dropped the login details for the page on which the contract for the murder had been placed.
My first reaction was to reach for my mobile, but something made me hesitate. I wanted to be sure of my facts before contacting the helpline number. When I had looked at the website earlier that day, the status was marked as awaiting confirmation. The fact they had reported the deaths on the news should be evidence enough for the person who had placed the contract. I didn’t know how the site worked, but it was reasonable to assume the job status should now be set to complete.
Before making the call, I had to convince myself I wasn’t jumping to the wrong conclusions. The only way to do that was to check the page again. I could have returned to The Café Corner, but I was so shaken I didn’t feel up to driving, and I needed to know immediately. I hurried back to the kitchen where I had left the laptop bag. My heart thudded in my chest as I sank onto the sofa, plugged in the mains charger and pressed the power button.
The computer seemed to take even longer than usual to boot. When the desktop finally appeared, I dragged the cursor to the Tor Browser icon and stabbed frantically at the touchpad. The note containing the login details was still in my wallet, so I removed it and straightened it out on the surface of the table while I waited for the program to start.
With trembling fingers, I copied the text into the address bar and hit the enter key. “Come on,” I muttered. The little dot rotated around the circumference of the circle in the upper left corner for several seconds. I expected the bland login box to appear. Instead, I received an error message: “Unable to Connect.”
My eyes darted over the letters at the top of the page. Had I made a mistake transcribing them? Everything looked correct. In mounting frustration, I deleted the line and retyped it, carefully checking each letter as I did so. A short while later, the same message reappeared. I started up a conventional browser window and confirmed the Internet connection was working. “Damn,” I yelled, slamming my palms on the keyboard.
Was my Service Provider blocking access? I remembered what Jamie had said about their ability to detect usage of the Tor Browser. It seemed logical to conclude they might also prevent the data from reaching its destination.
I tried to organise my thoughts. As I saw it, three options were open to me: I could return to the café and try again from there, I could call the hotline without confirming the site was still active or I could contact Jamie and ask him to check the link. I wasn’t quite ready to drag my brother-in-law further into this. Nor did I want to make a fool of myself by calling the police with no real evidence.
That just left the first option.
Chapter 7
The promised rain came down by the bucket full, and the wipers worked hard to keep the windscreen clear. The drive through the torrential conditions passed in a blur, both physically and metaphorically. I parked in a pay and display car park near Basingstoke town centre. I had no loose change so chose to risk it. Surely no traffic warden in their right mind would be out in the downpour, and I didn’t intend to stay long.
By the time I reached The Café Corner, my feet were soaked through. A trickle of water dribbled down my neck as I lowered the hood of my cagoule under the cover of the doorway. The windows were fogged up. A wave of warm air rolled over me as I pulled the door back, the bell barely audible above the clamour of voices. It wasn’t yet dark, but the place had a different feel about it. For one thing, it was far busier. As my eyes swept the room, I spotted only two spare tables. Moments later, a young couple moved away from the counter and settled down at the nearest. Desperate to obtain some answers, I made a beeline to the remaining empty table.
Shrugging off my wet coat, I draped it over the back of the chair and sat. There were no plug sockets in range of the charger, so I would just have to hope the battery lasted long enough. I removed the laptop from its carry bag and pressed the power button, waiting impatiently as it began its laborious startup sequence.
While my computer booted, I surveyed my fellow customers. Most were in their twenties or early thirties. The hubbub of conversation rose and fell. A loud peal of laughter erupted from the far corner where three men holding pint glasses studied the screen of a mobile phone. My gaze wandered to the counter. Molly stood beside the coffee machine with her back to me as she adjusted the dials. The hiss of steam brought a sudden silence in the background chatter before the sound level increased once more.
Finally, the display sprang into life. With dismay, I noticed that the power bar was already down by a quarter. As I started the Tor browser, it suddenly occurred to me that the wireless code might have changed since earlier that day. My eyes dropped to the Wi-Fi icon. To my relief, it was green with four rings.
I pulled the paper out of my wallet and hurriedly transcribed the letters. As I was about to press the penultimate character, Molly’s cheery voice broke into my concentration.
“Hello again, Mr P—I mean Alex. I don’t see you for seven years, and suddenly you’re here twice on the same day. You must really like this place.”
“Hi, Molly. I’ve just got some urgent work to finish up.”
“Is there no Internet at home then?”
My gaze settled on the power icon. While I watched, the number displaying the remaining percentage changed from seventy to sixty-nine. “No, I’ve been having problems with my phone line, and I need to get this done tonight.”
I could sense her studying the screen from over my shoulder. The Tor Browser text at the top of the page was unmistakable in its distinctive green and purple font. My finger rested on the enter key, but I didn’t press it.
Finally, she shrugged. It was obvious she had been hoping I would continue. “Can I get you a drink? I can’t do another one on the house I’m afraid.”
I needed her to leave. “Yes, please. An Americano again if that’s okay.”
