Wicked Leaks

by Matt Bendoris

  ‘Anything missing?’ Connor asked as he locked the front door behind him.

  ‘No, but someone’s been here.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  Stevie pointed at a corner of his ceiling. ‘Because when I left here today, I had a CCTV camera up there. Now I don’t.’

  Connor could just make out the tips of the multi-coloured wires that had been cut. ‘I’m calling the cops,’ Connor said while tapping ‘999’ into his iPhone. ‘We’ve got to at least have this documented. Anything incriminating you want to hide before they get here?’

  ‘Not as incriminating as what you have in your bag.’

  The pair didn’t say much else whilst they waited for the police to come. Connor was on a second cup of coffee when he saw an unmarked car pull up and two men in suits approach the flat.

  ‘Looks like we’re getting a special visit, Stevie.’

  Stevie buzzed the men in, and Connor waited by the flat’s door to meet them. One was around 6ft 2in, in his late forties and with fair hair. He was most likely the superior of the pair. The other was squat and definitely the muscle.

  ‘Evening, gents. Warrant cards, if you don’t mind,’ Connor demanded.

  The men in suits shared a quick look before producing their identification. Connor examined each one closely. ‘CID. You lot don’t normally act this fast.’

  ‘True,’ the fair-haired one said without further explanation. He was definitely the man in charge as Connor had predicted. ‘May we come in?’

  The men filled Stevie’s small cramped hall before being shown into the living room, which was like a computer laboratory. They looked at the mass of equipment briefly before turning to face Connor and Stevie.

  ‘Anything missing?’ the fair-haired one asked.

  ‘Not that I can find. Although they did nick my camera,’ Stevie said, pointing at the stub of wires in the top corner of the room.

  ‘Destroyed rather than stolen, I’d say,’ the cop observed.

  ‘I can’t see you fellas dusting for prints, so are you going to investigate this break-in or not?’ Connor demanded.

  The two men in suits shared another furtive glance before the fair-haired one said, ‘Follow me.’ He led Stevie and Connor to the front door and pointed at the array of locks the paranoid occupant had added over the years. ‘There are five locks here, yes? Yet no sign of forced entry.’ He then walked into the bathroom, where the light had been left on. He turned his attention to a panel behind the door. ‘These screws have been turned recently as the paint has come off them. I’d take a guess that whoever came in here had blueprints of the premises. It saves time when you know where to look for things.’ He then marched back through to the sitting room and straight over to the corner that used to be home to the CCTV camera. He moved the couch that was below it, thrust his hand down the back of it and retrieved the mangled remnants of the camera.

  ‘Destroyed, as I suspected. But still here. So it could have just fallen off the ceiling, however implausible that may be.’

  ‘So what are you telling us?’ Connor asked.

  ‘You’re the reporter, do I have to spell it out to you?’

  ‘I never told you I was a reporter.’

  ‘You didn’t have to.’

  ‘What the fuck is going on here?’

  ‘Clearly I do have to spell it out to you. A break-in with no locks or door damage means they had a key. Or several keys in this case. And they had blueprints for the entire apartment, which they obtained in a hurry. Have you ever tried getting blueprints for you own property from the local council? Takes months. And, finally, we have the “fallen” CCTV camera. Your flat wasn’t broken into, Mr Brett. It was targeted. I’m sorry, boys, I have no idea what you two have got yourself into. As far as we’re concerned we’ve investigated a call for a suspected burglary and found there wasn’t one as nothing had been stolen. Case closed.’

  The men in suits headed for the front door, with Connor and Stevie following in a trance. The fair-haired one ominously wished them both ‘good luck’ before closing the door firmly behind him.

  It took several moments before either could speak. It was Stevie who broke the silence.

  ‘I told you I wanted fuck all to do with this, but you wouldn’t take no for an answer. Know what you’ve done, Elvis? You’ve killed us. You’ve killed us both.’

  77: Hobnobs

  Monahan woke to April Lavender’s considerable weight on his bed, causing the mattress to sag. She was sitting with a cup of tea in one hand and a Hobnob biscuit in the other.

  ‘Oh, sorry I woke you, but there was nowhere else to sit. I’m April Lavender. I work with Connor Presley,’ she said, sending crumbs pinging from her gums in Monahan’s direction.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Monahan replied, his voice hoarse from lack of lubrication. ‘Where’s Connor?

  ‘He’s busy. He said I should speak to you.’

  Monahan eyed April up and down, just as Kelly’s lawyer, Fiona McDade, had done previously. He was obviously disappointed by what he saw.

  ‘Don’t worry, looks can be deceiving,’ April said, as if reading his mind. But in truth she had seen his disapproving look several times before.

  ‘I need to know if he still has the hard drive,’ Monahan said, ignoring her friendliness.

  ‘He does. He hasn’t let it out of his sight,’ April reassured him.

  ‘Has he made a copy?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know. He was taking it to a computer-geek chappy he knows. But making copies and all that stuff is a bit technical for me.’

  Monahan remained silent, as if processing the information.

  ‘I didn’t expect Kelly to come back to Kilsyth,’ April said cheerily, to break the awkwardness.

