by Sarah Sky
Henry had tricked them. He must have persuaded a friend to take his place in the ambulance. Jessica rounded the corner in time to see him scaling a high wall into a park. “Stop!”
The boy paused and looked over his shoulder, his legs astride the wall. “Who are you? What do you want with me?”
No way could she risk giving him her real name. “I’m Jenny. I’ve been sent by MI6.”
“This is about LibertyCrossing, isn’t it?”
Jessica nodded. “We’ve come to help you. We can protect you. I need to bring you in.”
“You don’t get it, do you? You can’t protect me from LibertyCrossing or the rest of The Collective. No one can.”
“We can. I promise. Who’s the leader of The Collective? Who tried to kill you tonight?”
Henry hesitated. “Someone far more powerful than the whole of MI6.” He swung his other leg over the wall and jumped.
“I’m afraid your daughter’s in big trouble, Mr Cole.”
Jessica and her dad sat on uncomfortable plastic chairs in the head teacher’s office. Richard Reynolds must have adjusted his chair to be deliberately high, as he towered above them even though her dad was six foot two. She glanced at the clock. It was nine a.m. and so far, the worst Monday morning ever. She’d only managed to grab a few hours’ sleep after returning home from the mission before her dad had woken her with the bad news – they’d been summoned to school for an urgent disciplinary meeting.
“Perhaps you could enlighten us about what’s going on,” her dad asked pleasantly.
“Shall I tell him or will you?” The grey-haired man glared fiercely at Jessica.
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
Mr Reynolds slammed his hand on the desk. “Do not take me for a fool. There will be extremely serious consequences for your actions this weekend. It’d be far better if you confessed to hacking the school computer system now.”
Oh no. She exchanged worried glances with her dad. Her hands trembled slightly as she gripped the chair. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, Mr Reynolds. Tell us.”
“Fine. Have it your way. At precisely 1.26 p.m. yesterday you hacked into the school computer and—”
“No, I didn’t!”
“Let me finish uninterrupted, please.” The head teacher glared furiously at her. “As I was saying, you hacked in and retrieved confidential information on every single member of staff – dates of birth, home addresses, telephone numbers, etc – and uploaded them to a dating website, www.oapsneedlove2.”
Jessica’s jaw dropped. “I can assure you…”
“Immediately afterwards, the IT department tells me you placed the entire school and its contents – including personal information about every pupil in year eleven – on eBay with an opening bid of one pence.”
She stared at her dad in stunned silence. The hack on the school was about the time she’d used his computer to log on to the MI6 account. This had to be the work of The Collective. The hackers had seized the opportunity to attack their home software and get her into trouble.
“Did you find your exploits amusing?” Mr Reynolds continued. “Because I can assure you I didn’t. Neither did any members of my staff. Teachers have already received telephone calls and email correspondence from the dating website.”
“I can personally assure you that Jessica had nothing to do with this,” her dad began.
“Our IT department traced the thread to her Facebook account, where she also posted about her exploits. For example, I’m told this went up at four a.m. today.” Mr Reynolds picked up a piece of paper from his desk. “‘Check out the website www.oapsneedlove2 – Hatchet Hatcham might find his soul mate. Not. Jessica ;)’.”
She barely used Facebook now she had WhatsApp and Snapchat and she definitely hadn’t targeted her least favourite teacher at school. The message had been posted shortly after she’d returned from the botched raid at the International High School. Was LibertyCrossing exacting revenge after she’d rescued Henry Murray from the blaze? His attacker must have hoped he’d succumb to smoke inhalation after clobbering him with the baseball bat.
“I didn’t write that.”
“Really?” Mr Reynolds continued. “How about this letter, which was sent to the parents of every pupil at this school from your email account at four thirty a.m.?”
Jessica groaned inwardly. “What did it say?”
“You’re insisting on keeping up with this pretence?” He gave her a withering look and read from the piece of paper.
“‘Dear Parent,
I wish to inform you that school is shut today. Don’t bother sending your little brats because I won’t let them in.
Yours insincerely,
your miserable head teacher,
Richard Reynolds’.”
“Again, it wasn’t me.” Jessica felt her face redden further. She must be puce by now.
“Then how do you explain what’s happened?”
“I think someone hacked into my dad’s home computer yesterday. They must have gained control of my email and Facebook accounts and set me up.”
“Do you really expect me to believe that someone would go to such great lengths to get you into trouble?”
“Yes, I do,” she said simply. “And it’s—”
“Jessica!” her dad barked.
She glared at him. Did he think she was that stupid? She wasn’t going to blurt out about the latest Westwood case.
“Jessica’s telling the truth about problems we’ve been having with our home computer,” her dad said. “I’ve checked with my bank. My account was definitely hacked into and funds frozen. I can get you a statement from their internet fraud department, which will verify that. I’d also like to employ the services of an independent IT professional who can examine the school’s equipment and our home computer. That way, we can get to the bottom of this unfortunate matter.”
“Thank you,” Mr Reynolds said stiffly. “That sounds like the most reasonable course of action to take. In the meantime, though, I’m afraid I have no option but to suspend Jessica until this incident has been thoroughly investigated.”
