The Codex File (2012)

by Miles Etherton

  Jones who had been avidly watching the broadcasts until this point finally turned round to face the group.

  “You don’t think Michael betrayed us do you?” he said, his voice quivering slightly as their faces again flashed up on the screen. The police force’s email address and telephone number ran below.

  “That’s absurd,” Brown snapped. “We all know what he’s been through. He didn’t make up the fact his wife and daughter were butchered, did he? There’s no way he’d be working with UKCitizensNet or that bastard Trevellion.”

  Jones looked down and began to shake his head.

  “Well how then?”

  Before anyone could reply a high-pitched alarm began to emit from one of the screens in front of the men. Like synchronised swimmers the four men turned as one to look at a particular screen displaying a CCTV video feed from the perimeter of the deserted mobile home park.

  “Oh fuck,” Green said. “Someone’s inside the perimeter and sprung one of the tripwires.”

  “It could be an animal?” Jones said hopefully as Green tapped at one of the keyboards, changing the angle of the camera.

  The four men exchanged glances. None of them believed it was a stray animal roaming the area.

  “I can’t see anything,” Green said as the picture on the screen swung back to its original position without revealing any sinister cause for the alarm which was still sounding. “Maybe it was an animal after all.”

  As the four men relaxed slightly, the first swathe of bullets ripped through the thin walls of the mobile home spraying ammunition throughout the confined area. Before he could move away from the screens a bullet tore into Green’s throat, severing his jugular, and sending him crashing back onto the desk of keyboards.

  A second bullet careered through the frontal lobe, taking the top of his head clean off. Fragments of skull, brain and blood splattered the glowing screen behind, now showing Trevellion answering questions at the police news conference.

  The three other men dived for cover. Crawling around on their hands and knees the deafening sound of automatic rifle fire filled the air. The smell of cordite permeated their nostrils. As they scurried along the floor the gunfire stopped and a voice echoing through a loudhailer boomed in their direction.

  “Come out of the caravan with your hands up. We have the area surrounded. Don’t make it any more difficult than it has to be.”

  “Oh shit, they’re going to kill us all,” Jones said, panic rising by the second, sweat breaking on his forehead. “If they only wanted to arrest us why did they shoot first? We’re dead.”

  Brown, who had scrabbled ahead on his hands and knees, gestured with his hand to keep the noise down. Silently, he pointed to a bookcase rising from floor to ceiling, positioned against the side wall. The same realisation dawned on Smith and Jones and they quickly moved over to where Brown had begun trying to pull the bookcase away from the wall. With the combined strength of the three men the slightly dilapidated bookcase groaned as it moved, layers of dust dispersing into the air. With one final shove the bookcase swiveled away from the wall sending a few books careering to the floor in a loud thud.

  The three men gazed expectantly at where the bookcase had once stood. A second door into the caravan was now exposed. Originally the bookcase had been placed there to stop people getting in other than through the one main door. They’d never really thought they’d need it to escape in these circumstances.

  As the voice from the loudhailer bellowed again, giving them one final warning, Brown pulled the blackout curtain back slightly and peered out. The assertion they were surrounded had been a bluff. No-one was in sight. But the longer they took to expedite their escape the more likely it was they would be surrounded.

  “They haven’t got this side of the caravan covered yet. If we can get out we can see if we can lose them amongst the caravans.”

  “How many of them are there?” Smith asked.

  Brown shook his head, his heart pounding.

  “I don’t know, I can’t see. But we can’t stay in here much longer.”

  Casting one final look around Brown pushed the door open and jumped to the ground, dropping to his knees. Smith and Jones quickly joined him. Pushing the door closed Brown quietly moved up to the side of the caravan and peered round the side.

  About 40 feet away, but facing away from him, he could see a soldier armed with an automatic rifle, in conversation with another soldier. His finger hooked around the trigger of the gun.

  Brown turned back to his colleagues, the fear etched on their faces, sweat patches staining their shirts. They kept looking behind them, expecting armed soldiers to appear any moment.

