“One knock for each of us,” he muttered, as Michael heard movement from inside.
Finally the door opened, revealing another anxious disheveled-looking man. He was probably in his late-30s Michael thought, quickly taking in his appearance. The weeks of stubble, the black bags under his eyes, and the unnaturally grey hair swept back revealing a high temple, made the man look nearer to 50. Maybe more. And just like Brown, he had the same paranoid haunted look to his every expression, his every movement.
“Everything go alright?” the man asked, betraying a strong Welsh accent.
Brown nodded.
“Yeah, fine. Let’s get inside, it’s fucking brass monkeys out here.”
The door to the caravan shut and was rapidly bolted and padlocked. Michael was immediately struck by the utter contrast of the inside and outside of the caravan. The blackened windows completely blocked the array of lights fastened along the entire ceiling.
The full length of the caravan opposite the door was piled high with items of computer hardware that Michael could only guess at what they were for. There were ten to twenty monitors amongst the equipment, each projecting a different image. Further up the caravan the familiar UKCitizensNet logo appeared, flashed, disappeared and re-appeared on one of the screens. Two other monitors were scrolling endless pages of unintelligible code.
Whether it was chattering printers or the hypnotic bleating of UKCitizensNet’s army of PR professionals, the hum was unerring.
Further down the caravan, sitting at a roughly constructed desk, Michael could see Brown’s remaining colleagues pointing at another monitor, intermittently typing commands into a keyboard.
As Brown approached they looked up from their heated discussion.
“You made it then?” the first man said, his eyes rapidly scanning Michael’s frame.
An awkward silence hung in the air as the four of them looked at Michael, unsure as to their next move, their next words.
“Look, how about some introductions?” Michael said finally, looking at the man who had spoken.
Nodding they gave their names one by one.
“Stephen Smith.”
“Morgan Jones.”
“Richard Green.”
“John Brown.”
A look of vague amusement spread across Michael’s face.
“You’re having a laugh, right? Smith? Jones? Brown? Those can’t really be your names.”
“It’s safer for everyone if you don’t know our real names. The blander and unremarkable they are the safer we’ll remain. Just call us by these,” said the first man who had spoken. He was Smith.
A frown spread across Michael’s face as thoughts of his dark purpose with these men again resurfaced. Jones, who had unlocked the door to the caravan upon their arrival, guessed what Michael was thinking.
“The one thing you must understand Michael, can I call you Michael, is that we’re on your side. We all have something in common. The advent of UKCitizensNet, and the destruction of the old internet as we know it, has destroyed all our lives. We need each other. Our strength is in togetherness.”
Michael smiled weakly. How could five men oppose a government-backed project, if that was what it was?
“You said you wanted to show us something?” Jones continued, his gaze dropping to the black canvas bag Michael was holding.
Michael unzipped the bag and removed the contents.
“For whatever reason, my wife kept some files and disks hidden in a Post Office box. Why they weren’t kept at SW Technologies or at home, I don’t know. I’ve been thinking long and hard as to her motives for the security of these files. Perhaps she recognised the significance of her work and this was some sort of insurance? I just don’t know. What I am sure of, though, is that they must be important. Although I didn’t believe what Brown told me in Kingston at the time, I did hide the files for safekeeping. It’s lucky for you that I did.”
Brown shuffled on the spot, forcing an awkward grin.
“Let’s hope it’s lucky for us all,” Jones said as Michael handed over the neat box file.
“I’ve had a quick look at the files. They don’t mean much to me.”
A look of childish excitement spread across the men’s faces as Jones clicked the box open. Green, who had until now remained silent, turned to Michael.
“There’s a kettle and some biscuits down there. But not the chocolate digestives, they’re mine. Make yourself comfortable. This could take a while.”
Michael nodded as Green turned back to the box file. He was probably in his mid-40s, although the neatly combed side-parting and thick set glasses which he was constantly setting and resetting on his nose made him look much older. Like the others, he carried the same wide-eyed fearful expression of someone who’d foreseen his own demise.
Green looked as if he ought to be a computer science or physics lecturer Michael thought as he brought a mug of coffee to his lips a few minutes later, watching the four men intently. Maybe he had been. But then who knew what any of them had been before their lives had changed irrevocably and they’d ended up in this desolate mobile home park.
His life had been changed beyond all recognition as well. Sitting in a derelict mobile home park in the middle of nowhere was proof enough of that.
Watching the montage of computer monitors processing endless amounts of data he tried listening to the conversation of the four strange men. Every so often a heated argument would erupt as language flew before excited exclamations. Another discovery would bring everything back to order.
As four hours of hot coffee and listening to strained conversations slowly ticked by Michael’s eyes began to feel heavy as boredom set in. But before he could close his eyes he heard the noisy footsteps of the men approaching where he lay on the torn sofa wedged under one of the blackened windowpanes.
