The Codex File (2012)

by Miles Etherton

  Michael couldn’t conceal his frustration at Jones’s rationale.

  “Yes, but together surely you stand a greater chance of bringing them down? Didn’t you say the app was what you’d been waiting for? A real opportunity to destroy UKCitizensNet. To get your lives back?”

  “That’s not much good for the others though, is it?” Brown replied sourly.

  “All the more reason to do this for them then.”

  “Look, if we had been contacted by other groups in this way, we wouldn’t have responded for fear of exposure. They’ll all do the same.”

  Michael leapt from his chair, his frustration finally taking over.

  “We’ve got to try. I’m not going to sit here knowing there are others that can help us. I want to know how to contact them, now.”

  Brown rose from his chair, placing his empty bottle on its arm.

  “Look, we’ll contact a sample of them, individually, and see what response we get. I’m not sending it out to every contact I have and asking them to forward it on to their contacts because they’ll smell a fucking trap from the outset. We’ll never hear from them again. And besides, for our own individual safety one group doesn’t have contact details for every other group. It’s too risky.”

  Michael made a conciliatory nod as Brown strode past and into the small room housing the computer equipment. It was a fraction of what the men had been using previously, and looked distinctly archaic compared to the touch screen devices that everyone else seemed to be using these days. He only hoped it was sufficient to do the job.

  As the ageing computer screen flicked into life Michael sank down in the chair next to Brown and watched as he typed a host of commands. After a few minutes of familiarising himself with the computer’s setup Brown finally turned to look at Michael.

  “OK, I’ve established a link with a secure email server that’s outside the UKCitizensNet domain. What do you want to say to the R.I.G?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  The Japanese restaurant on Oxford Street was particularly busy this lunchtime. A delegation from Texas was in town for a pharmaceutical conference and had taken up about a third of the restaurant. Between them they had ordered virtually everything on the menu. The kitchen staff were struggling to prepare their meals as quickly as the restaurant owner wanted. The owner didn’t like to keep his customers waiting. His business principle had always been to get orders processed as quickly as possible. To get the next customer in and served.

  But it wasn’t this pressure that bothered the pretty young blonde waitress as she weaved her way through the tables with an expensive bottle of Bordeaux Margaux 1982. Walking past the party of noisy Texans she ignored the admiring glances she was getting from at least three of the men who were beaming their practiced smiles. She just wanted to get the wine served and move onto the next customer.

  She’d taken the order from the two men seated in the corner of the restaurant when they’d arrived. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there had been something about these two men that disturbed her. It had made her feel uncomfortable the moment they entered the restaurant. The hairs on the back of her neck had all stood up, but not through excitement.

  They hadn’t been rude. They hadn’t even tried to look down her shirt that was unbuttoned to just above her cleavage. But there had been something cold and detached about them. They’d had a presence. Maybe it was just they exuded importance she’d wondered as she looked at the older man’s pinstripe suit. Perhaps they were city stockbrokers or high-flying barristers? They had enough of them in here on a daily basis. But none of them had such a malevolent aura about them she thought as she approached their table, their private conversation ending immediately.

  Sebastian Tate looked up over the top of his rimless glasses as the waitress approached. His face remained expressionless, disinterested, as she began to pour a sample of the wine into his glass for him to try.

  “That’ll be all,” Tate said dismissively, looking away and back to Vincent Trevellion who was sitting opposite.

  The waitress nodded, shivering involuntarily as she moved away from their table. Someone else could bring them their food.

  Trevellion was the first to resume the conversation.

  “As I predicted our friends and Robertson launched an attack on the UKCitizensNet system with an advanced version of the app. They were only able to do this because we lowered the encryption and let them into a secure area within the system. There was never any danger of the infrastructure being compromised.”

  An image of the two network analysts attempting to stop the app’s path briefly crossed Trevellion’s thoughts.

  “I told you they were amateurs. They were using some fairly sophisticated IP address scrambling techniques to try and cloak their position. But once the app was secured we were able to pinpoint their location.”

  Tate gave Trevellion a supercilious look as he sipped his glass of Bordeaux Margaux.

  “Yes, but my dear Vincent, it’s one thing knowing where these annoyances were. It’s another thing actually capturing them or eliminating them as a problem, isn’t it? It would rather appear you failed in this respect.”

  “As I recall,” Trevellion replied slowly, barely concealed irritation burning in his dark eyes, “you put the resources of your department at my disposal. Your men failed to resolve the problem.”

  Tate waved a dismissive hand in Trevellion’s direction before adjusting the position of his glasses on his nose.

  “Semantics, dear boy. Now we have the app I really don’t see why you want to expend so much energy on this minor irritation. They were unable to breach UKCitizensNet. Our position is invulnerable.”

  Trevellion’s scowl grew, his expression changing to one of further irritation as he reached for his wine glass.

