Socrates and the Councillor

by Thomas Fay

  Ten

  John stepped out of the interview room. His mind was racing with the implications of what had just happened. Socrates was waiting for him outside. John motioned for him to follow. They walked back down the corridor, past the interview rooms and offices, towards the surveillance hub. The most secure part of the Sentinel operation, the Hub analysed Iona’s data networks, turning them into one centralised surveillance behemoth. It was used to monitor Iona by accessing street-level cameras, telecommunications and all emergency frequencies. It was the eyes and ears of the Sentinels. Passing a retinal scanner and voice-recognition algorithm, John and Socrates entered the Hub. Two technicians sat inside, their faces illuminated by the glow of LED screens displaying footage from across the city, along with call intercept logs and police, fire and ambulance emergency frequency monitoring. One of them looked up as they walked in.

  ‘Tesh, what can we do for you?’ Georgia Metz asked.

  ‘I need surveillance tracking on a suspect.’

  Metz turned back to the screens. Swiping her hand across the one nearest her, she brought up a map of the city.

  ‘Location?’

  ‘Leaving this building in about sixty seconds.’

  The map tracked across and zoomed in rapidly. Reaching street level, the digital image transformed into a live feed from three cameras. The outside of Sentinel HQ was clearly visible, along with part of the street and sidewalk. John watched as the man who had pretended to be Greg Rawson exited the building. He stopped on the curb. Turning his head up towards the closest camera, he smiled. Then the image disappeared as static filled the screen.

  ‘What happened?’ John asked.

  ‘We lost the signal,’ Metz said.

  ‘Can you get it back?’

  ‘I’m trying but something is shutting us out of the system. Adam—can you look at this?’

  The other technician swiped his screen and pulled up the feed. Static. He input a series of instructions into the keyboard before him. The static disappeared to be replaced by dense lines of code.

  ‘The system has been hacked,’ Socrates said.

  ‘He’s right,’ Adam said, a moment later. ‘You can see the intrusion here and here. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing. I’m isolating the feeds and quarantining them.’

  ‘Can we get eyes back on the street?’ John asked.

  ‘Give me a second. There are some cameras higher up on the building I can reposition. They’re linked directly to Sentinel HQ, no external access, so they should be safe to use. Coming on line now.’

  The largest monitor in the centre of the Hub showed the street in front of Sentinel HQ. Several pedestrians walked along the sidewalks on either side. A taxi drove by. Of the man, there was no sign.

  ‘Damn. He’s gone. Can you step back and scan the street? He couldn’t have gotten far.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Tesh. We’re going to have to shut down and check to make sure we’re not compromised. Whoever that hacker was, they were really good. No one has ever breached the Hub firewall before,’ Metz said.

  ‘I understand. Thanks anyway.’

  John and Socrates stepped back out into the corridor.

  ‘What is our next course of action?’ Socrates asked.

  ‘Let’s go and see if Sorensen found anything. This whole situation is making less and less sense by the minute.’

  ****

  They found Sorensen in the analysis labs located on level five. She was running a spectrographic analysis on the weapons case. Her brow contracted as she read the results.

  ‘You found something?’ John asked.

  ‘It’s worse than we thought,’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Sorensen swivelled the screen around. It showed a series of spikes on a multicoloured graph. One in particular stood out.

  ‘See that?’ Sorensen asked, pointing to the spike.

  ‘Is that what I think it is?’

  ‘Depleted uranium. Whatever was in that case was no standard military projectile. That thing could rip through a reinforced bunker. I doubt even one of the force field barriers could stop it.’

  ‘Great, another thing to worry about,’ John said. ‘You have any good news for me?’

  Sorensen looked up.

  ‘Whoever is behind this knows what they’re doing. This isn’t the sort of hardware you can get easily.’

  ‘I said good news.’

  Sorensen smiled.

  ‘Sorry, Tesh. I’ll let the Chief know what we found. You need anything else?’

  John shook his head.

  ‘No, I’m good. Socrates and I will—’

  All of their phones chimed at once. Flipping his phone open, John read the single line of text: Red-light force-field barrier collision, North Ryde, corner of Epping Road and Lane Cove Road. Sentinels required on scene.

  ‘Has that ever happened before?’ John asked.

  ‘No,’ Sorensen replied. ‘Not that I’ve heard of anyway.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. This can’t be a coincidence—first the Hub gets hacked and now a force field barrier goes down.’

  John motioned to Socrates.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  Eleven

  John shook his head as he surveyed the scene of the accident. A speeding car had ploughed into the intersection of a four-lane road and caused a ten-car pile-up underneath the Epping Road overpass. Broken and bleeding drivers and passengers lay crumpled within the vehicles as emergency crews desperately tried to free them.

  ‘What a mess,’ John said.

  ‘Judging by the direction of the speeding vehicle and the resultant accident, it appears the red-light force-field sensor failed to trigger the barrier. The speeding vehicle passed through a red light and collided with traffic moving in a perpendicular direction,’ Socrates said.