  “OK, I can only see one soldier, although he’s talking to someone else. He’s turned away at the moment so now’s our chance. Follow me.”

  Looking back once more to check the soldier was still turned away Brown stole silently away from his position, moving behind the caravan opposite. Without a word Jones slipped across the gap and stopped alongside Brown, breathing heavily. The two men turned to look at Smith who was readying himself for the quick dash. But as he crossed the gap he tripped on a protruding stone, crashing noisily onto his front, his chin smashing into the dirt. The sound of his fall echoed throughout the caravan park and the soldier who had been turned away shot round instantly in the direction of the noise.

  “Oi, hold it there,” the voice shouted as the air reverberated to the heavy sound of army boots thudding in their direction.

  Hauling himself to his feet, Smith broke into a run, following Brown and Jones who had already begun their rapid escape. Reaching the far end of the adjacent caravan he watched as Brown and Jones hurdled a small fence, disappearing between a small clump of trees. Before he could reach the fence he heard a voice behind him and the clicking of a rifle.

  “Don’t you move another fucking inch,” the voice yelled fiercely.

  Smith could feel the sweat pouring out of him and his bowels began to loosen in fear as he looked the soldier directly in the eye. Two further soldiers, also armed, appeared alongside him.

  As he began to slowly raise his arms he saw an almost indiscernible twitch from the soldier’s right hand. As his gaze dropped down to the soldier’s hand he saw his trigger finger slowly tightening. Before the cry of protest could escape his lips the air was filled with the deafening noise of gunfire. A volley of bullets tore into his stomach and chest sending him hurtling backwards.

  As he lay on the floor, blood erupting into his mouth, consciousness rapidly fading away, he was vaguely aware of the soldiers looking down on him. Closing his eyes in readiness he allowed a mental picture of his young daughter to form. He was free of this life. Free of the running. And free of the burden of being a fugitive. For that he was thankful.

  But his feeling of calm was tinged with sadness. Never again would he hold his little girl, hear her laugh, see her grow into a woman, experience everything life had to offer. But then if what he’d seen of life was any indicator, maybe it wasn’t something to wish for anyway.

  As the soldier who had fired at him raised his gun to his head he just caught his words.

  “Fucking anti-net scum”.

  The final bullet shattered his skull, sending blood, brain and tissue up the wall of the dilapidated caravan.

  As the sound of gunfire filled the air Brown and Jones ran desperately through the clump of trees they had cut through. With every step a jagged branch gouged their skin, adding another laceration. But they barely noticed the pain as they ran for their lives. Within a few moments they exited the trees as they reached a six foot wooden fence. Gasping for breath they could hear the noise of army boots thudding somewhere behind them and the loud hum of traffic noise.

  “What now?” Jones said as he looked at the fence.

  “We go over the fence,” Brown replied instantly.

  “But that’s the fucking Blackwater Valley road. We’ll get killed trying to cross that.”

  “Well, if you
want to stay here and get shot, that’s up to you. I’m risking the road.”

  Before Jones could reply Brown had shinned up the fence and dropped over to the other side. As the sound of more gunfire echoed in the distance, and the sounds of the soldiers approaching grew louder, Jones turned and hauled himself over the fence.

  As he descended on the other side the bank rapidly dropped away into a steep incline and he began to slide uncontrollably down the grass, towards the busy dual carriageway below. In front of him he could see Brown also tumbling towards the tarmac, trying to put his arms out to stop his fall or grab anything solid.

  Brown thudded to the bottom of the hill, throwing his hands out in front of him to stop his body smashing heavily into the tarmac. He let out a cry of pain as his right elbow made impact with the hard surface, his body rolling over onto the edge of the road.

  Hauling himself to his feet a car horn sounded nearby. Turning round he leapt out of the way as a 4x4 jeep swerved out of the way and into the right hand lane of the dual carriageway, narrowly missing the Mercedes which was in the process of overtaking.