  “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that whilst UKCitizensNet’s security may be invulnerable, security elsewhere is not. You may currently enjoy quasi-ministerial perks, ensuring your relative safety, but that won’t be with you forever. As for me, I certainly don’t intend to live within the confines of SemComNet. So unless you want to run the risk of these people, and the many other groups like them, coming at you when you’re taking a piss one day and your guard is down, and your security personnel are nowhere to be seen, we need to resolve this problem. Yes, they’re amateurs. And yes, we’ve crippled their capabilities by destroying some of their equipment after we retrieved their data stores. But they’ll find a way to come back at us. Let’s not also forget what we all had to do to get to this point. I think we’ve all invested far too much to risk it being sabotaged by some fucking amateurs. I would have thought that would be at the forefront of your thinking, given why we’re sitting here today.”

  Tate smiled as only he could.

  “There’s no need to get agitated Vincent. You know you have my support. I trust you’ll do what’s necessary to remove Robertson and the remaining two from the equation. I just want assurances your focus will remain on the app and the target. My department will take care of Robertson if that’s how you wish to use our resources. I gather they’re scouring the area near Aldershot for them as we speak?”

  Trevellion nodded, sipping from his wine glass.

  Tate cast a glance round the restaurant. His security personnel were seated at the two nearest tables, although not near enough to overhear their conversation. They were essentially cordoned off from the rest of the people dining in the restaurant.

  “Let’s get back to the matter in hand.”

  “The app is almost ready?”

  “R&D have taken what we retrieved from the failed attack on UKCitizensNet and what we obtained from Robertson’s accomplices machines. There are some minor configurations that need to be made to the wireless handlers in terms of IP synchronicity. Once that’s completed we’re ready, which will be by the end of tomorrow. We’ll then do some wireless testing in a controlled environment at SemComNet. After that, we’re ready to go.”

 
; “Good,” replied Tate, pouring another glass of Bordeaux Margaux. “So we’re still on schedule.”

  He turned and looked out of the window and onto Oxford Street.

  “Tell me about the route.”

  “The route will be manned by security personnel throughout. Of course, they’ll be looking out for snipers or anyone else suspicious on the route back to the airport. Ensuring no-one approaches the car at any point. The car will be travelling in a convoy of five vehicles, made up entirely of their security personnel. Your men will be stationed at our wireless hubs from the hotel to the airport, ensuring the network isn’t compromised at any point. We don’t need one of the clusters to fail and lose our window of opportunity. Then at the appropriate moment….”

  Trevellion trailed off as a different waitress to the one who had delivered their wine brought two decorative portions of sushi to their table.

  “Excellent,” Tate said, reaching for his perfectly polished fork.

  “I understand their hotel isn’t too far from here,” he added, as he tasted the first mouthful.

  Trevellion nodded.

  “Yes, they’re based in Cavendish Square, so this is more or less the start of their route. We have this table booked for lunch on the day so we can observe their departure.”

  Tate nodded, washing down the sushi with some red wine.

  “And what a departure it will be.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  Parking the Ford in a quiet side street Michael enabled the central locking and walked briskly towards Odiham High Street two roads over. He hoped the combination of several days’ stubble and a dark blue baseball cap he’d found in one of the drawers of the bungalow’s bedroom would be sufficient to make his identity difficult to match to the face plastered all over UKCitizensNet. Whilst the bungalow was an ideal and safe location for Brown to complete the work on the app they’d soon run out of food. And Michael had to be the one to go and get some more.

  Initially he had said it was too risky for him to walk into a supermarket and stock up on supplies. It was even too dangerous for him to risk visiting a local village shop. UKCitizensNet was in every shop, and the manhunt for the five of them was all over the news. There was no mention, of course, of the fact that Green, Smith and Jones had all been killed. Not even a passing mention of the pile-up on the Blackwater Valley road. So much for the wonderful free, non-manipulated press the rest of the country still believed it had.

  In the end Brown had come up with a compromise. Michael was slightly happier with it, although still very anxious at walking the streets during the day. Even in a sleepy village like Odiham.

  Brown had suggested they order their food online with a fake credit card the four men had used previously when the situation demanded absolute secrecy. They would then get the order delivered to a fictitious address. When the delivery driver arrived and couldn’t find the address Michael would be on hand to explain the error and collect the food. It seemed simple. And Odiham had been a good choice. If there were any problems it was far enough away from their bungalow in Blounce not to draw suspicion to them.

  As Michael turned onto the high street he looked at his watch. It was just after 10.30am. The street was quiet except for a few pensioners walking up to the nearby row of shops at the end of the street and a dog walker absorbed in the music coming from their iPod.

  As the dog walker moved past on the opposite pavement the Tesco delivery van came into sight, meandering down the road in Michael’s direction. He watched as the driver read the house numbers carefully, unable to find the one he was looking for. Passing where Michael was standing he did a U-turn, scanning the houses on the opposite side of the road in search of the one for his order.

  Michael looked around anxiously. But there was no-one about. Eventually, as Brown had predicted, and after doing another U-turn, the delivery driver pulled up alongside him.

