The Codex File (2012)

by Miles Etherton

  There was no mention of the capture of his accomplices.

  Scratching his chin thoughtfully, he rocked back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, feeling slightly relieved. Maybe Brown had just been delayed by the trains after all. Or he’d just got panicky about appearing in such a public place. It wouldn’t be a surprise.

  He looked at his watch again, deciding he would return to their original rendezvous point. He’d wait for another half hour and then return home and wait for their call if Brown didn’t appear. At least they hadn’t been caught yet.

  As he rose from his chair, Michael was aware the enormous UKCitizensNet screen at the back of the cybercafe had changed, flashing up a new message. Looking up his blood froze as he saw his own face looking back at him from the screen. Even from this distance he could clearly read the headline boldly displayed under his photograph, positioned alongside the four other men: ‘Fifth man sought in connection with attack on UKCitizensNet - police suspect link with death of SemComNet chief’.

  He could feel his legs going numb. The colour was draining from his face as he read the words in front of him. The chubby teenager opposite looked up from his typing, saw the desperate expression on Michael’s face, and turned to look at what had stopped him in his tracks.

  “Fuck me, you’re a terrorist,” he bellowed with typical teenage subtlety.

  The sudden outburst caused everyone else in the cybercafe to look up from their screens and in Michael’s direction as he stood motionless. Two dozen eyes quickly turned to the large plasma screen and then back at Michael. Jaws dropped as recognition quickly dawned.

  The pretty brunette who had served Michael previously was the first to speak.

  “Oh my god. Someone call the police.”

  Michael shot a glance at the girl who quickly ducked down behind the counter. To his right he was aware of several people rising from their seats in order to stay out of his way. The chubby teenager also quickly moved out of the way as he barged past him and ran for the exit.

  Bursting onto Clarence Street the sea of people still milling between shops met him. Without even thinking where he was going he turned right, zig-zagging through the crowd as he ran. Looking back he could see a congregation of people gathered at the front of the cybercafe. The two policemen he had seen earlier were moving quickly in their direction.

  A few yards further on he turned again and could clearly see the policemen had broken into a run, heading in his direction. He felt his heart beat quicken as he shot glances from side to side, looking for a means to escape.

  “You fucking wanker,” a voice yelled in his direction as he barged through a middle-aged blonde women who was sent sprawling, colliding with the pavement as she fell. As Michael turned he could see a thin middle-aged man helping her to feet, still swearing in his direction.

  Turning again to his right Michael raced through the doors of the imposing Bentalls shopping centre which dominated the street. Without breaking his run he headed straight for the escalators at the front of the complex.

  Barging through more shoppers Michael ran up the escalator, two steps at a time, until he reached the concourse of the first floor. Stopping in front of the balcony overlooking the ground floor shops he caught sight of the two policemen who had followed him into the centre. Spotting Michael from his elevated position the policeman split up in their pursuit. The first officer headed for the elevator to block that escape route whilst the second jumped into the nearby lift which had just opened. Feeling the sweat pouring off him, his breathing becoming more rapid, Michael continued running. Heading deeper into the centre and straight into the multi-level Bentalls store itself an idea began to take shape.

  Rushing through the clothes section he looked around quickly, mentally noting the layout of the store. To his left he noticed the in-store lift. As he pressed the button to call the lift he glanced behind him, his pursuers were nowhere to be seen. As the door opened he slipped inside, pressing himself into one side of the lift, pushing the button for the ground floor. As the door began to slide shut he caught sight of two officers as they entered the store. As the lift began to descend he hoped they hadn’t seen him.

  As Michael left the Bentalls store he walked quickly along the ground floor and towards the sign for the Wood Street exit from the shopping centre. Slipping out into the cold air and the quieter Wood Street he jogged back onto Clarence Street and walked briskly in the direction of the river. Every few yards he looked back over his shoulder. He seemed to have shaken off the two policemen.

  Turning into Market Square he hastily headed for a narrow alleyway signposted to the river. As he reached the alleyway he turned once more. Just coming into the Market Square were the two policemen, looking from side to side. As he darted down the alleyway and broke into a run he was sure they hadn’t seen him. But he couldn’t be certain.

  A few strides later the alleyway opened up onto the Thames path. Looking from side to side he turned left and headed for where a medium size boat was docked, but more importantly offering trips up the river.

  A small queue of Japanese tourists were handing over their money and walking onto the boat whilst chatting noisily and snapping photos of Kingston Bridge away to their right.

  Michael began to sprint as one of the cabin crew began to untie the boat’s moorings, preparing to leave. Gasping for breath he stopped alongside, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

  “Room for one more?”

  The stocky young man, who looked no more than about 20, frowned at Michael but turned to look at his colleague already stationed on the boat. Michael hoped he hadn’t sounded too desperate in his request. The older man, who had rosy red cheeks on his haggard face, and looked as if he’d spent most of his life outside, probably on the boat, nodded before returning to drinking his coffee from a flask.