  Turning away from the road he saw Jones hurtling down the hill towards him, also trying without success to stop his descent. Just as Jones was about to reach the bottom of the hill and roll onto the road, he dived across to his right to stop his fall. The two men quickly jumped to their feet and looked back up the bank. A solider was scrambling over the top of the fence, his rifle tucked under his arm.

  “Come on,” Brown said, turning to face the oncoming traffic.

  As the soldier began his descent a small gap in the fast-flowing traffic opened up in front of them and the two men ran into the road, attempting to reach the central reservation barrier. As the men clattered into the barrier they could hear the sound of screeching brakes behind them. Quickly casting a glance to their right Jones watched as a lorry crossed out of the left-hand lane, smashing into a Mini that was overtaking. The front wheels of the lorry easily crushed the back end of the Mini which in turn lost control and ploughed sideways into the central reservation. As the Mini became embedded in the metal barrier the lorry which was now in the right hand lane rode up over the wreckage of the car and careered onto its side. Mounting the central reservation it dropped down into the right hand carriageway on the opposite side of the road.

  As the lorry blocked both carriageways and brakes were slammed upon, the air was filled with more screeching brakes and smoke from the damaged lorry. Three cars that couldn’t avoid the carnage hurtled into the stationary lorry at more than 70mph. As the first car exploded into a fierce fireball Brown and Jones darted across the other side of the dual carriageway, trying to reach the grass bank opposite.

  All of the traffic was rapidly grinding to a halt in front of the mangled lorry and cars that had hit it, making their dash across the road easier than it would have been.

  Reaching the other side of the road they turned to see the soldier crashing heavily into the tarmac at the foot of the bank, his view of them rapidly becoming obscured by smoke erupting from the flaming car.

  Brown quickly began to climb the grass bank. But before Jones could join him he heard another screeching of brakes. Quickly turning a large motorbike bore down on him at great speed as it swerved away from the stationery traffic. Before he could move out of the way the motorbike ploughed into him, lifting him temporarily off the ground before his body was dragged under the wheels. For 30 yards the tangled mess of Jones and the motorbike sped along the edge of the carriageway. Eventually the bike toppled onto its side sending the rider onto a car bonnet and the machine colliding with the wheels of a stationery car.

  Hearing the commotion behind Brown turned, witnessing what had happened to his friend. Seeing the soldiers hadn’t crossed the road he stopped his ascent of the hill and rushed down to help.

  Jones was lying prostrate on the ground, the motorbike a few feet away in a tangled mess. As he reached him he could see blood was trickling from his right ear. Kneeling down he looked into Jones’ dazed face. He was still alive, despite his injuries.

  “Can you stand?” he asked as drivers from all of the vehicles involved in the pile-up began to climb out of their cars, all looking equally dazed.

  “I’m not sure,” Jones said, lifting his head.

  “Come on, I’ll help you,” Brown said, carefully lifting Jones from where he lay.

  As he put the weight down on his legs he howled with pain, immediately lifting his left leg from the ground.

  “I think it’s broken,” he said as they turned to face the hill.

  “This is going to hurt, but we’ve got to get up that hill before those soldiers catch us.”

  Jones nodded, wincing as a burning pain cut through his side from his internal injuries.

  As fast as he could manage Brown climbed the steep hill next to the road, hauling Jones with him, until they slumped in a heap at the top. Quickly jumping to his feet he pulled his injured friend away from the edge and into the trees that lined the top of the hill.

  As he surveyed the carnage and smoke on the road beneath him, he couldn’t see any of the soldiers.

  They aren’t going to risk exposure in such a public place with so many witnesses.

  As his gaze moved upwards he could see more smoke spiraling into the air. But this smoke wasn’t coming from the mangled mess of cars. This was coming from the caravan park they had just fled from.

  Not only had their hideaway been discovered but all their work and resources had been destroyed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  Michael looked nervously at his watch as the constant bustle of people on Clarence Street milled past him. Leaning against the lamppost opposite the Lloyds TSB in the centre of Kingston-upon-Thames he watched all the faces going by. Brown was almost half an hour late and he was starting to get concerned.

