The Codex File (2012)

by Miles Etherton

  A fresh window appeared on the screen, flashing the message they’d all been hoping to see: ‘Level 3 counter measures successful, designated network hubs secure.’

  The analysts sank back in their chairs, sweat pouring from their brows and staining their crisp shirts.

  “We’ve stopped it, and isolated the app to a secure area. It’s ours. We’ve got it.”

  Trevellion looked up at the ceiling and the glinting sprinklers. At that moment the security override on the office door thudded again as the seal on the door was released.

  “Fuck me that was close,” the second analyst said. “I thought I was going to have a fucking coronary.”

  The first analyst nodded as they both turned to Trevellion for his approval. But Trevellion had moved away from the bank of screens and was already in contact with Sebastian Tate.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Trevellion’s body lay in the middle of the floor of his office at SemComNet. He was lying on his side, almost in the foetal position, his face slightly shielded. But even from this position Michael could see where his face was bloated and discoloured from where the poison had attacked his immune system.

  Michael moved towards the body, casting a quick glance at the sprinklers that had delivered his moment of vengeance. The noxious cocktail Smith had devised had dissipated from the air. Although Michael could still feel his skin tingling slightly as he stood in the silent office. Thoughts of Colette and Clare ran through his mind. Trevellion was dead and that was all that mattered. Their deaths hadn’t been for nothing.

  Michael woke suddenly from his sleep, his eyes shooting open as a cold sweat enveloped him. As his gaze became accustomed to the early morning light he recognised the shapes of the mobile home. One of the blackout curtains was slightly ajar allowing some light to stream into the room across where he was lying on one of the dilapidated sofas.

  It was then the realisation he’d been dreaming about Trevellion’s death struck him. But maybe he didn’t need to dream it for too much longer. They’d successfully launched the app the night before and knew it had penetrated the hole they’d hacked into UKCitizensNet’s system. The only question that remained was whether they’d successfully achieved their first objective - killing Trevellion.

  For hours after the app had been launched they’d watched UKCitizensNet coverage, waiting to see if anything had been reported. By 2.00am Michael finally succumbed to sleep, leaving just Brown at the bank of monitors looking for the smallest sign of their success.

  He looked at his watch. It was a little after 5.00am. Brown was still sitting at the monitors, but had been joined by Smith. Green and Jones were still sleeping at the other end of the mobile home.

  Stretching, he approached where Brown and Smith were sitting. His pulse quickened and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Their plan had to succeed.

  “Has anything been reported?” Michael asked expectantly.

  Brown and Smith jumped slightly, unaware Michael had surfaced. Their faces were drawn from tiredness. Every crease in their features taut from the stress they were under. But behind the fatigue Michael could clearly see the verdict. Smith shook his head first.

  “No, nothing. Fuck all about it. All we’ve been seeing is continuous coverage about the Saudi President visiting the UK and how he’s pissed off most of the world by nationalising the oil industry out there.”

  “What?”

  A look of confusion crossed Michael’s face.

  “They’re blaming rising oil prices across the world on this nationalisation. They’re also hacked off because so many oil companies had to leave the region because of it.”

  Michael gestured for Smith to stop his assessment of current affairs.

  “No, no. That wasn’t what I meant. You mean there’s no mention of the attack on UKCitizensNet at all?”

  It was Brown’s turn to interrupt.

  “My guess is they’re trying to keep it quiet. But if we did get Trevellion they won’t be able to keep it secret. Especially not given how high profile he is now. And particularly not after the death of the former company president.”

  “I told you it was too easy,” said a tired voice from behind them.

  The three men turned to see Jones tucking in his crumpled shirt as he approached the monitors.

  “They let us in. They wanted to see what we’d got. And now they know. We’ve got something that doesn’t work yet. I told you we needed more time to test it.”

  Michael could feel the colour beginning to drain from his face.

  “Look, we don’t know anything yet. Let’s just wait. It’s still early.”

  Before Michael could continue the news presenter on BBC News 24 caught their attention as he moved onto a new story.

  “Some breaking news just reaching us. SemComNet, the operators of UKCitizensNet, are reporting a security breach into the state intranet last night by hackers trying to disrupt the UKCitizensNet service. The details we have are sketchy at the moment, but it appears anti-net campaigners may have been to blame and were attempting to launch a virus against the network.”

  The presenter paused as his producer gave him some more information through his earpiece.

  “I gather we can go over to our reporter, Becky Collins, who’s outside the SemComNet headquarters now. Becky, what can you tell us?”

  The five men in the mobile home fell silent, watching expectantly as the pictures on the screen moved from the BBC studio to the outside broadcast. An attractive brunette in a smart pin-striped suit stood under an umbrella. The perimeter fence to SemComNet loomed up behind her.

  “The latest news we’ve got is that at about 8pm last night hackers did in fact breach the UKCitizensNet system with the intention of launching a virus that would have affected UKCitizensNet outputs. We gather they were unsuccessful. But to give us the exact scale of the damage is new SemComNet President, Vincent Trevellion.”