“Is that necessary? I’m confident my daughter will be cleared within days.”
“If so, she will be welcomed back. Until then, I cannot have her on the premises. No member of staff will agree to teach her after what’s happened and I can’t say I blame them.”
“It’s OK,” Jessica said, standing up. “I understand. Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll be back in school before the end of the week.”
Her dad rose to his feet unsteadily. “You’re making a big mistake, Mr Reynolds. I’ll expect a personal apology to Jessica and me when this is all over.”
“Which you shall have, if and when your daughter’s name is cleared. However, I’m about to deal with some very unhappy teachers and parents. I have the feeling it’s going to be a very long day.”
He had no idea. If members of The Collective had managed to wreak this kind of havoc at school by hijacking her identity, what damage had they unleashed on MI6?
“There’s good news and bad news,” Nathan said, kicking off the emergency Westwood meeting.
Jessica held her breath. Had MI6 systems analyst Sam Hewitt finally discovered her Sargasso security breach? She’d been summoned by text to an urgent debriefing at MI6 HQ shortly after the showdown with Mr Reynolds and had been on tenterhooks ever since. Bree had refused to make eye contact when she walked in, which could also be a bad sign, but Celia had glanced up and smiled briefly.
The door banged open and Sasha flew in, red-faced and panting. She threw herself into a seat. “Sorry I’m late. I had to pretend I’d got a migraine in A-level maths. It took a while to persuade the school nurse that I needed to go home.”
Poor Sasha. Having a suspension on Jessica’s school record was bad
news, but it had made getting here at short notice much easier than usual.
“You’re here now, Sasha, which is what’s important,” Nathan said briskly. “The good news is that Natalia is expected to make a full recovery. She’s in hospital recovering from a severe electric shock but won’t have any lasting injuries. We’re still trying to determine the weapon used to attack her last night.”
Jessica shuddered at the thought of Natalia’s burn mark. If only she had remembered her training – always be prepared for the risk of attack when moving into a hostile environment. Instead, she was just trying to make a juvenile point that having a family member in MI6 didn’t give Jessica the right to issue orders.
“Further good news is that we don’t think The Collective has found Henry Murray yet.” Nathan cracked his knuckles. “Members are currently posting about looking for him.”
“And the bad news?” Jessica asked tentatively.
“We’ve had forty-eight hours of hacking and are still no closer to finding the leader of The Collective. In addition, we have no idea where Henry is either. He didn’t return to school this morning and has officially been reported as missing by his head teacher and father. He hasn’t made any attempt to contact his family in Canada or friends in this country. He’s gone completely off-grid – no phone calls or texts, money withdrawals from his credit card, email use, sightings on CCTV cameras across London. Nothing.”
Phew. Nathan didn’t know about her computer activity after all. She cleared her throat. “Henry didn’t think MI6 could protect him from The Collective. He was absolutely terrified last night. He’s lying low somewhere until he figures out his next move. Henry must know the only chance he has to remain undetected is to avoid using his mobile or any electrical device.”
Nathan nodded. “He’s right to be afraid. A few hours ago, LibertyCrossing posted an alert, telling hackers to track Henry Murray through his credit card, Oyster card, phone and any electronic equipment. As soon as he uses anything, members of The Collective will find him.”
“We have to get to Henry first,” Celia said. “But how?”
Jessica glanced across the table. The stunning twenty-three-year-old redhead had led one of the seminars during her training about how to keep up a double life. Celia should know; she’d recently been announced as the new face of Burberry and Thierry Mugler perfume while rising up the ranks of Westwood.
“We’re examining Henry’s text messages and emails over the last week.” Nathan pushed his glasses up his nose and cracked his knuckles again. He had dark circles under his eyes. When was the last time he’d slept? Probably Friday night, before the hacks started.
“Westwood agents are being drafted in to speak to Henry’s friends under the guise of being volunteers from an anti-bullying charity,” he continued. “His year group’s already been told it’s suspected he was being bullied. You’ll quiz his friends about possible harassment while tapping them for info at the same time.”
Jessica nodded. It sounded like believable cover, plus her whole day was free now she was banned from lessons. She’d need to fill Nathan in on what had happened at school as soon as the briefing wrapped up.
“We need to concentrate our efforts on identifying LibertyCrossing and the person who attacked Henry last night,” Nathan said.
“They could be the same person,” Celia pointed out.
“It’s possible,” Nathan said. “But why did LibertyCrossing turn on Henry? He’s one of The Collective’s best hackers and most loyal followers. He’s been in direct contact with LibertyCrossing for a considerable period of time.”
“Henry talked about the laptop being his insurance policy,” Jessica said. “He seemed to think it was the only thing that could keep him alive. Perhaps he fell out with the leader of The Collective, or he could have been blackmailing him.”
“It’s possible LibertyCrossing realized Henry knew too much and would inevitably blab if caught by MI6,” Celia reasoned. “He had to silence him for good and destroy the evidence.”
“We need to work out what Henry knows ASAP. It’s going to be all hands on deck across MI6. We only have two more days until The Collective’s deadline.”