“I’ll be right back.”
My eyes followed her towards the counter. When I faced the screen once again, the power bar indicated only sixty-five per cent remaining.
My pulse rate increased as I pressed the key. Once again, the wait icon began its hypnotic rotation pattern. Surely it hadn’t taken so long the last time I was here. Fifteen seconds later, a yellow warning triangle accompanied the “Unable to Connect” message. I needed to confirm the problem didn’t lie with the Internet connection. Restarting the browser, I clicked the hyperlink to DuckDuckGo on the Tor start screen. During my earlier research, I had learned that it was a search engine without any of the tracking features included in the mainstream sites, such as Google or MSN. The page immediately opened displaying the image of a duck’s head with a green bow tie around its neck above an empty text box. The link was working fine. That could only mean the site owners had taken it down.
Damn! I slammed the lid of my laptop in frustration. A handful of my fellow patrons glanced in my direction before resuming their conversations. I sat resting my head between my hands as my brain whirled through the options. My conscience wouldn’t allow me to keep the information I had obtained to myself, but I still felt the need to talk things through before going to the police. My brother-in-law, Jamie, was the obvious candidate. He already knew a small part of the story.
I was returning the laptop to its carry case when Molly returned carrying a tall mug of steaming hot coffee. I had forgotten about the drink I had ordered.
“Finished so soon?” she said. “That was quick. Anyway, that’ll be three ninety-nine please.”
I rummaged in my wallet, withdrew a five-pound note and handed it to her. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks, um ... A
lex.” She smiled down at me. “Maybe I’ll see you again in another couple of hours.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I couldn’t help smiling in return. “That’s me done for the day. It was nice seeing you.”
She turned away then hesitated. “My boyfriend spends a lot of time on that Tor thing.”
So, she had seen the screen. I didn't know what to say, so I responded with a non-committal, “Right.”
She stood awkwardly for a second longer, then raised a hand in a half wave as she returned to the serving area. “'Bye, then.”
I took a sip from my coffee. My gaze darted to the counter. Molly had disappeared through the door into the kitchen. I placed the laptop bag on the floor, grabbed the raincoat off the chair and shrugged my arms into the damp material. Leaving the unfinished drink, I headed towards the exit and the teeming rain.
Whether it was due to the contradictory thoughts spinning through my brain or the prospect of having to navigate my way back through the inclement weather, I’m not sure. Whatever the reason, as I hurried through the door, the laptop bag slipped my mind.
Chapter 8
If anything, it was raining even harder as I made my way through the drenched city centre back to the car park. Whilst the cagoule kept the upper part of my body relatively dry, the cold water splashed off the pavement and seeped into my shoes. The thud of raindrops against the plastic material of the hood drowned out all other noises. A nagging feeling tugged at the edge of my subconscious, but I put it down to the circumstances in which I found myself, and not the slip of memory concerning the laptop bag.
Five minutes later, I sank into the driver’s seat. The dampness soaked into the fabric, but my mind was on other things. I started the engine and set the fan to its highest speed to clear the layer of condensation forming on the interior glass. The wipers swished backwards and forwards in a hypnotic rhythm as they worked to shift the torrent from the windscreen.
I retrieved the handkerchief from my pocket and dried my face. Every movement caused more water to trickle off the slick surface of my raincoat and seep into the upholstery. Tossing the damp square of blue cloth onto the passenger seat, I lowered the zip of the coat far enough to reach into my shirt pocket and grab my phone.
I unlocked the screen and scrolled down the list of contacts until I came to the one for my brother-in-law. The ringing tone sounded in my ear as I gazed absent-mindedly out of the side window.
Jamie answered after three rings. “Twice on the same day, Percy?”
“Yeah, sorry about that, mate. Listen, I need your advice on something.”
“Let me guess. Is it to do with that website?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m certainly no expert on the dark web. What can I help you with?”
I hesitated for a moment before replying. “Would it be okay if I came around so we can discuss it face to face?”
My gaze tracked to the dashboard clock. Eight thirty-two. I hadn’t considered the time when I asked the question.
“No problem. I’ll just have to ask my harem of beautiful women to leave.”
It hadn’t occurred to me he might have company. He and my sister were separated, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t seeing somebody else. “If you’re busy, I can always come tomorrow.”
Jamie laughed. “I was only joking. I’m all on my own tonight—and every other night for that matter. It’ll be good to share a beer or two.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes.”
I ended the call and returned the phone to my shirt pocket. By now, the windscreen fan had cleared a circle of glass a foot across. I cranked up the setting on the climate control system to twenty-six degrees. Within seconds, the warm air blasting out of the vents had turned the interior of the vehicle into a tropical greenhouse, but it had the desired effect, and I could see well enough to drive. I released the handbrake and navigated my way onto the main road.