  Michael felt his legs beginning to weaken as the camera panned round from the attractive reporter to where Trevellion stood in his crisp Armani suit. His expression was as impassive as ever. Without looking at the camera, his attention focused on the reporter as he answered the questions put to him.

  “I’m pleased to report that despite a security breach the damage to UKCitizensNet was minimal and didn’t result in any downtime. We’re currently reviewing our security protocols to ensure this doesn’t happen again. I’m confident UKCitizensNet will remain unaffected.

  “At this stage do you have any idea who the hackers were? Could this be yet more work of anti-net campaigners? After all they have targeted companies like yours in the past.”

  The four men in the mobile home all looked towards Michael at this mention. But his gaze was firmly on the screen, studying every movement Trevellion made.

  “We certainly haven’t ruled it out,” Trevellion continued. “It’s too early to say at this point. But rest assured, whoever is responsible for this crime will be caught and brought to justice. We will help the police in any way we can.”

  Michael began to feel his hatred rise up in him. How dare Trevellion, of all people, speak of justice.

  Where’s the justice for Colette and Clare?

  Or for David Langley?

  Where’s the justice for Davey Wilkes who’s been wrongly accused of their murders?

  “Turn him off,” Michael finally said, sinking down on the sofa, tears of desperation welling up in his eyes.

  Smith turned the sound down on the screen as the picture moved back from the SemComNet headquarters, returning to the news presenter in the studio. He watched as Michael sat pathetically, head in his hands. Jones was the first to break the uncomfortable silence.

  “OK, so we didn’t get him this time. It doesn’t mean we can’t find another way into UKCitizensNet and go after Trevellion again. Whilst we’re all here Trevellion isn’t going to be safe.”

  Michael looked up from where he had slumped, derision in his eyes.

  “Trevel
lion isn’t safe?” he said scornfully. “Who is the one working for a state-of-the-art company in an Armani suit? And who are the ones living in a shithole in the middle of an abandoned caravan park? Are you really telling me Trevellion has anything to worry about from us? He’s untouchable. No one believes us anyway. What can the five of us really do against him, against UKCitizensNet? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

  Smith looked down at the floor, powerless to argue with anything Michael had just said. It was Brown who took up the challenge of trying to instill hope into their situation.

  “Look Michael, we all knew more testing and development was needed on what you brought us. We took a chance by releasing the app early and it didn’t work. It doesn’t mean we can’t get it working given a bit more time.”

  Michael sank back in the chair despondently, shaking his head as Brown continued.

  “There is one thing we haven’t fully explored because we’d always assumed any attack would be on SemComNet.”

  “And what’s that?” Michael said quietly.

  “In the code of the app is an uncompleted handler for wireless deployment. It’s far and away the most complex element of the whole thing, which is probably why it’s not complete. If we can get that working then we don’t have to target Trevellion at SemComNet alone.”

  “Go on,” Michael replied.

  “Look, every piece of technology we use these days is networked. Mobile phones, handheld devices, iPods, SatNavs. Even your fucking television. If we can send this app to a wireless device Trevellion isn’t safe anywhere, so long as we know where he is and can isolate his IP addresses.”

  Michael sat up, slightly more enthused than he’d been two minutes earlier.

  “Can you get it working?”

  Brown nodded.

  “Yes, I think we can. You’ve got to trust us and give us some time.”

  Michael looked back to the screen where Trevellion’s image had been displayed on the screen minutes before. The BBC News 24 coverage had reverted back to the trip of the Saudi President.

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” Michael finally said. “I’m going stir crazy here just waiting for something to happen. I’m going home. You ring me as soon as you’ve got anything, OK?”

  Brown nodded reassuringly.

  “Don’t worry Michael, it’s not over yet. Not by a long way.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  8th February 2010

  The school hall at St Winifred’s was humming as Michael, Colette and Clare walked up the wide corridor. On one side, children’s drawings depicting the age of the Aztec’s decorated what seemed like never-ending wall space. On the other, photographs of recent school trips showing children being taken around a zoo and then an outside activity centre.

  From the moment they’d entered the building it was clear where the dance competition was being held. The sound of the children’s excited chatter echoed down the corridors, hitting you the moment you entered the school’s front door.

  The car park had been like the M25 on a bad day. Virtual gridlock ensuring parents were forced to park on the school field next to the normal car park. Parents, desperately trying to keep their excitable children safe and under control, strode across the school grounds in search of a seat in the hall.

  “And to think, I thought we’d left early,” Michael had commented as he’d first laid eyes on the packed car park. “I didn’t think this many kids would be interested in dance.”

  Catching Clare’s eye in the rearview mirror she’d shaken her head, reminding him how old and stupid he was if he didn’t know that all children liked dancing. Casting a knowing glance at Colette she smiled back at him, trying not to laugh. He certainly wouldn’t have been one of those children he thought as they’d raced across the car park, trying to keep up with Clare’s own enthusiasm.

