by KC McLaren
He removed the thumb drive replacing it with the one handed over by the blue-eyed girl and waited for the little red light to blink. The screen went blank. Had he crashed the operating system? After a further few seconds the screen scrolled rows of characters and digits. He was sure he recognised the encrypted pattern, but the scrolling was something new, it appeared familiar, too familiar. The characters moved to fast for him to work out the encryption. His hands moved to the keyboard, fingers hitting the control and print screen buttons to take a screen grab. Too late, it went blank, a message popped up, ‘Please remove the USB Device,’ it said.
He reached for the drive and for a moment, another message appeared.
‘GREECE EURO...’
What was on the screen? He couldn’t read the rest of the message, it too disappeared. His mind was playing tricks on him – that meet with the girl and his funny turn made him think too much. He took a large gulp of coffee and removed the USB thumb drive and replaced it with his personal one. It instructed the software to remove itself from the host and leave no trace.
Jonathan waited for the confirmation to inform him the ‘Clean Up’ had completed. He removed the drive and got out of the chair. It was time to leave, he looked at the screen and picked up the USB drives. Stupid computers, time to drop this nonsense and help in other ways – it no longer felt right. As he turned to go he noticed out of the corner of his eye another message pop up on the screen. Images of rabbits caught in headlights seized him, freezing him to the spot where he stood. His brain felt it may explode as it tried without hope to comprehend what he was seeing. The surroundings became a blur of slow motion as he imagined everyone staring, shouting, taunting, laughing at him.
‘You know you could never hide. You’re a stupid little boy! Ha, ha, ha. You thought you were so clever, so better than everyone else...’
He grabbed the desk and tried to steady himself. What was happening? He was the one that designed the software to track and watch everything. And he was the one that designed his own personal software to keep him undetectable and off the grid.
The voices in his head screamed, pleaded with him to get out, turn around and move. His instincts kicked in, not those of self-preservation. Oh no, the stupid, pathetic, juvenile reaction of an inexperienced youth; a teenager caught watching porn on his home computer. His childish instincts informed his brain that everything will be fine. Yes, everything will be fine. Turn the computer off, everything will be OK.
Even with a genius IQ, experience, wealth and safe guards, the realisation dawned on him. He read the message over and over again, no matter how hard he tried to quash the meaning out of his mind the reality crashed around him.
The message glared back goading, teasing, smirking.
They had found him.
‘Hello Jonathan Beckett, it’s been a long time. Nice to have you home.’
Chapter 5 | Payload Activated
AFTER DISMISSING HIS ASSISTANT Strickland walked over to another of his prized possessions, a large 1850 Edwards and Roberts Mahogany Partners desk. The original timbers restored and brought back to life displaying its rich, original colour. Before receiving his guests, and apart from having them wait, Strickland waited. On top of the desk lay an encrypted laptop, constructed with high grade military components. Not long now before the awaited message arrived, and no prying eyes could decrypt it.
When serving as the Prime Minister, it was he who had sanctioned and pushed through prying and invasive software spying protocols. Not in the best interests of the public, the statement rattled around his brain, not only the opposition opposed his plans, his own party did not back him. The public, what did they understand? He only needed another year in office. If they had been more benevolent to him instead of shutting the door on him, “Stop it,” he said out loud. His personal resentment of the past was never too far away and hated it when his mind lacked the foresight of self-discipline. Just needless wasted negative energy and pointless. Can’t change the past, just the future. “Yes, keep positive David,” he smiled, swivelled the chair around and gazed out the room’s floor to ceiling windows.
The scene was something to cherish with the vast countryside and open fields covered with snow. It reminded him of a fresh start. A soft beep informed him the message had arrived. He took one more look outside, more in contemplation of the awaited message than the view in front of him. A soft beep announced its arrival, he turned back to the screen.
‘GREECE EURO PAYLOAD DELIVERED. PHASE 1 ACTIVATED.’
He smiled again, the next phase had started. As he looked at the screen with thoughts of the future, his encrypted mobile rang, an expected call. He picked it up and pressed the answer button. “Is everything going according to plan?” he asked.
“Yes, as you predicted,” came the reply. “As usual, he is using his own source code to mask his whereabouts. This time we’ve pinpointed the general location. He won’t be able to escape the security blanket honing in on him.”
“I’ve heard that a few times before,” Strickland said. “This is the closest we’ve ever been to securing him and I expect results. You have the two MI5 officers as requested?”
“Yes, six on the team. Americans and the two British MI5 intelligence officers as instructed. MI5 believe they are directing proceedings. Once I get full eyes on the target, I can start the measures to complete the goal.”
Strickland did not want MI5 involved, but had agreed. If problems occurred, it could be easier to create a believable cover story and shift blame away from the real aim. He returned to the call. “So, you playing at being an American today then?” the caller did not reply to the question, “OK, and the other little problem we have?”
“Yes, in hand,” the voice replied, “The person in question will no longer pose a threat to your organisation. So long as you don’t mind the heat from your friend over at MI5,” he paused, “and his American cousins.”