  They’d agreed to meet so he could find out what progress they’d made on redeveloping the app for another attack on UKCitizensNet and Trevellion. There had been an agreement amongst the five of them that Michael needed to be seen at his house in case anyone was attempting to monitor his movements.

  Michael was also under no illusions the four men were trying to safeguard their own skins in case he was successfully followed to their hidden retreat. None of them had ever articulated this. They didn’t need to. They hadn’t eluded the authorities for two years without having developed a selfish survival instinct.

  Kingston was a good compromise. It was reachable by all of them and was always busy. They all hoped this would make avoiding capture easier. But since their four faces had been splashed all over UKCitizensNet and the news channels, maybe a sea of people wasn’t the best place to be after all. But despite these revelations the day before, Michael hadn’t heard anything from Brown. Either saying he wouldn’t be in Kingston, or suggesting a quieter location.

  Maybe they’ve been captured? Is that why I’ve heard nothing? Or maybe the trains are just running late as usual?

  Pulling his coat tighter across his chest, shielding himself from the chill wind and slight drizzle that had started to fall, Michael scanned once more up and down the street. Dozens of faces whirled past in front of him. A priest. Two policemen. A group of oriental male tourists studying a map. A fraught mother pushing a double buggy with two hungry babies screaming for attention.

  But no sign of Brown.

  Reaching into his pocket Michael pulled out his mobile phone, flipping it over and over in the palm of his hand. If only Brown and the others used a mobile phone he could put his mind at rest in a second and find out where he was. Shaking his head, and rubbing the tiredness from his eyes, he looked the other way up the street. His gaze fell upon the familiar UKCitizensNet sign which stood out above one of the many UKCitizensNet cybercafes now on every shopping street in the country. The risk of missing Brown wasn’t as important as finding out if something had happened to them he thought as he began to weave his way through the busy mass of shoppers.

  T
he cybercafe was decorated in the familiar red, white and blue in keeping with its pervasive image. Michael grimaced as his shoes clicked noisily on the polished white floor as he approached the dark blue counter. Behind the handful of staff hastily preparing cappuccinos and lattes the wall was pillar-box red, from floor to ceiling. The gaudy decor was vile.

  “What can I get you?” one of the staff, a pretty brunette, asked as she turned to face Michael.

  “Coffee please,”

  “Cappuccino, Latte, Espresso, Americano?”

  “Just an ordinary coffee, please. Black”

  The brunette quickly looked Michael up and down with a slight raised eyebrow at his sullen demeanour before turning to pour an ordinary filter coffee.

  “That’ll be PS2.85 for the coffee and it’s PS6 an hour for using UKCitizensNet. Keep your receipt and pay on the way out,” she said cheerfully, ignoring his previous rudeness.

  Michael smiled thinly, sliding the cup off counter and heading for the nearest vacant computer.

  As he sat down a tubby looking teenager wearing a Darth Vader T-shirt, and who was tucking into a huge white chocolate muffin, eyed him suspiciously from the computer opposite. Stuffing another mouthful of cake into his mouth he returned to the Star Wars chat room he was engrossed in.

  At the back of the cybercafe a huge 48” plasma screen was erected on the wall displaying the UKCitizensNet homepage. Continually changing and flashing new messages and headlines streaked across the screen.

  Looking down at the terminal and the compact black touch-screen device Michael slid his finger over the ‘Enter’ key. The UKCitizensNet screensaver dissolved from the screen to display the all too familiar homepage, mirroring what was on the wall in front of him.

  Clicking on the ‘Latest News’ link the page quickly changed, displaying the full list of headlines. The story about the four men being sought by the police for cyber terrorism was still high up in the headlines alongside the latest updates on the Saudi president’s visit. Selecting the previous day’s article Michael quickly scanned through the text and all its outrageous lies.