  Decked out in her full ballet outfit both parents could barely contain their pride as Clare called out to one of friends a little way ahead of them. Like Clare, she too was wearing an ivory, satin ballet dress. Michael was sure he’d seen the girl and her mother one time he’d picked her up from ballet practice, although he’d never caught her name before. They were just nodding acquaintances as was often the case once your child was at school and involved in a million-and-one activities. Keeping up with names was an ongoing problem with just the hoards of children, nevermind their parents too.

  The sound of children laughing, running about, or simply shouting at their friends from across the hall rose to a cacophonous din as they approached the doors. They could clearly see most of the chairs for the parents were already taken.

  “We’re going to be standing at the back at this rate,” Colette said flatly, pushing through the doors.

  Casting a glance round the hall, all the parents and family ahead of them in the corridor had quickly snapped up the remaining seats. Michael and Colette were left standing in the aisle with not a spare chair to be had.

  “Oh well,” Colette said quietly, “the wall it is.”

  Nodding, the pair of them moved to the back of the hall and leant against the climbing bars secured against the wall. Further down the room Clare had turned, looking out to see where her parents had gone. Spotting them at the back, she ran back up the aisle, a slight disapproving look spreading across her pale features, made all the more so by her shock of long blonde hair.

  “Oh mum,” she said with feigned annoyance. “Why didn’t you run to get a seat?”

  Colette stroked her hair gently, leaning in for a hug.

  “I can’t run as fast you these days,” she said. “But don’t worry we’ll be able to see your dance from here. I’ve got the video camera as well.”

  Clare pulled a face, scrunching up her face at the prospect of her dance being filmed. Although secretly she was pleased. Especially if she won the competition.

  With the dancing almost ready to begin Michael casually looked around the hall at all the parents and children who sat, waiting patiently for their moment of dance glory. His gaze stopped on a mother about six feet away, standing over her daughter, a serious expression on her face. What had her daughter done he wondered as Colette followed his gaze to the woman.

  Sharing the same thought both Michael and Colette strained to hear exactly what the woman was saying to her daughter. Clare turned also, less subtle in trying to see what was so interesting.

  “I want to see you concentrating out there and giving it everything you’ve got. If you don’t then all those dance lessons will have been for nothing. And you know how expensive they were, don’t you? You’re going to win this competition, aren’t you? You don’t want to be a failure, do you?”

  Michael’s brow creased in astonishment at the mother’s overbearing tone as she continued her ‘motivational’ pep talk to her daughter. Colette raised a quizzical eyebrow, a smirk starting to form on her lips.

  Clare looked up at her parents, a look of deep concern causing her to frown.

  “You won’t think I’m a failure if I don’t win the competition, will you?” she said quietly, her eyes starting to brim with tears.

  “Oh, of course not,” Colette replied quickly, putting a comforting arm around her. “Daddy and I will never think you’re a failure. Not at anything. Will we?”

  She turned to face Michael who nodded reassuringly, squeezing her hand gently.

  “This is just a bit of fun,” Michael said quietly. “You go out there and enjoy yourself. It doesn’t matter who wins. Don’t listen to what the lady was saying.”

  Clare nodded, wiping away the single tear rolling down her cheek. And feeling better about the whole competition again, she turned and ran off in the direction of another friend she’d noticed.

  Michael leant back against the wall, a knowing smile crossing his face as he looked sideways at Colette.

  “What are you smirking about?” she said, elbowing him gently in the ribs.

  “You’re such a liar,” he said, barely suppressing a laugh. “You have ju
st as high expectations for Clare as old ‘competitive mum’ over there.”

  Screwing her face up into a feigned frown, Colette looked to where Clare was talking animatedly with a group of girls from her class.

  “I know that, and you know that. But I’m not going to let Clare know that and heap the same pressure on her. Not like that awful woman over there has. Of course I want Clare to succeed and be the best in everything. But she doesn’t need us setting her up to fail with impossible standards.”

  “Touched a nerve, did I?” Michael said playfully, moving his arms to prevent another probing elbow in the ribs.

  “Oh sod off,” Colette said playfully, flicking her long hair disdainfully, concealing her face from his mocking grin.

  Before Michael could retort again, Colette’s mobile phone began to ring in her handbag.

  The previous smile on her face faded a little as she reached for the device.

  “Who can that be?” she said with minor irritation.

  Pulling the phone from her bag, she read the name on the display before rolling her eyes in annoyance.

  “It’s work,” she hissed, pushing her hair back behind her ears to answer the call.

  Michael immediately looked to where Clare was finishing her conversation with her friends. Turning she began to walk back towards her parents.

  Colette spoke quietly in her phone, uncomfortable at the interruption in the school hall, conscious of the glances she was getting from other parents.

  “But I thought the pre-conference meeting was scheduled for tomorrow morning. I’ve got a train ticket for first thing in the morning………So what’s the urgency?………And they want to meet this evening?………Is there any flexibility on the time?………No, I understand………No, it’s not a problem………No, really………I’m leaving now………Bye.”

  Sliding the phone into her handbag Michael could see Colette’s eyes brimming with tears. Wiping them quickly away she turned to face him, her face flushed with anger and disappointment.