Despite all the theories Brown had revealed to him in Kingston, it seemed that Jones was the leader of the four men. He sat in a swivel chair opposite Michael as the remaining men leaned against the stacked hardware. From what Brown had already told him, Michael surmised this was probably a proportion of the servers, hubs and routers they used to keep the old internet alive, in one form or another. Although, exactly what servers, hubs and routers actually were wasn’t entirely clear to him.
Jones ran his fingers through his hair thoughtfully. His eyes were wide, his pupils dilated, as he shuffled in his seat. His expression a curious mix of excitement at what they had just found, and utter fear at what it meant.
“Is it important?” Michael asked, although clearly aware that it was.
Jones laughed without smiling.
“Oh yes, it’s important. And it’s terrifying. No wonder they want it so badly and are prepared to kill for it.”
Jones paused, aware that much of the technical detail in the files would be beyond Michael’s grasp.
“Your wife’s company, SW Technologies, and ACE Solutions were in the process of independently developing the most advanced Java app any of us have ever seen. Although, they were also clearly considering some form of collaboration in this area.”
Confusion quickly spread across Michael’s face.
“OK, let me explain,” Jones continued, undeterred. “Simply put, a Java app is a small application, a piece of code, that can be buried or used within a wider system, web page, computer platform, and which could run a computer program of some sort on a UKCitizensNet page. For example, a Java app will be used to run a clock within a UKCitizensNet page.”
Michael nodded, appreciating the explanation.
“The aim of this next generation app, which was to be developed on the 5 generation semantic web platform, which I’m sure you must have heard of, was to act as a help tool with some added perks. And not just for you and I, but for the sick, the disabled, the elderly, children, single mothers. You name it. Basically, anything where some type of help can be offered or needed. Somebody who is elderly might program the app, through a simple interface, to turn all
the house lights on at a certain time so they wouldn’t have to grope around in the dark and risk injuring themselves. Or perhaps a mother might program the app to activate intercoms around the house at set times when she knows her baby will be in its cot. Or to operate the microwave at a certain time to warm the baby’s milk. Perhaps someone living on their own, and who feels vulnerable, wants to have the burglar alarm automatically set the same time each night. This way they don’t have to remember to do it or need the technical prowess to know how to set it. The manual goes out the window. Never again would you have to learn how to set the timer for your hot water or other household appliance. The app does it for you.”
Jones stopped as Michael’s crinkled his forehead thoughtfully.
“Hang on, hang on. This app is a file from UKCitizensNet that is accessed through eCitTV? How the hell does it start controlling your water and your lights and electricity?”
Jones exhaled loudly, rocking gently on the rusted swivel chair.
“As I’m sure you remember, not long after the current government took power McCoy and his cronies banned access to the internet. Directly after that all of the utilities were also re-nationalised. Believe me, this was no coincidence. Privatisation was wiped out in an instant. And because of this the government now operates and controls the entire telecoms infrastructure, the gas pipelines, the electricity network and the water system. They control it all. The vision of UKCitizensNet that your wife’s company, ACE Solutions, and most importantly SemComNet, envisaged was a complete and integrated national network. Not just an information network, but a network incorporating and controlling all the utilities as well. All being delivered via the existing infrastructures. All control was to be centralised. And by now it probably is. You see, everything these days is networked in one way or another. Every computerised item in the home, in the workplace, carries an IP address. The same infrastructure that brings your electricity and telephone connection can link into UKCitizensNet. That’s what the 5 generation semantic web platform has given us, a common integrated means to link every networked application. Everything can be derived and controlled from one source - UKCitizensNet.”
Michael nodded, although still unclear on many points.
“Any UKCitizensNet user would be given the opportunity to allow the app to control any networked application they have going into their home or business. This could include setting the lights to come on to turning the heating up at a given time. Every user’s eCitTV unit has an individual IP address, or internet protocol address. Essentially, the IP address is your UKCitizensNet ID number. It identifies exactly where you are geographically and your precise position within the state network. You would then enter the manufacturer’s serial number for the appliance you wanted to control. All of this information would be sufficient enough for the servers of the state network operator to get UKCitizensNet to automate the flicking of the appropriate switch at the right time. So, if you want the TV to come at 7am, UKCitizensNet, via its massive infrastructure, will turn your TV on at 7am.”
Jones paused, reaching for a pack of opened cigarettes lying on top of one of the monitors.
“So they killed Colette and Clare to get their hands on a piece of technology that would help people?” Michael asked, barely believing what he was being told.
Jones rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Yes, and no.”
Michael felt his muscles ache and twitch as his body tensed. His heart rate was quickening as he looked into the faces of the four men. The whole thing was so complicated. His head throbbed as he tried to process it all and make sense of it.
“What do you mean ‘Yes, and no’?”
“Yes, they wanted the technology. But no, they didn’t want to help anyone with it. Imagine you control the entire country’s networked utilities and household and other appliances. eCitTV is the easiest means to deliver it because everyone has a TV. Why do you think the government made them so cheap to buy? But it’s not the only means to deliver UKCitizensNet or their plans for the app. Don’t forget your home computer, your mobile phone, your iPod. So, imagine if somebody buys 1000 cigarettes online via one of the UKCitizensNet shopping arcades because it’s cheaper than the corner shop and delivery is always promised the same day. They’ve then got a record of your purchase and that you’re a fairly committed smoker.”