“I don’t have a problem. It’s necessary, take care of it. As long as you understand nothing terminal happens to the primary target,” Strickland said.
“I’m aware of my obligations. That’s why you pay me what you pay me. Nothing will happen to the primary apart from what you’ve requested, as for the others that is not part of our agreement.”
“I too, understand my obligations,” Strickland replied cutting the call short. It had taken him six years to get to this point. The last two to get the so called coding genius Jonathan Beckett back on his radar. The final key to his plans. Beckett’s vulnerability was simple, he liked helping people. It took careful planning to lure him but Strickland had no problem releasing sensitive government information to the underground hacking movement. Fools, every last one of them. This time Beckett won’t be able to disappear and go off the grid.
Chapter 6 | The Greek Banker
DIMITRI CHRISTAKOS SAT IN HIS lavish large office knowing that the sunshine days of prosperity for most of his fellow compatriots had faded out years ago. As the Head of the Central Bank of Greece he shared, with whatever Government existed in office, the unpleasant responsibility of trying to balance the public purse. A task in life that was neither thankful nor enjoyable.
The computer screen showed the latest month’s forecast for Government spending. He studied the figures, another interest payment was due along with the public sector wage and pensions costs. The bank had a strong, if somewhat dubious balance sheet, no concern needed. Regardless of the constant political hype surrounding him, his primary efforts focused on getting the country through the month at hand. As he contemplated an uncertain future, a knock on his office door interrupted his thoughts.
Cheerful and always mindful of his persona, he said, “Come in, the door is open.” Though a Greek national, and a proud one at that, during business hours he always spoke English. It was the business language in the financial sector.
George Drakis, Dimitri’s second in command, walked into the office carrying his ever present clipboard held against his ch
est and a pair of rounded glasses perched on his nose. “My apologies, Mr Christakos, I’ve got slight concerns over debt payments I wish to bring to your attention,” he said.
Dimitri chuckled, “We always have concerns over paying our debts, George, tell me another joke.”
Sliding his glasses up the bridge of his nose George continued, “I’m sure it’s nothing, the computer bots report unusual increases in blocked transactions.” He stood in front of Dimitri’s desk. A sure sign of more to come. George obliged, “Deposits and withdrawals are...”
Dimitri interrupted and looked up, “What do you mean blocked? From where? To whom?”
George, looking nervous, looked downwards at his clipboard. “That’s the problem, I’m not sure yet. It started thirty minutes ago with fifty transactions, payments to other banks. The usual transfer of money for clients taking money out of other banks, but not completed...”
“Failed to complete? That’s impossible, George. What’s being done?” Dimitri said with an obvious frustration in his tone.
“I’m told IT are doing a diagnosis but you may wish to speak with them,” George replied looking back up from the clipboard.
Dimitri, feeling more concerned than usual, reached for the telephone on his desk but before he could pick it up, it rang.
“Mr Christakos?” spoke the voice.
“Yes...”
“It’s Andrew, Sir. Sorry for the interruption, I realise that Mr Drakis is there with you. I need for you to come to the IT department please.”
Dimitri sensed the anxious tone in Andrew’s voice. He looked up at George with an eyebrow raised, “Can you explain further, Andrew? Have you sorted out these anomalies George told me? We can’t have transactions being declined...”
“That’s just it, Sir,” Andrew cut in, “my apologies, but it’s not just declined payments anymore. I can’t explain one-hundred-and-twenty-million euros transferred to one of our creditors. A payment that’s not scheduled for another twelve days.”
Dimitri couldn’t hide his annoyance, “That is impossible, Andrew. Never mind I’m on the way now, make sure you have answers before I arrive,” he slammed the phone back into its cradle and spoke to George. “Get over to credit control and find out who has allowed any early payments to our creditors, then meet me in the systems' department.”
George gave his boss a confused look, “As you know the heads of department have authority to make…”
Annoyed with the response, Dimitri stood up and walked from around his desk, “Not one-hundred and-twenty-million euros they don’t. I’m the only one that can allow large payments outside the normal schedule.” As he walked past George he continued, “There’s something not right here and I need answers. How can our systems not manage or detect such significant irregularities?” The anger was growing in his voice.
Embarrassed at a loss for words George replied, “I don’t know, Sir.” George followed as Dimitri walked out of his office.
Dimitri stopped, he had known George for many years and felt it was not fair to show his anger in such a way. He turned to face him, composed himself with a smile, “It was a rhetorical question, George. Don’t worry, I’m not blaming you. Now let’s go get this sorted out, I’ll meet you in systems in ten minutes.”
He strode to the outer office and told his two secretaries to hold any further calls.
Chapter 7 | Get Out
JONATHAN SAT BACK in the chair, put his elbows on the desk, head in his hands and stared at the blank computer screen. Had he imagined the message? He closed his eyes.
“Hello Jonathan Beckett, it’s been a long time. Nice to have you home!”
