The Codex File (2012)

by Miles Etherton

Without moving Michael gestured at Brown to double back and come up behind the solitary man. He would wait until the man reached where he was, crouched behind one of the thick tree trunks. As Brown moved silently away, leaving Jones unconscious against another tree, and disappearing into the shadows, he waited silently, surprised he no longer felt fear. His sense of purpose seemed to have dulled this emotion. Survival instincts had taken over.

  As the solitary man passed where Michael was concealed, his bag dragging along behind him, Michael leapt from his position. Crashing heavily into the man’s legs he sent him crashing to the ground. Without thinking Michael brought the spanner down heavily on the prone man’s upper arm, attempting to subdue him without causing fatal injury.

  “Now,” yelled Michael as the man cried out in pain.

  Behind him he could hear the thud of Brown running to join him. In an instant Brown’s flashlight was on, pointed in the face of the man who squinted from the sudden illumination. His face was contorted in pain from where he had been struck.

  “I didn’t do anything. Get the fuck off me,” he whimpered as Michael knelt heavily on his heaving chest.

  As he looked into his frightened eyes it was immediately clear this man, who looked in his mid-30s, hadn’t been pursuing him. His face was dirty, slightly blackened by what appeared to be mud, and his hair was matted in thick, long dreadlocks that hung below his shoulders. He was wearing green combat trousers and a thick, but holey jumper that was stained and dirty.

  “Who are you?” Michael demanded, releasing his grip on the man, allowing him to sit up and catch his breath again.

  Coughing and rubbing his upper arm the man looked from Brown to Michael and to where Jones was slumped against the tree.

  “Did you beat the crap out of him too?” he asked, looking at Jones whose was cut and bruised, his clothes torn and stained with blood.

  “No, he’s with us,” Michael replied more softly.

  The man raised his eyebrows, not quite believing him.

  “Poor sod. He doesn’t look as if he’s going to make it to me. Why isn’t he in a hospital?”

  “Never mind him, I asked you a question.”

  Before replying the young man grabbed Brown’s torch and flicked it off.

  “Unless you want the whole of fucking SemComNet out here turn that thing off,” he said disdainfully, tossing the torch back to Brown.

  “My name is Davey Wilkes, although everyone calls me Digger. I live here.”

  Michael felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his eyes widen in disbelief.

  “Did you say Davey Wilkes?”

  A worried expression crossed the young man’s face as he shuffled nervously.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “The police want you for the murder of Colette and Clare Robertson, don’t they?”

  The fear was quickly replaced by anger as Digger sprang to his feet.

  “That’s fucking bollocks. I never killed no-one. They fucking set me up. They set us all up so they could build their fancy fucking building behind us.”

  As another thought crossed his mind his rant quickly trailed off.

  “How do you know about the Robertson’s? That was over two years ago?”

  “I’m Michael Robertson,” Michael said slowly.

  Digger took a step back, considering running before Brown blocked his path.

  “I told you, I didn’t fucking kill no-one.”

  “Sit down,” Michael said quietly. “I know it wasn’t you.”

  Digger looked suspiciously at the two men, not sure whether to believe or trust them.

  “Whoever set you up is now setting us up too. We’re on the run like you which is why I came here. Vincent Trevellion is behind all of this. He’s got to be stopped.”

  Digger snorted disdainfully at the mention of Trevellion’s name.

  “Look, I’m sorry for what happened to your wife and daughter. I really am. All we wanted to do was to stop them destroying the countryside. We never had any interest in the internet or killing people. It’s all a fucking government conspiracy so they can do whatever they want.”

  Michael smiled thinly.

  “You have no idea how true that is, or what they’re really doing in that building.”

  Digger looked at the spanner Michael was still holding.

  “Forget about trying to get in there. The entire building is surrounded by an electric fence and is patrolled by security guards and dogs. You ain’t getting in there over the fence.”