  ‘It still doesn’t explain why the car didn’t attempt to slow down. Unless … ’

  ‘The driver was not in control.’

  ‘It also looks like the other barriers weren’t affected otherwise all the side roads would be blocked as well. This had to be deliberate.’

  ‘Your reasoning is sound, John.’

  John motioned to another Sentinel, Giles Muller, who had been first on the scene after the call went out.

  ‘What is it, Tesh?’ Muller asked in his thick South African accent.

  ‘Where is the driver of the car that caused the accident?’ John asked.

  ‘Uniforms advised that they have been unable to locate the driver.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They searched the vehicle and there was no sign of him.’

  ‘How did he get out if he was unconscious?’

  ‘Someone must have removed him from the vehicle,’ Socrates said.

  John took in the accident scene. Paramedics were busily working on several people by the side of the road. The road had splashes of blood. They glinted with a metallic quality in the early afternoon sunlight. Traffic was backed up along Lane Cove Road as far as the eye could see. Police officers were attempting to divert traffic into side streets but it would be hours before they managed to clear the accident scene. A shadow fell across the road as a Ruling Council transport ship passed overhead, flying low. John tracked it across the sky as it swung around in a wide arc. Then, slowly, it descended towards the ground and disappeared behind a line of trees and buildings.

  ‘Did you pull up the surveillance footage?’ John asked.

  Muller nodded, his eyes troubled.

  ‘Let me guess—static?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Because there’s a very sophisticated hacker operating in Iona. The Hub was compromised this morning.’

  ‘The Hub? I didn’t think that was possible.’

  ‘Neither did I. Socrates and I were there when it happened.’

  Muller glanced at Socrates, as if seeing him for the first time. He held out his hand.

  ‘Giles Muller. Welcome to the Sentinels.’r />
  ‘Thank you.’

  Giles winced slightly as Socrates shook his hand. John motioned towards the accident scene.

  ‘Muller, you got this?’

  ‘Go,’ Muller replied, waving them away. ‘There’s not much we can do. Police and emergency crews will sort this out. I haven’t seen one this bad since I left Johannesburg.’

  Tesh nodded. He and Socrates walked across the intersection to where they had parked their cruiser in a side-street. A familiar-looking man was getting out of an unmarked police vehicle that had just arrived.

  ‘Detective,’ John said.

  ‘Tesh, what are you doing here?’ Detective Jastrzebski asked.

  ‘Leaving. This one’s all yours.’

  ‘Right. Thanks.’

  Socrates and John got into their cruiser. Surveying the traffic on the road, John executed a U-turn and drove through the suburb of North Ryde.

  ‘What do you think?’ John asked.

  ‘I believe someone extracted the driver who was clearly not in control of the vehicle. When combined with the fact that the surveillance cameras were hacked, it would suggest the person in the vehicle was working with the hacker.’

  ‘I agree. Something must have happened to the driver. The question is what?’

  ‘I do not have enough information to speculate on an answer.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  Socrates turned to face John.

  ‘We lack information on the person driving the vehicle, the reason for their assumed unconscious state and what they were escaping from. While we have deduced the hacker’s existence through their actions, we have no direct proof.’

  ‘Right. I didn’t mean for you to actually tell me about it.’

  ‘Then why did you ask me to do so? John, you must be more specific in your requests. There are serious events transpiring in Iona. We don’t have time for inaccuracies.’

  John was about to say something but stopped himself. Instead, he said, ‘C’mon, let’s grab some lunch. I know a place not far from here.’

  ****

  The small delicatessen was located on a side street in the suburb of Roseville. Its sign proclaimed it as the finest purveyor of smallgoods from Eastern Europe. A picture of a chicken, a duck and a pig grazing on grass was painted underneath. John and Socrates stood at a rickety metal table outside. A Flux-Cell-powered train hurtled by, screened from the street by a row of native eucalyptus trees.

  ‘You sure you don’t want any of these?’ John asked. His plate was piled high with assorted pierogi, a Polish dumpling filled with meats, cabbage and cheese.

  Socrates shook his head.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  John took a bite of his food. The taste of cabbage and mushrooms brought a smile to his face. It disappeared as he recalled the scene of the accident.

  Shaking his head, he said, ‘Whoever these people are, they clearly have no regard for civilians. The red-light force-field barriers have been incredibly effective at preventing serious accidents.’

  ‘Public records place their effectiveness at one hundred per cent. Only direct interference by the hacker could have prevented the field from activating.’

  ‘Iona Corporation technology is advanced. Which means whoever is behind these incidents is just as advanced, if not more so. What I don’t understand is why the Ruling Council forced us to release the man pretending to be Greg Rawson. It doesn’t make any sense.’

  Socrates stared at him but said nothing. John finished his food.

  ‘Come on. We need to figure out who they are before anyone else gets hurt.’