  ‘Neither did I. But she wanted to see her kids. I’ve begged her to hold off for now. She’s agreed for the moment. Then there was this…’ Monahan said, sweeping his hand across the bed.

  ‘I imagine you’ve felt better,’ April said sympathetically.

  ‘I am dying, Miss Lavender. My time is short. Can we get on, please?’

  ‘Oh, yes, silly me,’ April said, finishing off the last of her Hobnob before rooting around in her bag for her notepad, pen and Dictaphone. ‘Won’t be a tick,’ she assured him.

  ‘I wish your colleague had come instead,’ Monahan sighed in frustration.

  April did not like this man, but she did well to conceal it. ‘Don’t worry, I will go over everything you tell me with him.’

  ‘No. There’s no point. Have him call me,’ he said, changing his mind and turning his head towards the wall with his eyes closed.

  April guessed that was the end of her interview before it had even got started. ‘Fine. I shall,’ she replied. In truth, she was happy to leave this difficult subject behind. She took her cup and saucer through to Kelly in the kitchen. She was the person she really wanted to interview, anyway.

  ‘That was quick,’ Kelly said.

  ‘He didn’t want to speak to me. He wants to talk to Connor. I’ll have him call.’

  ‘More tea?’ Kelly asked, putting the kettle on after April had nodded approvingly.

  ‘You look absolutely shattered, dear,’ April said, putting her hand on Kelly’s forearm. ‘Sit down and tell me everything.’

  Kelly talked solidly for nearly an hour, charting all that had happened to her – from the pervert nurse Jim Drury, to being rescued on the M74 – as April scribbled down copious amounts of notes, and her Dictaphone recorded every word as back-up. It was sensational stuff. April only hoped that the Daily Chronicle’s editor had the balls to publish it all.

  When she finally left the old farmhouse April remembered to text Fiona McDade as she’d promised: Kelly’s back in Kilsyth. At her mum’s place. April x.

  Fiona had never added a kiss to any text or email she
had ever sent, so she replied with a simple Thank you. The lawyer then fulfilled her own promise to Officer McGill: She’s home – at her mother’s house.

  It was the information he had been desperately waiting for.

  78: Highest bidder

  ‘Connor Presley here. I was told to call you.’

  ‘I would have preferred to meet you in person,’ Monahan croaked down the phone.

  ‘Not possible. How can I help you?’ Connor said curtly.

  ‘Have you seen what’s on the hard drive?’ Monahan asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did you think?’

  ‘I think you had the establishment by the nuts until the Diana crap – half of which was encrypted by the way,’ Connor replied.

  ‘Encrypted? Fly bastards. They will never let the truth out about her.’

  ‘The truth? What, that Prince Philip conspired with the security services to stop Diana marrying a Muslim? What a load of shit.’

  ‘So you’re a non-believer?’

  ‘Yes, you could put me down as a non-believer.’

  ‘But it’s true.’

  ‘That Prince Philip had her bumped off?’ Connor snorted.

  ‘No, not the old Greek. But she was bumped off. I know, because I was there.’

  ‘Okay, then you are just another nutter who claims they were part of the Diana conspiracy,’ Connor said.

  ‘Are you recording this?’

  ‘Yes. Sorry, I should have told you. I always record my phone interviews,’ the reporter said unapologetically.

  ‘I’m glad you are.’

  ‘Look, the Diana stuff demeans everything else on that hard drive and yourself too. If we tried to release it they would just paint you as some lone wolf who had been drummed out of the military years ago.’

  ‘Technically, they’d be correct.’

  ‘Great. So you’ve debunked yourself. Look, Diana is long dead, but some of the people in those files are still active. They’re in the House of Lords. They’re still on TV. One of them is an elected Member of Parliament. Surely that’s more important than your Diana stuff?’

  ‘But I want the truth to finally get out. All the facts. I can tell you the truth. The stuff that’s been encrypted as well.’

  ‘There’s still no proof. Just your word against theirs. Why did you take the hard drive in the first place?’

  Monahan was momentarily silent, before he answered, ‘To get the truth out, just like I said.’

  ‘But who gave you it?’

  ‘A friend.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Dead.’

  ‘Because of this hard drive?’

  ‘Most definitely.’

  ‘Were you going to sell it to a newspaper?’

  Monahan laughed down the phone. ‘Are you kidding? A newspaper couldn’t afford this stuff. These are state secrets. Nations would pay anything for these. Even Beast Shamer could pay more than a newspaper.’

  ‘How would Beast Shamer have that sort of money?’ Connor had not expected Monahan to bring up that website.

  ‘The site is run from Moscow. It’s state-sponsored,’ he explained.

  ‘I see,’ Connor said suspiciously, wondering why Monahan had deliberately brought up the name of the website. ‘So is that to be your last act on Earth? Sell to the highest bidder?’

  ‘No. To the right bidder. Beast Shamer will bring those paedophile bastards down. The establishment would just suppress it if you tried to publish it here: High Court injunctions, hide behind their expensive lawyers, claim they are too ill to stand trial. But Beast Shamer will release it, drip by drip. There will be nothing the establishment can do to stop it.’