  Passing him the required money Michael slipped onto the boat. But unlike the Japanese tourists he sat downstairs in the enclosed section avoiding the open roof top. The stocky young man threw a quizzical look in Michael’s direction before finishing unmooring the boat, jumping aboard just as it pulled away from its jetty.

  As the boat cruised noisily into the middle of the Thames Michael peered through the boat’s grubby perspex window. The two policemen appeared on the Thames path before turning in the other direction and towards the nearby Gazebo pub, milling with possible witnesses who might have seen a cyber terrorist running past.

  Breathing a sigh of relief Michael sank back in his chair before looking at his watch.

  What the hell happened to Brown?

  He didn’t want to risk heading back to the dilapidated mobile home park in Aldershot at the moment to try and find out. Not if the police were now looking for the five of them.

  If Brown or the others didn’t get in contact with him, then he was in this alone. And how would he get to Trevellion then?

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  Desperate situations called for desperate measures. And as Michael watched the elderly women pull another Tesco’s shopping bag from the boot of her car and hobble back into her house, he knew this was one of them.

  He’d been walking the streets for almost two hours now looking for a suitable opportunity. He could feel the proverbial net tightening around him. And since seeing his picture in the cybercafe in Kingston he knew he couldn’t go home. They’d either be waiting to arrest him when he returned, or try and follow him from his house in the hope he’d lead them to his four accomplices. He now had nowhere to go. And everyone who used UKCitizensNet or watched TV knew his face.

  After the narrow escape up the Thames at Kingston he’d exited the boat tour at Teddington, catching a taxi to Guildford from a particularly bored looking taxi driver. Looking at the driver’s demeanour he hoped he’d been working for several hours and hadn’t seen his picture on any computer, smartphone or TV screen yet. The taxi driver appeared oblivious to the manhunt, dutifully and speedily taking him to Guildford, dropping him in a quiet street away fr
om the busy town centre.

  And two hours later here he was, standing on the pavement, pretending to talk nonchalantly into his mobile phone, eyeing an unaccompanied car. The boot was open exposing the remaining bags the women had to carry into her house. The engine was still running so its elderly owner could park it in her garage after she’d unloaded her shopping. This was his opportunity.

  Crossing the quiet street Michael looked to the front door which was ajar. He could the see the elderly women silhouetted in the back of her house, attending to a waiting cat who had greeted her return.

  Seeing the coast was clear he gently pushed the boot shut and slipped quietly into the driver’s seat of the Ford. Sliding the gear stick into reverse he eased the car off the gravel driveway and onto the road. Pulling away, moving quickly through the gears, he looked in the rearview mirror. There was no sign of the women.

  Breathing a sigh of relief he turned the radio onto UKCitizensNet’s 24-hour digital talk radio station, eCIT-Talk, hoping to catch the latest news. As the news presenter was talking about the latest stage of the Saudi president’s visit to London Michael mentally tuned out as he drove around aimlessly.

  Where am I going to go?

  There was nowhere left he could go. He couldn’t risk going to the dilapidated mobile home park in Aldershot. That had probably been discovered already he decided. He was running out of options. He looked at the dashboard, reading the digital display that carried the time. It was 6.34pm. It would be dark soon. That would make things a little safer for him.

  Eventually the road he was on reached the busy centre of Guildford as he approached a large roundabout. A huge sign detailing the numerous options he could take reared up from the centre. His gaze honed in on the place name of the one location he knew he had to go to. Taking the exit signposted to Woking and Brookwood, the centre of Guildford melted away behind him. He was heading towards SemComNet.

  The rush hour traffic had been heavy. It had taken Michael over an hour to travel the relatively short distance between Guildford and Brookwood. But as the time approached 8pm at least it was almost dark he thought as the Ford meandered through the country lanes.

  As the car swung around a gentle right corner the entrance to SemComNet came into view. The same entrance he’d entered through a few days earlier when he had visited Trevellion. As the car drifted past the entrance three security guards were on duty. Clearly the alert level had been raised in recent days as he recalled the solitary surly guard who had let him through previously. The security guards didn’t even look up as he drove past, following the road round the perimeter of the SemComNet complex.

  About two hundred yards further round he pulled into a narrow layby overlooking a small arable field that had been recently ploughed. At the back of the field was a large wood which Michael knew from recollection spread onto the SemComNet complex. Checking no-one else was around he exited the car and climbed over the small wooden fence surrounding the field. Trudging across the recently disturbed soil he looked from side to side, expecting security guards to pounce on him at any moment. But the only accompaniment in the field was a solitary crow, perched on a mound of recently turned soil, eyeing his every step.

  Looking into the sky Michael studied the almost full moon that gave some illumination to the field, allowing him to see where he was going. It was just as well the moon was out he thought as he didn’t have a torch. Although that would almost certainly have alerted the burly security guards to his presence.

  A thin smile formed on his lips. He was so ill prepared for this it was almost funny. He had no plan for how he was going to breach SemComNet’s security. Or get to Trevellion. He hadn’t even sorted out a weapon to avenge Collette and Clare’s deaths. He looked down at the hefty spanner he was holding in his left hand, and which he’d retrieved from the boot of the old woman’s car. It might not be as conventional as a gun or a knife, but it would be sufficient to bludgeon the life out of Trevellion and anyone else that got in his way.