  “We won’t need to,” Brown interrupted.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s just say we’ve been developing something that will make sure Trevellion gets what’s coming to him.”

  Digger smiled as he rubbed his throbbing arm again.

  “Well, whatever it is, add a ‘fuck you’ from me to it. They killed my friends when they built this place. That’s why I live in the tunnels now. Fucking ironic really.”

  “What did you say?” Brown said eagerly.

  A confused look crossed Diggers face.

  “I said I live in the tunnels here. The tunnels we dug when we were trying to stop them building on this historic site. Why?”

  “Where exactly do the tunnels run?” Brown persisted.

  “They’re all over the place. There’s one not far from where we’re standing. All over the place.”

  “Yes, but where do they end?”

  Michael watched Brown’s questioning, not entirely sure where he was going with it.

  “Fuck me, you want to know if they go inside the SemComNet perimeter, don’t you?”

  “Well, do they?”

  “Yeah, a couple of them do. But there are guards and dogs on the other side.”

  “What are you thinking?” Michael interjected.

  Brown rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  “When we tried to hack into UKCitizensNet before they somehow knew we were coming and could stop us. They were waiting for us to attack. That means they were monitoring external network traffic to UKCitizensNet.”

  “You’re losing me,” Michael replied tiredly.

  “If we were inside SemComNet and launched the app they’d never see it coming. Or not until it was too late. They’d still be monitoring for an attack outside the network. We could get Trevellion and UKCitizensNet in one swoop.”

  Michael felt his adrenalin begin to pump.

  Is it possible?

  “Are you sure those tunnels go inside the electric fence?” Brown asked.

  “Course I’m sure, I fucking dug ‘em,” Digger replied, slightly indignantly.

  “If we return here in a week’s time, can you take us through the tunnels and inside SemComNet?”

  “Anything that pays them back for Moley and the others has got to be worth it. I just hope you’re not claustrophobic.

  Even through the gloom the two men could see the wide grin on his grubby face.

  “We need to get to the safe house and get Jones somewhere dry. I don’t want him dying somewhere he can be found.” Brown said as leant down to examine his condition.

  “I’ve got a car,” Michael replied. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  The Ford ground noisily to a halt on the gravel drive in front of the small bungalow. It had taken the three men just over an hour to drive from SemComNet’s HQ in Brookwood to the nearest safe house Brown knew.

  Michael had been careful not to draw any unwanted attention to the car, dutifully keeping to the speed limit and off the major roads. The car had almost certainly been reported stolen by now so he’d been extra careful.

  The safe house was located in a tiny hamlet north of Alton, well off the beaten track. He’d certainly never heard of Blounce before. It seemed a good location. Exiting the main road, which eventually would have taken them into the centre of Alton, they had driven for about a mile up a narrow dirt track before it opened up in front of the bungalow. All of the lights were out, which were to be expecte
d Brown had said. This location was only used from time to time by fellow resisters to UKCitizensNet who were traveling through.

  In the back of the car Jones had been coughing for most of the journey, periodically howling in pain if Michael had taken a corner too fast or hit a bump in the road. As he turned the engine off Jones began to cough again. The metallic smell of dried blood filled the air inside the car. Michael was relieved to get some fresh air as he stepped out onto the gravel drive and surveyed the bungalow properly.

  “You’re sure we’ll be safe here?”

  Brown was helping a barely conscious Jones out of the car.

  “I’ve used it once before. It should be fine. The most important thing is it’s got a lot of the equipment I need to finish this bloody app since our own kit was destroyed.”

  Looking around Michael was struck by just how isolated the building was. Even allowing for it being late evening, he couldn’t see a light from a house, a building, or a vehicle anywhere. The only sounds he could hear were nocturnal wildlife humming away in the background.

  Brown had commented during the journey that the bungalow backed onto farmland. The farmhouse was several miles further east. The location really was deserted. All he needed now was for Brown to be able to access the backup copy of the app and get it working in time for their rendezvous with Digger in a week’s time. At least being holed up here for a few days would be better than the crumbling mobile home he thought, turning to help Brown carry Jones’s ailing body.