  ‘Unless they destroy the hard drive and all who know about it?’ Connor surmised.

  ‘Exactly. That’s why I need you.’

  ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Get this damn hard drive to the Russians for their Beast Shamer site and take the money in return.’

  ‘What’s in it for me?’

  ‘You can have 100 grand. The rest I need.’

  ‘You can keep your 100 grand. I want the stories.’

  ‘We don’t have time and I don’t have the energy.’

  It was Connor’s turn to remain silent.

  ‘Tell me, did you take a copy of the hard drive?’ Monahan asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thank fuck. Got it somewhere safe?’

  ‘Of course,’ was all Connor would say, as he wasn’t prepared to let Monahan know where.

  ‘Will you help me get the drive to the Russians? I will make the contact and tell you where and when.’

  ‘I need to think about it,’ Connor said.

  ‘Well, don’t take too long. Time is not on our side. And it certainly isn’t on mine.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ Connor said, concluding the conversation. He sat in silence mulling over everything Monahan had just said. He decided he didn’t like what he’d heard.

  79: Dee-lays

  ‘What did you think of Monahan?’ Connor asked April as he entered their broom cupboard office the next morning.

  ‘Wouldn’t trust him,’ April replied.

  ‘Why, because he was rude to you?’

  ‘No, I’m used to that with you. I just didn’t like him. All he seemed interested in was whether you had made a copy of the hard drive. When I said I didn’t know, he blew me off. Only wanted to speak to you after that,’ April explained.

  ‘Yeah, asked me the same shit, then changed the conversation and started banging on about the Beast Shamer website.’

  ‘What do you think is going on?’ April asked.

  ‘I think we’re being played like an old Stradivarius. And I don’t like dancing to someone else’s tune.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Unfortunately, I have little choice. I need to see how this thing plays out.’

  ‘Still got the doo-dah, I see,’ April observed as Connor casually put the hard drive on the desk. Whenever April didn’t know the name for a piece of tech, it became a ‘doo-dah’, a ‘dee-lay’ or a ‘gizmo’.

  Connor was all too aware of her IT limitations. ‘It’s called a hard drive, dearie,’ he said condescendingly. ‘You really are hopeless, aren’t you? Do you still keep your PIN number by your card?’

  April blushed at the memory. They had been heading for their usual breakfast at the Peccadillo when April stopped to get some cash from an ATM. The scrap of paper with her PIN had fluttered to the ground when she took out her bank card, earning her a stinging rebuke from Connor, who’d retrieved it.

  ‘Your PIN number? Beside your bank card. What are you, ninety? Do you keep your savings under a mattress too? And do you make sure you show them to that nice man from the gas board who said he just needed to check your pipes in the bedroom?’

  April had been embarrassed not only by her stupidity, but the fact she genuinely could not remember her PIN. She’d never had problems for the thirty-odd years she’d been using ATMs – then one day it was gone and she was left staring at the machine’s keypad with a completely blank mind.

  Connor may have been brusque with his older colleague but he could also read her like a book. ‘Your fading grey matter is the least of our problems. This little black box here is worth £100 million apparently.’

  ‘Wow,’ April said in genuine amazement. ‘Like a EuroMillions jackpot.’

  ‘Yeah, although there is a very real possibility you can be executed for trying to claim the prize.’

  ‘What about doing a story on it?’

  ‘I don’t think our editor would print it after the visit from the man in black.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘If I sit on it, they’ll just come after me anyway.’

 
‘Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘Do you speak Russian?

  ‘O-Grade French is it, I’m afraid,’ she replied.

  ‘It’s fine, I know someone who might be able to help,’ Connor said, grabbing his man-bag and heading for the door.

  ‘Don’t forget your gizmo,’ April said, waving the hard drive at her colleague.

  ‘Thanks. I have a feeling I’m going to need that,’ he said, placing it back in his man-bag.

  80: Anya

  Connor pulled up outside the Hungry Cossacks in Glasgow’s Merchant City. He had known the owner, Anya, for years after writing a series of articles about her attempts to adopt an orphan following the Chechen atrocity. The Government had initially denied her a visa for a child until the intervention of Connor and his newspaper, doing the sort of good for society that the media rarely gets credit for. Anya was finally able to adopt a baby in 2008, and Connor had kept in contact ever since, periodically writing articles on the child’s various landmarks, like her first day at school.

  Anya’s Russian accent had gone unchanged, despite her decade and a half living in Scotland, and was so thick that Connor’s ears always took a moment to adjust.

  ‘Anya,’ he said, warmly embracing her, ‘how are you? And where’s the star attraction?’

  ‘I’m not your star attraction no more, Elvis?’ Anya replied, pronouncing Elvis as ‘Eelvis’.

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, yes. As far as our readers are concerned, no. They just can’t get enough of Katusha.’

  ‘Hey, Katusha,’ Anya hollered in the direction of the restaurant’s kitchen. ‘Come and speak to the reporter man.’

  The girl who emerged through the kitchen doors, still brandishing a dishcloth, seemed to become more beautiful every time Connor saw her. She was blonde and taller than most girls her age, with cheekbones a supermodel would kill for.