The words danced around his mind and realised it had been a clever set-up. How the hell had they tracked him? And why now after so many years? There was not much time to leave and whatever the reasons someone wanted him back on the grid. The brief meeting with the girl played out in his mind. The impression she gave was a loner from the street, but those finger nails, clean and manicured as any other young girl. Not a girl from the street and part of the elaborate set-up, a plant. Why hadn’t he spotted the obvious flaw? Clean nails! She’s gone, no point in dwelling on it. The main priority was to get out of the café, he should just walk out. But what if they were watching? No, it was safer to stay, at least for a while to gather his thoughts and work out his next move.
However, the afternoon decided it had other plans, gathering thoughts and being safe was not on the agenda. As Jonathan sat at the desk a wafer thin plume of smoke drifted up from the welcome home computer.
The burning rubbery smell made its way into his nostrils. Others in the café noticed, ‘It’s coming from over there,’ one shouted pointing in his direction. He looked at the computer and within a few seconds the smoke became thick and along with it more drifted up from the surrounding computers. Those sitting at them backed away in a state of panic. As an alarm bell sounded he pushed his seat backwards and stood up, people in the café panicked and most headed for the exit.
A heavyset man came up behind and pushed his way past Jonathan, in each hand he held a fire extinguisher. “Leave. Now, man!” he shouted.
Jonathan ignored him, his attention moved to the extinguishers and noticed the red labels. Red? Electrical fires? Alarm bells sounded in his head. The man primed them for use, Jonathan shouted, “No! You can’t use them on an electrical fire.”
Too late, as flames jumped and danced out through the smoke, the man let rip with both extinguishers, to Jonathan’s surprise, he had got the flames extinguished.
“Don’t worry. Everything is fine,” the man said pointing at the computers with a smile of victory on his face and a shrug of his shoulders.
Although surprised Jonathan said, “Move away, there’s water dripping over everything, don’t touch the desk.”
“It’s OK, the fire is out, just needs a mop now,” he placed his hand onto the desk for support. The warning came too late as a massive surge of electricity hit him. His body jerked around as his weight forced him to fall backwards onto the desk making his clothing and body soaking wet. The perfect conductor for electricity.
In spite of the danger, Jonathan picked up the nearest plastic chair from another computer station. He rushed back, startled to see the man’s body gripped to it by electricity pumping through him. He held the chair’s legs and wedged the seat between the body and the top of the table. For Christ sake this guy must weigh over three hundred pounds. He pushed hard and forced the body off the desk along with the contents. The computer crashed to the floor, smashed around, with it unplugged the electrical connection. The body fell with a loud dull thug as the man’s head bounced off the surface. Jonathan took off his coat and made a grab the man’s right hand, but noticed it burnt and placed his coat over the other arm and dragged him away.
After removing the coat, he checked the guy’s neck and searched for a pulse. There was none, no signs of breathing. Blank empty eyes stared back at him. “Shit!” Jonathan said out loud.
As he started CPR two other people rushed over to help.
“What can I do?” said the first.
Jonathan looked up, “Do you know CPR?”
“Yes, not much, but I’ve called 999,” she said.
“We don’t have time to wait!” Jonathan replied not meaning to snap at her. She looked as if she was about to burst into tears. “Sorry, sorry. OK, once I give him mouth to mouth you do the heart compressions.” Jonathan opened the guy’s airways and blew as hard into the mouth three times taking in fresh gulps of air after each one.
“Now, do the chest compressions. Don’t be frightened to press hard as you can, this guy is no gym lover,” he said.
As Jonathan was on his third cycle of CPR, the lights went out and an eerie silence fell around the place.
“It’s bloody time the electricity went off!” he heard someone shout.
Jonathan looked up why the hell did the surge protectors not trigger and cut off the electricity? He saw a
nother two staff, they wrestled with fire extinguishers and got the rest of the smoking computers under control. Less than five minutes had passed from the fire starting to Jonathan starting CPR on the man. He continued, encouraging his helper to keep going, but after every cycle of mouth to mouth and heart compression he still couldn’t find a pulse. Come on fella, don’t do this. Not looking good. Sirens – he looked up again and heard the whirring sound getting close. Anxious he said, “Hang on there, there’s help on the way.”
He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to see a man in motorcycle dress carrying a large bag, a London Motorcycle Paramedic. “I can take it from here. Can you explain what happened?” he said.
Jonathan recounted the events as the medic took various equipment from his bag and unbuttoned the man’s shirt. Although he felt guilty leaving, there was little time left. What choice did he have?
“Can anyone tell me his name please?” The medic asked.
The reply came from behind, “Yes, it’s Barry, he does maintenance around here for the cafe.”
As Jonathan finished relaying further information to the paramedic, he picked up his coat. He still had the stupid red scarf around his neck and took it off and threw it to the floor. The café was near empty now, time to leave before the police turned up, “Listen,” he said to the paramedic, “I’m going outside to get fresh air. The smoke and stuff. I’ll be right back…”
Although, the paramedic nodded he kept working to save the man’s life. Even Jonathan understood there was little hope. He turned and headed for the door, ‘Poor sod, neither of us were coming back.’