  Twelve

  The Hub was a hive of activity when John and Socrates got back to Sentinel HQ. Banks of computer equipment had been stripped bare, exposing the raw processing power underneath. A team of technicians in white lab coats was swarming over the exposed components, trying to figure out how one of the most sophisticated law enforcement surveillance centres in the world had been compromised.

  ‘I guess our surveillance is down for the time being,’ John said.

  ‘That is a logical conclusion, given the current state of the equipment,’ Socrates said.

  John’s phone rang. He flicked it open.

  ‘Tesh here.’

  ‘It’s Fernali. Where are you?’

  ‘HQ.’

  ‘Good. Come down to Financial Crimes.’

  ‘On our way.’

  John and Socrates took the turbo-lift down three floors. The Financial Crimes division of the Sentinels was comprised of anti-money laundering specialists, fraud investigators and counter-terrorism financing experts. They had been instrumental in solving a number of high-profile cases. Fernali and Streeter were standing behind another Sentinel, who had three wafer-thin LED screens in front of her. A large amount of financial data was displayed across each of the screens.

  ‘Fernali, Street,’ John said. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Tesh, this is Dana Harrison. I asked her to run the data we collected at the CBI through her analysis algorithms. I’ll let her explain,’ Fernali said.

  Harrison continued to stare at the data flowing across her screens as she spoke. The earlier attack on the Hub had clearly not affected any other Sentinel systems.

  ‘I’ve input all the data provided and used our systems to trace the payments. The majority of these transactions pass through a number of intermediaries and terminate in shell companies.’

  ‘We suspect whoever was making these payments was moving large amounts of money into Iona,’ John said.

  ‘That appears to be the case. Our algorithms have mapped the transactions against the payment records in the global clearing system. I’ve traced their origin to three separate locations: Singapore, Jakarta and Kuala Lumpur. Further analysis confirms they originated from the same company—Integrated Logistics and Shipping.’

  ‘That can’t be a coincidence,’ John said.

  ‘No, it’s not. Public records indicate Integrated Logistics and Shipping is a global transport company with offices around the world,’ Harrison said. ‘I believe the company itself is a front. Let me show you their company filings.’

  Harrison input a series of commands into the virtual keyboard projected onto the desk before her. One of the LED screens flashed up new information. John leaned forwards. All he saw was a series of annual reports and detailed notes to financial accounts.

  ‘What exactly are we looking for?’ he asked.

  ‘The company isn’t real,’ Socrates said.

  John turned to his partner.

  ‘How did you figure that out?’

  Socrates pointed at the screen.

  ‘Whoever created the company took considerable steps to make it look real. However, the financial information is inconsistent with a global logistics company. Staffing costs, maintenance and fuel costs are too low. The land and buildings they own are predominantly located in residential areas, not industrial areas or transport hubs. The company is also funded by large cash injections made on a recurring basis. I agree with Harrison’s assessment. The company is a front for another organisation.’

  ‘What kind of organisation sets up a global logistics company and has the funds to continue operating it?’ John asked.

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ Fernali said. ‘This stuff is way out of my area of expertise.’

  ‘Harrison?’

  Dana Harrison stopped typing. Lowering her wire-framed glasses, she turned around to look at them.

  ‘In my years as a law enforcement officer I have only ever come across one organisation which had set up such an elaborate international front.’

  ‘European crime syndicate?’

  ‘No. The front we came across during our investigation at the time was operated and run for the sole purpose of providing cover for intelligence operatives.’

  ‘You mean like the CIA or MI6?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Are you saying this is a front for a go
vernment intelligence agency? That they’ve been funnelling funds into Iona to fund God only knows what?’

  Harrison shook her head.

  ‘No. I’m saying that whoever is behind this has had the same sort of training and has access to considerable resources. I would advise caution.’

  ‘I’ll say. I guess I was right,’ John said.

  ‘About what, John?’ Socrates asked.

  ‘About this being a Sentinel investigation.’

  ‘We should tell the Chief,’ Fernali said.

  John nodded.

  ‘You and Streeter do that.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Go and pay them a visit. Harrison, you said Integrated Logistics and Shipping had offices around the world?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Any chance they have one here in Iona?’

  Harrison input a search query.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about property holdings? Do they own anything in Iona?’

  Harrison input another search query. It flashed up a response in less than a second. An address not far from the airport, approximately eleven kilometres from their current location. John smiled.

  ‘Lucky guess,’ Fernali said.

  Thirteen

  The address turned out to be a nondescript warehouse in an industrial park in Botany, less than five hundred metres from the water’s edge. There was no sign, no logo, nothing differentiating the warehouse owned by Integrated Logistics and Shipping from a dozen similar buildings. John checked the GPS in their cruiser.

  ‘Are we in the right place? They all look the same,’ he said.

  ‘That is the correct building,’ Socrates said.

  ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘There is a numbering system applied to the buildings in this industrial park. The warehouse owned by Integrated Logistics and Shipping is number five. If you look closely, you will notice a large five painted above the main loading dock.’

  John felt slightly sheepish as he saw the rather sizeable number painted in black, contrasted against the pale sheet metal of the warehouse.