  “Do you know where I can find 212a along here?” said a balding, slightly tubby man, in his mid-40s as he leaned out the window. “I’ve got High Street, Odiham, here, but I can’t see 212a anywhere.”

  Michael hoped Brown’s ruse would work.

  “There’s no 212a along here. I live at 212 and the wife ordered some food on UKCitizensNet. She must have typed the wrong address accidentally. I’ll take the food now if you like.”

  The delivery driver gave Michael a quizzical look, reaching for his clipboard perched on the dashboard.

  “What’s the name?”

  “Wilson. Mrs R. Wilson.”

  Nodding, the driver jumped down from his van and opened the backdoors to his van.

  “I’ll take them inside for you, if you like.”

  Neither Michael nor Brown had anticipated this question.

  “Er, that’s OK. I’ve locked myself out the house. I’ve phoned the wife and she’s going to be back soon to let me in.”

  The driver raised his eyebrows slightly.

  Michael felt his breathing become more rapid, hoping his story sounded plausible.

  “What about your fresh stuff? You need to get that in the fridge.”

  “She’s only going to be five minutes. It’ll be fine.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, but conscious he had other deliveries to make, the driver began to unload the three boxes of food onto the pavement.

  Closing the back door of the van, the driver turned to Michael.

  “I must rush, I’ve got four more deliveries to make. Although it looks like I’m going to be late, what with the roadblock they’re putting up.”

  Michael felt the knot in his stomach begin to tighten.

  “What roadblock?”

  The driver pointed up the High Street towards the row of shops.

  “When I came through just now the army was setting up a roadblock. I only just got through myself. Not sure what they’re doing. Always up to something round here the bloody army. If it’s not those bloody guns going off over on Ash Ranges then it’s something else. If you ask me, I reckon they could be looking for those cyber terrorists. There’s lots of computer bods live round here. All those commuters. Don’t understand it all myself.”

  Michael could feel the colour draining from his face. The driver quickly noticed it too.

  “Are you alright mate?” he said, as Michael looked anxiously up the street.

  Further up the street a small company of soldiers, automatic rifles slung over the soldiers, were moving from building to building on either side of the road. Michael knew who they were looking for. Without picking up the boxes that had just been delivered he turned and ran down the quiet side street in the direction of his car.

  The delivery driver stood next to his van looking bewildered before a realisation struck him. The image of a man shown on UKCitizensNet came flashing back to him.

  Leaving the boxes on the pavement he turned and began to slowly jog in the direction of the armed soldiers.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  The weight of his rucksack was starting to hurt Michael’s back as the two men trudged across the recently ploughed field and through the sprawling farmland. After spotting the soldiers in Odiham he’d fled back to his car in an attempt to escape. Every road he’d taken to get out of the village had been blocked by either army or police cars as the forces worked effectively in tandem. The area had been completely sealed as the army conducted their house-to-house hunt for them. Finally he’d spotted a gate into one of the many fields dominating the rural area and had turned the car off the road.

  Following a narrow gravel track up the side of the field he eventually exited on the outskirts of nearby South Warnborough. From there it had been a rapid four-mile journey back to Blounce. He knew it wouldn’t be long before they discovered the safe house.

  As they’d rapidly packed up clothes from the bedroom in the bungalow Brown had ‘borrowed’ a few items of equipment from the computer room that he said he needed. Michael didn’t have the faintest idea what they were, or what they were for.

  Br
own had also quickly stored the work he’d been doing on the app on the secure R.I.G server for safekeeping before moaning about how he needed more time to be sure it worked and was stable. It was the same rhetoric the four men had been giving him ever since he’d met them. But there hadn’t been anymore time. Not unless they wanted to get caught.

  And he needed to watch Brown like a hawk now he knew the four men hadn’t been all that they seemed. If they’d been waiting for a moment to turn him over to the authorities, or even UKCitizensNet, just to save their own skins, and catch him unawares, then they’d missed their chance. He’d wised up to them. And the only thing that mattered now was staying alive so he could complete his mission and avenge Colette and Clare.

  Within ten minutes of returning to the bungalow they’d packed up all the items they needed and could carry and had set off across the farm fields backing onto the bungalow’s long garden. They’d had no choice but to leave Jones’s body lying on the bed. In some ways Michael was pleased to be leaving. The body was starting to smell. But, as they set off they didn’t have a map, so they weren’t sure where they were heading. All they knew for certain was the house and the area weren’t safe anymore. Brown hadn’t disclosed the location of the other safe house he was aware of, only to say that it wasn’t nearby.

  “Look,” Michael said, pausing for a breather and dropping the rucksack onto the churned soil.

  In the distance, no more than half a mile away, a farmhouse and a number of outbuildings had come into view from behind a small wooded area. Brown nodded, reaching for a bottle of water and taking a much-needed swig.

  “We need to be careful,” Michael continued, surveying the rolling fields. There was no sign of anyone working on the land. “We don’t need to be chased down by an irate farmer in his tractor. Let’s head for the trees over there on the right and approach from there. We can then keep ourselves concealed from anyone on the farm or those bloody soldiers.”