Jones quickly stubbed his cigarette out beneath his heel.
“Then, in the middle of night, using the app, they turn on the gas from your cooker because the gas service is networked and your gas meter has its own unique IP address. Joe Public wakes up the next morning, lights a cigarette and…”
Jones let the sentence trail off as Michael’s face began to turn pale as realisation struck.
“Alternatively, what if they decide to alter the makeup of the gas that is being piped through to your cooker so that it’s actually carbon monoxide? A discreet leak in the middle of the night and nobody in the house is ever waking up. Or what about causing a small innocuous electrical fire that soon engulfs the entire building. And it doesn’t just have to be limited to one house or building. UKCitizensNet is delivered through regional servers covering large local areas. You could cause any disaster you could dream up silently and without a trace. Imagine if…”
“OK, OK. I think I get the picture,” Michael interrupted, as Jones’ fervour threatened to get the better of him.
The enthusiasm at the technical milestone they’d just discovered receded a little and Jones continued, a little more somberly.
“It’s the ultimate weapon. You don’t know it’s coming. You can’t see it’s coming. And when it’s struck you don’t know where it came from. That’s why they want it so badly. And that’s why your wife and daughter, and David Langley, were killed.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” Michael asked, fearing the truth, but needing to know.
Jones nodded slowly.
“I’m afraid so. It’s all in your wife’s files. Although the more sinister conclusions are our own. But there’s no question as to why they want your files. They’re incredibly valuable - to us and to them.”
Leaning back in his chair Michael watched as a different expression crossed Jones’ face. It was barely discernible, the slightest flicker in his eyes, almost gone as quickly as it he saw it, but leaving him with the feeling that something was being held back.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked flatly.
Jones began to chew his bottom lip as he shuffled in his seat, briefly casting a glance at the other three men. Exhaling loudly, and finally deciding he needed to share his thoughts with Michael, he leant forward, unsure to the reaction he’d get.
“Almost two years ago, on the night before access to the internet in this country was banned, we got into a number of the government databases via the old network, looking for anything that could expose what was happening. Needless to say we didn’t find what we were looking for. But whilst we were doing this I briefly saw a confidential Defence Department file about a project called CODEX which mentioned the establishment of UKCitizensNet. At the time, I couldn’t understand why the Defence Department was interested in the network. But now it all makes sense. Thanks to your wife’s files.”
Michael began to chew his bottom lip thoughtfully too as he took in what Jones had just revealed, but knowing he still didn’t have the whole picture. The key fact had been omitted from the explanation.
“You’re not telling me that’s what you were holding back are you? Why would I care about a Defence Department file unless it had something to do with Colette? What else did the file say?”
Jones half-smiled, although it never reached his eyes.
“Just before connection to the internet was taken down I came across a section in the file which talked about ‘Primary Targets’. Your wife’s details were in there, along with David Langley’s. In the time I had before the connection was lost I didn’t find any evidence that CODEX, whatever it is, were involved with their d
eaths. But both you and your daughter were also listed there. Why would any of that be of interest to the Defence Department or the government?”
Michael could feel the knot in his stomach tightening, his heart thumping as he processed what he’d just been told.
“So where is this file? Surely that’s a starting point for talking to someone, a private investigator or something, who could dig deeper?”
Jones looked down and Michael knew what he was going to say.
“You don’t have it, do you?”
Silence filled the mobile home for a few long seconds as Michael waited for the inevitable confirmation the four men didn’t want to reveal.
“No, we don’t. The network connection was disabled before we could save or print a copy. It’s my fault. I got caught up in the document hoping, praying, it would give us some proof as to what was going on with UKCitizensNet. I simply forgot to save it before time ran out.”
He began fiddling with his fingers nervously as Michael held his gaze, waiting for the likely condemnation of his failure to procure what might have been the smallest shred of evidence.
Michael could see Jones’ deflation, his forehead knotted with tension, and the resignation of the other men was all too evident in their harrowed expressions. There was no point in getting angry. Anything he might have said to them, and to Jones in particular, would have been said or thought by the men ten-fold. That opportunity was gone. They had to deal with where they were now if he was to find the truth behind Colette and Clare’s murders.
Michael stood up from the warm sofa and began slowly pacing the grimy floor.
“What are we going to do? What can we do? As you’ve said, we can’t go to the police, can we?”
The four men shook their heads somberly. They were the proof this avenue didn’t work and wasn’t available to them.
“And with no evidence, private investigators are out as well,” Brown said quietly from where he was perched on a desk behind Jones. “With arrest warrants out for all of us any investigator is legally required to hand over any details to the police. We’d be picked up in hours.”
The Codex File (2012) Page 14