  As they approached the dark paneled door Brown loosened a paving stone that led to the doorway. Underneath was a door key that glinted in the moonlight. As the men slipped into the house and closed the door Michael cast one final look behind him. He was sure they hadn’t been followed here.

  As light flooded into the house, and they closed all the curtains, he helped Jones lie down on the sofa, his coughing becoming worse.

  “Get him some water,” Michael said gesturing to the kitchen which was at the back of the long open plan living area.

  Pulling a handkerchief to his mouth Jones coughed once more. The force was so great it caused his body to convulse and double-up. As the pain of this movement tore through Jones he cried out in pain, exacerbating the coughing further. His face was covered in sweat and all the colour had drained from his cheeks leaving a pale, sallow appearance. Dried blood was smeared around his mouth and cuts and bruises were strewn across his body. But it was the internal injuries that were rapidly sucking the life from him.

  As the latest coughing fit subsided Jones pulled the handkerchief from his mouth. Michael tried to remain expressionless, not betray what he was thinking. But when he saw the rag covered in blood Jones read it in his face instantly.

  “Don’t worry Michael. I know I haven’t got long.”

  “Brown is looking for a medical kit right now,” he replied as the glass of water was handed to Jones before Brown began rummaging through various draws and cupboards.

  Jones smiled thinly, the dried blood round his lips cracking slightly.

  “I’m fucked on the inside. You know it. I know it.”

  Michael bowed his head slightly. A ruptured spleen. Multiple broken ribs. A collapsed lung. These injuries would show no mercy on anyone, no matter how unjust their situation.

  “Can I make you more comfortable?” he asked as Jones drifted in and out of consciousness.

  Screwing his eyes up as another wave of pain coursed through him Jones looked Michael squarely in the face, determined to share two final important requests with him.

  “Tell Margaret that I always loved her, and I’m so sorry that it ended this way. Being apart from her was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Please tell her she gave me the best days of my life. Get a message to her. Brown will know how to find her.”

  Michael nodded as Jones closed his eyes, his pain briefly replaced by happy reminders of his wife’s smile, her scent, her unquestioning loyalty to him through all their years together. Even as his life was being ripped apart and he was thrust headlong into becoming a fugitive, she was there. Supporting him. Always by his side.

  Opening his eyes again, an expression of absolute determination forced its way through the pain etched on his face.

  “Promise me one more thing,” he replied, his voice barely more than a whisper. “For yourself, make sure you get Trevellion. For your wife and daughter.”

  Michael nodded, the perpetual knot in his stomach tightening.

  “And for me, and for the others, make sure you bring UKCitizensNet down. Don’t let it all be for nothing.”

  Brown had returned from his hunt for medical supplies. It had yielded nothing. He looked down sorrowfully at where Jones was slipping away.

  “They may think they have the power,” Jones continued, “but they don’t. They may think they can behave like Gods and rule and control our lives, but they don’t. They’re false prophets. But we know and we must stop them. There are others who can help you. Get Brown to contact the R.I.G. You can’t do it alone. You need their…”

  Before he could finish the sentence another surge of coughing erupted from his lungs. A mouthful of blood sprayed into the air before he doubled up in pain, toppling off the sofa and onto the floor. Michael stood motionless, unable to move. Brown dropped to his knees and rolled Jones onto his back, his face covered in fresh blood. As his last breaths passed his lips Michael just looked into his eyes. Two words burned a hole in his consciousness:

  ‘false prophets’, ‘false prophets’, ‘false prophets’.

  Images of Colette appearing before him filled his mind. Her words came back to him as if she’d just spoken them.

  “Who foils the signs of false prophets and makes fools of diviners, who overthrows the learning of the wise and turns it into nonsense.”

