Wicked Leaks

by Matt Bendoris

  He sat down on the damp wooden seat and felt under the bench’s top with both arms, covering the sleeves of his suit jacket and cuffs of his shirt in old green and black moss. But all he could feel were hard lumps of chewing gum. There was nothing left for it other than to stick his head under the table and look, which was easier said than done. Connor slithered under like a limbo dancer, knowing full well that if anyone cared to gaze in his direction now they would think he was most definitely acting suspiciously. He checked the underside of the table, but could see no package. There were just two strips of missing moss, as if it had been yanked off by the duct tape that Kelly said she had used. Someone had beaten him to it. Connor stared despondently into the murky puddle directly underneath the missing strips. On a whim he thrust his hand into the brown water. He immediately felt something and pulled it up. It was the hard drive – thankfully it had been placed inside a waterproof bag.

  Connor wriggled out from underneath the picnic table, with his entire suit now covered in slimy moss and mud. The bottoms of his trouser legs were wringing wet. He squelched his way back to the car, passing a bemused lorry driver having a cigarette at the back of the café. ‘If you fancied a swim, there’s a pool in Darlington.’

  ‘Thanks,’ was all Connor could muster. Thanks a bunch, he thought to himself. He started up his car and turned the heating on full before taking off his shoes and pouring the dirty water out of them into the gutter. He would have to drive back to Scotland in his bare feet.

  ‘They never show that in the movies,’ he said to himself. ‘And I still need a pee.’

  65: Simples

  ‘I can’t find your number,’ April said in a tone approaching blind panic as she called Connor.

  He knew the warning signs all too well. His colleague was experiencing some sort of tech difficulties. He spoke to her as he would a child: ‘And what number is that?’

  ‘This one. The one I’m calling you on.’

  Connor was well used to April’s quirks but now even he was confused. ‘This number?’

  ‘Yes,’ April snapped impatiently, ‘your mobile number.’

  ‘But you called it,’ he said as he finally made it past the slow-moving lorries and on to the northbound M6.

  ‘I know that, dummy. I need your number to send to Kelly’s lawyer, Fiona. I told her Kelly had been in touch, but she wanted to speak to you directly. But all that comes up on my screen is your name. No number. See?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so. Well, two options, really. There’s an “i”, for information. It’s over to the right of the names.’

  ‘An “i”. Okay, I’ve got it,’ April replied, scribbling down Connor’s instructions into her notepad as if handling an exclusive revelation.

  ‘Press that and you’ll see my number comes up. You can then copy and paste it.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Well, you then text it to the lawyer.’

  ‘Copy. Paste. Send. Okay, got that,’ she added, still furiously writing away.

  ‘Or you can just “share contact”.’

  ‘With who?’

  ‘The lawyer.’

  ‘Ah right, got that too. Simples.’

  ‘Simples, indeed.’

  A moment later Connor got a text from April: HELLO. He shook his head and smiled, ‘Technology will never be your best friend, will it, Miss Lavender?’

  66: Retrieve

  ‘Connor, Fiona McDade here,’ the lawyer said, all business as usual. ‘You’ve heard from Kelly?’

  ‘I have, Fiona.’

  ‘Where was she?’

  ‘Let’s just say it would be better for all concerned if we didn’t go into that.’

  ‘But you actually spoke to her. It wasn’t just a text?’

  ‘We chatted. Briefly.’

  ‘Did you feel she was under duress?’

  ‘I would say stress rather than duress,’ Connor said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, she had an explicit set of instructions to give me. But I didn’t get the feeling someone was holding a loaded gun to her head.’

  ‘But you can’t be sure.’

  ‘No, I can’t.’

  ‘What were the instructions?’

  ‘To retrieve something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I can’t say exactly. But she wanted me to retrieve a package.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What are you going to do with it?’

  Connor didn’t like being asked by anyone what he planned to do with anything. He especially didn’t appreciate the constant probing by a lawyer. ‘Who knows? Look, I’ve got to go. But your client is alive and well, that’s the main thing.’

  ‘Where are you… hello? Hello?’ But Connor had ended the call.

  Fiona looked over to Officer McGill, the archetypal stone-faced ‘man in black’ who was sitting across from her. He had contacted Fiona asking for – no, demanding – any information she had about Kelly Carter. Fiona was not the type to be bossed around or intimidated by anyone. But Officer McGill seemed to be the only person who had a hope in hell of finding Kelly. Fiona would do anything to help a client, even a pact with the Devil himself, a contract she was sure she had just concluded.

  ‘Happy?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘And I’ll get to see my client as soon as you’ve rescued her, right? That was the deal,’ Fiona demanded.

  ‘Of course,’ Officer McGill said as he got up to leave. ‘As soon as we’ve got her back, I’ll call you.’ But Kelly Carter was the last thing on McGill’s mind. He was a lot more interested in what she had left for the reporter to retrieve.

  67: Big Foot

  Stevie Brett’s council flat was a mass of technology. There wasn’t a surface that didn’t have some sort of electronic device sitting on it with wires spewing in every direction. He rarely left his cluttered home as he was paranoid that someone would break in and steal his equipment. But as Connor once told him, ‘No one will steal it as they wouldn’t know what to do with it.’