Nathan picked up his mobile as it vibrated. “Show him up,” he told the caller. “We’re in briefing room 304D.”
Jessica raised an eyebrow. “We have company?”
“The CIA has agreed to help since the US has also been targeted. It’s come across The Collective before. We’ve been loaned an operative who can provide us with further insight into the hacking organization.”
Nathan was in no mood to wait for the visitor. He scribbled notes as Bree and Sasha ran through their accounts of last night’s mission. Bree conveniently left out the part about how she froze when they were outside Henry’s room and couldn’t come up with an escape plan. Typical. Jessica nibbled her nails; if only she’d managed to stop the attacker or get a proper glimpse of their face. She had only a vague description: five feet and seven or eight inches tall with a slim build, wearing dark clothing and a balaclava. The thread she’d found trapped in the window frame might give a clue, but she hadn’t had chance to hand it in to forensics. She’d meant to ring Lucas, a mate in that department, first thing but had been thrown by the early school meeting. Lucas was cool; he’d arrange for the thread to be picked up from her home and have it analysed by close of play today. With any luck, it came from an unusual material that wasn’t mass-produced. That could help track down its owner.
Jessica glanced up at the sharp rap on the door. A blonde woman poked her head round.
Nathan put down his gold fountain pen. “Show him in, Lucy.”
A dark-haired figure brushed past her, a black rucksack slung over his shoulder. Jessica’s jaw dropped. What on earth…?
“Thank you for coming at such short notice,” Nathan said. “Let me introduce you to the team.”
Zak scanned the room. His eyes lingered on Jessica. “Hello again.”
To Jessica’s annoyance, she felt her cheeks colour up. “What are you doing here?”
A smile hovered on Zak’s lips. “I’ve come to save your butts. You can thank me later.”
“What’s he talking about?” She stared at Nathan, horrified. This could not be happening.
“Of course, I forgot. You met Zak at the Shard, didn’t you, Jessica? As did Bree and Sasha.” Nathan gestured to the other Westwood girls. “Celia Tyler, this is Zak Dane. Please take a seat.”
“Er, I mean, well, yes,” Jessica stuttered. “I kind of know Zak, but that doesn’t explain what he’s doing here.”
He slumped into a seat opposite. “It’s good to see you again too, Jessica. You look in better shape than the last time I saw you.”
She scowled back.
“Zak works for Rodarte, the CIA version of Westwood,” Nathan said.
“You see, I’m a model and a spy, just like you.” Zak smiled as he ripped off his dark grey coat and pullover, revealing a crisp white shirt underneath. “Who’d have thought we’d have so much in common?”
“You have to be kidding,” Jessica snorted.
“Do I look like I am?”
“Hmm. I don’t see it. You know, you being a spy. A really vain model, yes.”
A look of annoyance flickered over Zak’s face. “Why? Because you think I’m empty-headed and shallow, banging on about Calvin Klein and my other modelling contracts all the time? Good. Because that means I’m doing my job well. You didn’t suspect a thing. But I guessed you were up to something that night at the Shard. I didn’t know what had gone down until Nathan filled me in on the failed mission yesterday morning.”
Jessica glared at him. “Yes, thanks for that night. You know, alerting Mike to the fact that I was trying to get up the stairs. It was massively helpful. You’re a great undercover spy, Zak.”
“I had no idea you were on a Westwood
mission, otherwise I’d have kept my mouth shut and helped you,” he drawled. “It’s a pity your people didn’t let Rodarte into the loop. I hate to say it, but if Westwood had asked me to come on board, I’d have handled the Shard job completely differently. Likewise, last night. I hear you managed to let your best lead escape, Jessica. That was careless of you, if you don’t mind me saying. Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Actually, I do mind. I’ve no idea why Nathan thinks we need you here. Frankly, I’m amazed you managed to make it through the door, considering the size of your colossal ego.”
“Ditto. Why do you seem to think you’re the only one who can do this job?”
“What? How dare you?”
“That’s enough, you two!” Nathan snapped. “We’ve established you’re both government agents. Now start acting like them. We’ve got bigger things to worry about than wounded egos, if you hadn’t noticed, like finding Henry before The Collective and protecting our agents out in the field. We have less than three hours until the next MI6 operative is named on the web.”
Jessica glowered at Zak. Who did he think he was, marching in here, acting as if he were her boss? She didn’t answer to him. No way.
“Zak is one of Rodarte’s best operatives, which is why he’s coming on board with Westwood,” Nathan continued. “You’re all to cooperate with him. He has full security clearance on The Collective brief.”
Jessica’s jaw dropped. This was unbelievable. She knew The Collective had to be their top priority, but she couldn’t let the incident at the Shard go. Not yet.
“So let me get this straight, Zak. When you came to my house that evening, wanting to know if I recognized the person who attacked me, you were investigating what had happened for Rodarte?”
Zak nodded. “My bosses demanded a report, seeing that the US ambassador’s wife had been caught up in an armed siege. They smelt a rat from the official reports about a publicity stunt gone wrong. We didn’t know at that stage it was a Westwood operation. Correction. A ballsed-up Westwood operation.”