I had driven a little over a hundred yards when I finally realised what had been nagging at my subconscious. Cursing, I performed a three-point turn and returned to my recently vacated space in the car park. I groaned at the prospect of braving the elements again, but I couldn’t leave the laptop at the café. By the time I arrived back at the entrance, the water was sloshing around in my shoes.
The bell dinged as I entered, and a wave of warmth rolled over me. I lowered the hood of my cagoule, leaving a wet trail behind me. Excusing myself to the two girls sitting nearest the door, I reached over to grab a napkin and dabbed at my face. My gaze focused on the spot where I had left the case, but a young couple now occupied the table, holding hands and deep in conversation. There was no sign of the laptop.
My attention transferred to the serving area where Molly leaned forwards, concentrating on something just below the level of the counter. She looked up as I approached. A guilty expression flashed across her face.
“Oh, hi, Alex. I was trying to see whether there was an email address or a telephone number so I could call you.”
As I peered down, she slipped my computer back into the black bag. “Um ... thanks,” I said, unsure what else to say.
She handed the case over with a nervous smile. “I was thinking about dropping it off on my way home at the end of my shift, but I realised I don’t know where you live.”
I thanked her again and closed the zip fully. At the time, I didn’t give it a second thought. It was only much later that I would consider her behaviour suspicious.
I raised the hood of my plastic coat and headed once more into the teeming rain. When I reached the car, the interior still retained some warmth. I tossed the laptop on the passenger seat and started the engine.
The journey passed without event. As I drove, I ran over in my head what I hoped to gain by involving my brother-in-law. If I was honest, the main reason was to get a second opinion about what I should do next. I was almost certain my failure to connect to the site was unrelated to anything I had done differently from the first time. Jamie should be able to confirm whether that was the case. There was no real question in my mind I would call the police. In hindsight, I just wanted somebody else to tell me it was the correct thing to do.
I indicated right, swinging past the For-Sale sign as I steered onto the short drive. The house had been on the market for two months. From what I had learned from my sister, there had been few viewers. I was far from an expert on property prices, but it seemed to me that it was vastly over-priced.
In some ways, I think they were both reluctant to sell. Once they divided the proceeds, there would be no going back and no hope of reconciliation. My suspicion was that deep down, neither of them wanted to separate, but they didn’t know how to bridge their differences. Both my mother and I had urged my sister to set up a session with a marriage guidance counsellor. Demonstrating the stubborn streak that runs through our family, she had told us in no uncertain terms to keep our opinions to ourselves.
Despite the bickering that took place in private, Cathy and Jamie were doing their best to keep it amicable for the sake of the girls. I had seen my sister reduced to tears when the younger of the two asked whether her mummy and daddy were going to get back together. Until they sold the property, they remained separated but not divorced. My nieces stayed with their father every other weekend and spent the rest of the time at their grandmother’s house with their mother. Neither partner seemed keen to break the status quo.
I grabbed the laptop bag from the passenger seat and made the short dash to the front porch. My finger had barely touched the doorbell when the door swung open to reveal Jamie’s stocky frame.
“Percy,” he said standing back. “You look like a drowned rat. Come in and get out of the rain.”
Jamie Saunders was in his mid-thirties. He didn’t exercise enough and enjoyed his food too much, factors which combined to give him the slight paunch that protruded from beneath the blue and white striped rugby shirt he wore over faded jeans. His brown hair was thinning
above his forehead; it wouldn’t be more than a year or two before he developed a full bald patch.
Grey crescents rimmed his eyes, but the mischievous sparkle persisted.
“Why don’t you go into the lounge, and you can tell me all about your adventures in the dark web. I’ll get us a couple of beers.”
I shrugged off my damp coat and hung it over the bannister. As I passed through the doorway, I couldn’t help but notice the untidy state of the room. An assortment of empty mugs rested on the low, wooden coffee table alongside a dirty plate. An opened newspaper occupied one half of the sofa. A stack of computer magazines lay in a haphazard heap on the beige carpet. The scent of stale cigarette smoke lingered in the air. I soon tracked the source to a crumpled butt in a saucer resting on the seat of the armchair: another bad habit my brother-in-law had picked up. My sister would never have tolerated smoking in the house had she been in residence.
I cleared a space for myself and sank into the cushions. Something jabbed into my back. I retrieved the television remote control from behind me and placed it alongside the plate.
“Sorry about the mess,” Jamie said, carrying a pint glass of beer in each hand. “Cathy always made such a fuss about keeping the place tidy. It must be the rebel in me. I make sure I clean up before the girls visit though.”
“I didn’t know you smoked,” I said, accepting the offered drink.
He perched himself on the edge of the other sofa. “Yeah, just another thing for Cathy to complain about. You won’t tell her, will you?”
“No,” I replied.
“So, you caught a lad in your class passing a note to some other boy, and it contained a link to the dark web.”
I stared into my pint for a second then raised my eyes. “Actually, that’s not quite true.”
Jamie frowned. “I guessed as much. What really happened?”
Assassin's Web Page 4