  Stevie had been one of the reporter’s contacts for years. They’d originally met in court, when Stevie was being tried for hacking into the national crime database. His case had collapsed when computer experts failed to agree on Stevie’s hacking methods. When one forensic IT expert finally admitted he couldn’t even be sure the defendant had committed a crime as his electronic tracks had been covered so well, the already bamboozled and ageing judge had heard enough and threw the case out. Afterwards, Connor had taken Stevie for a coffee at the Peccadillo, and he got an exclusive on how this reclusive computer geek had been persecuted by the authorities. It wasn’t great, but was enough to make a page-lead. When Connor switched off his voice recorder, Stevie had grinned, leaned closer, and then whispered how he had successfully managed to hack into the crime database.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe the shit they’ve got on there. I found a newsreader who has been up on domestic abuse warnings. He’s never been charged. But two cautions are sitting right there on his file. The bastard is on TV every night while he likes to slap his wife about.’

  It had been clear Stevie was desperate to boast about his achievements to someone – anyone, really. Connor was glad he’d chosen him: he could see the endless possibilities flash before his eyes.

  But the political landscape had changed much since then, mainly because of the Leveson Inquiry. Stolen information – such as that obtained by Stevie’s dubious methods – was of less use now as every story and source had to be accounted for. But Connor and Stevie still stayed in touch.

  ‘Hi, Stevie, how you doing?’ the reporter asked as he arrived at his contact’s East Kilbride flat. ‘What’s your scam this month?’ It was an opening gambit Connor had been using for years, referring to Stevie’s numerous an
d inventive excuses given to the Department of Work and Pensions so that he could keep his benefits without actively seeking employment.

  ‘Big Foot,’ Stevie replied.

  ‘What?’ Connor said, failing to stifle a chuckle.

  ‘You know, the Yeti. Sasquatch. The Ape Man. The missing link.’

  ‘Yeah, I know what it is, but what has Big Foot got to do with your benefits?’

  ‘Connor, Connor, Connor, such lack of imagination. There was a report from up north, in your paper as it happens, of a Big Foot sighting by some local nutter.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Connor replied, dubious.

  ‘Well, I told them I was going hunting for the beast.’

  Connor exploded with laughter.

  ‘I said, “Think about it. If I get footage of a real life Big Foot, I’ll make enough money never to be on benefits again.” They agreed.’

  ‘At least you give them all a laugh, Stevie.’

  ‘That’s what they said. That I always give them a laugh. So that’s me for the next month. Instead of actively seeking employment, I’m actively seeking Big Foot. The possibilities are endless. After this I’ll go hunting for the Loch Ness Monster. Then there’s the UFOs of Bonnybridge.’

  ‘It’s amazing that people still buy into all that shit. I mean, here we are in the 21st century, carrying cameras on all our phones, yet no one has snapped a credible picture that proves any of that guff. Yet still they believe,’ Connor ranted.

  ‘People are stupid,’ Stevie concluded.

  ‘How have you been, anyway?’ Connor asked.

  ‘Uch, pretty shit, truth be told. I had another attack last month. Nearly never made it this time.’

  Ever since Connor had known him, Stevie had suffered from chronic asthma. The previous year he had fallen into a coma for two weeks. Doctors feared he would be left brain-damaged, if he made it at all. Amazingly he pulled through – unscathed physically, but scarred mentally.

  ‘I get frightened at times. Then morose, knowing that one day I am going to die right here, all alone in this fucking flat, gasping for breath.’

  ‘Might be a good time to quit the fags, then?’ Connor suggested.

  ‘And deny myself one of my few pleasures? I might extend my life by a couple of years, but so what. It’s not much of a life, is it? No girlfriend. A family who haven’t spoken to me in years.’

  ‘You did send them a hell of a lot of abusive emails, mind you. Then there was the Buddha incident,’ Connor reminded him.

  Stevie laughed at the memory. ‘I’d almost forgotten about that. They didn’t reply to my emails so I threw their Buddha statue from the garden right through their front window. That’s what I call karma.’

  ‘That’s what I call three months in jail,’ Connor retorted.

  ‘True. But prison wasn’t so bad, especially since I became the go-to IT man for all the cons. Even the governor asked me to fix his laptop. He didn’t have a firewall so it was riddled with viruses. I removed all of them and installed my own. Look, I caught the dirty bastard on his webcam having a wank.’

  Stevie spun around his laptop to show a freeze-frame of the governor’s ‘cum face’.

  ‘For fuck’s sake. And last month he was up at a Holyrood Select Committee,’ Connor said.

  ‘I know. Funny, huh? I’m still figuring out what to do with them. I’ll probably send them to the mobiles of all his prisoners. I’m still in touch with most of them.’

  ‘Well, when you do, please tell me so that I can do the story,’ Connor insisted.

  Stevie liked that thought. ‘So why are you here, Connor? You don’t pay many home visits these days.’

  ‘True. That’s because my bosses hardly let me out. Seriously. They want it all done over the phone so you don’t go racking up expenses out on the road.’