  She had warned him the enemy was wider than he thought. And in his last dying moments had Jones inadvertently revealed his true self?

  How could I have been so stupid? Colette has been trying to warn me all along. The four men must somehow be involved with something they don’t want me to know about, or worse, linked with UKCitizensNet. Linked with Trevellion. This is all a trap just so they can fulfill their own ends, or get me caught so SemComNet can get rid of me too.

  He could feel his breathing getting quicker as his adrenaline surged through him. He looked down at where Brown was bent over Jones. He was saying something to him, but Michael couldn’t hear the words. All he could hear was Colette’s voice. Over and over again.

  “Who foils the signs of false prophets and makes fools of diviners, who overthrows the learning of the wise and turns it into nonsense.”

  Finally Brown looked up, and Michael thought he could see tears forming in his eyes.

  “He’s gone,” Brown said, wiping the small splatters of Jones’s blood from his cheek and neck.

  A million thoughts were rushing around Michael’s head. He ought to kill Brown right here and now. Before he had a chance to betray him. Or hand him over to Trevellion and his henchmen.

  “Poor sod. I think he must have been hallucinating right at the end. I didn’t understand all that crap about ‘false prophets’. Did you?”

  Michael could hear the question, could feel the knot in his stomach tightening further. The worst realisation of all was that he needed Brown more than ever, now the other three men were dead. Without Brown he had no completed app and no effective means to kill Trevellion and avenge Colette and Clare.

  He looked into Brown’s face as he awaited a response. Now wasn’t the moment. He needed to bide his time. And above all he needed Brown to complete the app and help him to get it onto UKCitizensNet’s system inside their complex. He would keep up the pretence for now, and deal with Brown’s own agenda and betrayal later. He’d beat it out of him if he had to.

  “No, I’ve no idea what he was talking about.

  Remembering something else Jones had said, he added: “Who or what is R.I.G?”

  “Help me move J
ones’s body and I’ll tell you,” Brown replied, reaching for his legs.

  After carrying the lifeless body to the bedroom and laying him out on the bed the two men returned to the lounge. Brown had discovered two beers in the cupboard, which although warm, still went down well.

  As they slumped tiredly into the worn armchairs, Brown began to explain.

  “Do you remember I said before there were other groups, like us, all trying to bring UKCitizensNet down? Whilst we don’t work together, the risk of betrayal and exposure is too great, we all acknowledge each other’s existence. Unlike UKCitizensNet who ‘officially’ don’t acknowledge anything still remains of the old internet or its infrastructure. But they know we’re out there. Why do you think we’ve been living like we have for so long? Collectively, we call ourselves the Real Internet Guardians, or R.I.G for short. Like us, these groups cropped up once UKCitizensNet was established and the government started to tear down the old internet infrastructure, ban access to it. It’s mainly academics and scientists involved with these groups. Men and women who still believe in the ideology of free access to information. Rather than the censored, regulated piece of shit UKCitizensNet is. I’m not sure how many groups we total these days, or even where the name came from. But there are certainly enough of us to keep UKCitizensNet’s security specialists occupied.”

  “Why did Jones want you to contact the R.I.G then?” Michael asked, taking another gulp from his warm bottle of beer.

  Brown looked thoughtful for a moment and ran his fingers through his hair.

  “I can only think he thought as our numbers had gone from four to one that we needed their help to get the app completed. It does make sense. I mean, I can look at the wireless handlers of the app, but I could do with some help on making some of the other components more stable.”

  “Well, why aren’t we contacting them?” Michael said forcefully, casting a glance to a door that led off from the main living space. He’d noticed stockpiled computer equipment in the room when they’d moved Jones’s body to the bedroom previously.

  “It’s not the way we operate,” Brown replied slowly. “For our own safety we don’t meet or get involved with the other groups. If we were betrayed the whole R.I.G movement could be wiped out in an instant. This way we guarantee the continuation of our opposition to UKCitizensNet.”