  Reaching the wood at the back of the field the moon’s illumination quickly disappeared as he moved carefully between the trees. The gentle breeze which ensured the evening remained distinctly chilly whistled through the trees, causing the branches to sway and creak, adding to Michael’s already fragile nerves.

  Moving quietly through the wood he felt a sharp pain slash across his right cheek. Pulling his hand to his face he could feel the moistness of blood oozing through his fingers. A branch had gouged its way unseen across his cheek.

  Wiping his hand on his trousers he groped around on the ground until he found a large stick, about six feet in length. Holding the stick out in front of him he used it as a makeshift guide to hack his way through the enveloping darkness.

  Progressing at a greater speed he soon became aware of small shards of light peeping through the trees in the distance. It had to be the lights from the SemComNet complex he thought, forging forward with renewed vigour. In his haste through the gloom he didn’t see the large sign nailed to a tree, warning of an electric fence in close proximity.

  Striding forward the shards of light grew bigger he approached the edge of the wood. Reaching out with his stick once more to swathe a way through the concealed branches he became aware of a rustling noise to his right. Stopping instantly in his tracks he turned his head slowly, trying to make out any movement in the shadows. For a few long seconds there was nothing.

  Did I imagine it?

  The only sound came from the trees as they swayed gently in the breeze Then he heard a man coughing only a few feet from where he was standing.

  “Who’s there?” he said, trepidation cracking his voice.

  “Michael is that you?” a voice whispered.

  “Who are you, and where are you?”

  He became aware of movement to his right and what sounded like something heavy being dragged along.

  “Michael, it’s Brown,” the voice said again. “Jones is with me as well. But he’s hurt.”

  A flashlight flicked on, illuminating the area, revealing their positions. Brown was holding the torch and standing next to Jones who was leaning against a tree for support. The light flashed off again, barely on for more than a second or two. But even in that time Michael could see Jones was injured.

  Where are the others?

  Quickly, he moved over to where the two men were concealed.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked as Jones spluttered again.

  “They found us in Aldershot,” Brown replied, desperation resonating in his voice. “Soldiers attacked the park and caught us by surprise. Green and Smith are dead. And Jones, well he’s….we barely made it out of there alive. I only hoped they hadn’t got to you. I guessed you’d come here and try and get into SemComNet when I didn’t meet you in Kingston.”

  “I had to come here. My face is all over UKCitizensNet as an accomplice to this mess. They’re trying to make out I had something to do with the death of the head of SemComNet. That we all did.”

  “We are so fucked,” Brown muttered, exhaling loudly.

  “What about the app?” Michael asked as Jones gingerly eased himself into a sitting position against the tree.

  “We’d uploaded the latest version of it onto one of our servers. But all our equipment was destroyed by the soldiers that attacked us.”

  Michael began to feel the knot in his stomach tighten and numbness creep into his legs.

  “Don’t tell me we’ve lost everything?”

  “No, we’ve still got it. As a security measure, in case we ever got captured, we always made copies of important work on a remote secure server.”

  “Well how are we going to get hold of it and attack Trevellion again?”

  Brown looked down and made out the silhouette of the heavy spanner Michael was clutching in his left hand.

  “You won’t need that. The app is almost ready. I’ve almost sorted the wireless handlers which will give us more options to get at Trevellion.”

&nb
sp; Michael swung his arm round, crashing the spanner into the trunk of the tree in a dull, but satisfying thud. For a split second he saw himself standing before Trevellion, watching as he rained down blow after blow on the man who had ruined his life.

  “At least with this, I’d be able to see his face when it happens. The moment he realises he hasn’t got away with everything he’s done to us.”

  Brown raised a placating hand.

  “Using that isn’t the way. You’ll never get close to Trevellion. The app is our best chance. Trust me.”

  “So when can we launch it?” Michael asked, his anger subsiding slightly.

  “There are a couple of safe houses I know of that we can probably use. They were set up for people like us to use only in an emergency so we didn’t expose the others. I can retrieve the app there and complete the remaining work.”

  Michael looked quizzically at Brown as he absorbed this latest revelation.

  “What do you mean, ‘people like us’?”

  Brown was looking down at Jones who was slumped against the tree and had fallen into unconsciousness.

  “We’re not the only people trying to bring UKCitizensNet down. There are dozens of groups out there. But we all protect our own identities to minimise betrayal and keep the opposition to UKCitizensNet alive.”

  He broke off as both men became aware of a shuffling noise coming from behind them. Michael put his finger to his mouth, indicating for Brown to keep quiet. His grip on the spanner tightened as he shot glances all around him, trying to pick out any movement in the gloom of the trees.

  The shuffling noise was heard again. But this time it was considerably nearer and sounded like something being dragged across the ground. As his eyes had become more accustomed to the wooded gloom Michael could now make out shapes moving amongst the tree. About 20 feet away he could see the silhouette of a man, walking slowly between the trees, dragging a bag of some sort behind him.