  ‘So how can I help?’

  ‘You can start with this,’ Connor said, producing the portable hard drive.

  Stevie wasted no time plugging it into his laptop. A couple of clicks later he whistled. ‘Holy shit.’

  ‘What?’ Connor asked.

  ‘Where the fuck did you get this from? The military?’ Stevie said, urgently pulling out the USB cable.

  ‘I don’t really know where it’s come from, to tell the truth,’ Connor admitted.

  ‘Well, don’t be bringing that shit to me.’

  Connor had never seen Stevie looking so spooked.

  ‘Not only is it encrypted, it will no doubt have a GPS homing signal too. I just hope I unplugged it in time before they come kicking my door down, or worse.’

  ‘What do you mean, “or worse”?’

  Stevie turned and stared directly at Connor before shaking his head slowly. ‘You haven’t got a fucking clue, have you? You’re up to your tits with this one, Elvis, and you don’t even know it.’

  ‘How?’ Connor asked genuinely.

  ‘The people who share information on hard drives like this aren’t the sort to bother with the court system, know what I mean? This is hardcore, Elvis. And frankly it frightens the shit out of me. If I was you, I’d return it to its rightful owner as quickly as possible and pray they’re feeling merciful.’

  ‘What the fuck is on it, Stevie?’

  ‘I don’t know and I don’t want to know. Frankly, I’d prefer if you take it and leave now,’ Stevie said, sliding the hard drive across the table to Connor like it was radioactive.

  ‘Seriously?’ Connor asked incredulously.

  ‘Seriously. Go, Elvis. Get that thing out of my flat.’

  Connor had never seen Stevie genuinely scared like this. He hadn’t even looked worried when he was in court being prosecuted. But that hard drive had frightened him. The reporter left Stevie’s first floor flat to the sounds of the computer hacker snapping shut the several locks on his door.

  68: The truth

  April had her whole evening mapped out. She would get home around half six from work, ping one of her dinners in the microwave, pour an extremely generous measure of gin, add a dash of tonic, then plonk herself in her favourite armchair for 7pm, with Cheeka on her lap and her iPad at the ready. Then it was just a case of going on to beastshamer.com. She eagerly looked forward to the nightly revelations. Connor had told her that the scandal site was now so popular it would start trending every night on Twitter with each new exposé – not that April could fully get her head around what ‘trending’ meant, no matter how often Connor had explained it. She had stopped asking and would now just give a knowing nod of the head instead.

  April wasn’t such a fan of the Beast Shamer blogger’s style of delivery. She would rather whoever was behind the website would just post the official classified material, without all the commentary. But, like a tawdry TV talent show judge, they seemed to revel in building the tension.

  Tonight, April actually found she was grinning in anticipation as she clicked on the site and waited for it to open. But her grin disappeared when she, and no doubt millions of others, were greeted with the following message:

  There will be no release of classified documents on this site tonight. But in the very near future I hope to bring you everything I know. I apologise for the wait, but I promise it will be worth it: in particular, the real truth about what happened to Princess Diana in that Parisian tunnel on August 31st, 1997.

  What I shall reveal will truly shock the world. Once again I must stress that this will not be speculation, or the half-baked conclusions of the Diana conspiracists. This will be actually what happened – straight from the official, unpublished UK Government files. And let me tell you they have vastly different conclusions from the 2007/08 inquest, which returned a verdict of unlawful killing. You may remember that her driver, Henri Paul, and the paparazzi were made to share blame for the deaths of Diana and Dodi Fayed. You may also recall that the coroner, Lord Justice Scott Baker, ruled out the
possibility that the couple were murdered.

  The files that I shall publish here shortly may change his mind. What’s more, the file names names.

  ‘Bugger,’ April fumed, realising that was all the blogger was prepared to post tonight. She phoned Connor. ‘Did you see that?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve just read it,’ Connor said as he started up his car outside Stevie Brett’s flat.

  ‘Do you think Beast Shamer has something to do with your hard drive?’

  ‘I didn’t until it mentioned Diana.’

  ‘What do you think it means?’

  ‘Two things. The blogger is either waiting for someone to pay him off handsomely to shut down his site, or he doesn’t actually have the files yet.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t have the files?’

  ‘It means I’m probably in danger.’

  ‘Oh my,’ April gasped. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know. But doing nothing won’t be an option. I have a funny feeling trouble is going to find me.’

  69: I.D.

  The man in the car was relieved to see that Connor Presley had left the computer hacker’s apartment with his man-bag, which presumably still contained the hard drive. It meant he wouldn’t have to pay the computer hacker a visit right now. That could wait. But he would still need to check they hadn’t made a copy of what was on the hard drive.

  That would be bad, for all concerned.

  • • •

  Connor had been trying to text Jack Barr’s snatch of the cop they had encountered in Kilsyth to DCI Crosbie, to see if he could help identify him, but the image kept bouncing back. In fact, Connor hadn’t heard from Crosbie in a while. He hadn’t even replied to his last message asking about a car fire on the M74 and a fat man rolling down an embankment. Connor decided to call Crosbie instead.