The Codex File (2012)

by Miles Etherton

  Behind the line of students snaking along the side of the building, Michael caught sight of a sign next to a doorway that read ‘Catering Services’. In the doorway was a tall, thin man, with dark hair in a neat fringe. Michael estimated he was in his early 40s. He stood silently and alone, wearing a smart pair of jeans and a black well-fitted shirt, smoking a cigarette.

  Aware Michael had seen him the man moved out of the doorway. Gliding through the crowd of students he approached where the two men were standing. Looking them up and down, he took another drag on his cigarette

  “I’d assumed there’d be four of you?”

  Michael tried to look nonchalant.

  “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

  The man rolled his eyes disdainfully.

  “The Four Horsemen?”

  Michael’s weak nonchalance ebbed away as he studied the man’s face. There was something strangely familiar about him, as he looked into his dark eyes. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, but it bothered him.

  “You emailed me, right?” the man continued. “You sent me something also? Look, I took a big risk coming here and meeting with you so I’d appreciate you not pissing me about.”

  Brown nodded, raising a placating palm.

  “Can we go somewhere a little more private? It’s not safe for us out here.”

  A look of confusion crossed the man’s face before the realisation dawned.

  “Oh fuck, you’re the cyber terrorists the police are after for hacking into UKCitizensNet. What the hell did you contact us for? This is madness. You know the risks to us all.”

  He trailed off, looking at Michael, recalling the other crimes they were being sought for.

  “It’s all crap,” Michael said, not moving from where he stood.

  The man took a deep breath, looking nervously around him for any sign of their meeting being watched.

  “Don’t worry, you don’t have to convince me of that. I know what SemComNet are capable of. You’re right though, we do need to get out of here. Oh and by the way, no offence, but you look fucking ridiculous in those caps.”

  Michael frowned before the man raised a placating hand.

  “I should have made the connection. If I had I would have suggested somewhere more private. Although, thinking about it, I probably wouldn’t have come at all if I’d known. None of us can be too careful when we’re dealing with SemComNet. Still, you’re here now. We can’t talk here. Let’s go for a walk.”

  The tall man turned and walked in the direction of the Students’ Union and past the long line of waiting students. Michael and Brown followed, ignoring the sarcastic wolf whistles coming from the crowd.

  Passing the entrance to the Union building, manned by a couple of burly security guards, the campus opened up into a rolling landscaped green space. A stream ran through the middle, dropping gently down a hill populated by an assortment of trees that rose back up the bank on the opposite side. All around, various academic buildings, a mixture of the familiar red-bricked buildings and grey concrete boxes, punctuated the landscape.

  Turning off the main campus pathway the anonymous man followed a smaller path that slid away between the trees and bushes before revealing a large bench.

  “We should be OK here. If you were followed there are too many students around for anyone to try anything,” the man said as he sat down, swiveling round to face where Michael and Brown crammed onto the bench.

  “We weren’t followed,” Brown said defiantly.

  “I hope so for all our sakes. Now what is this all about exactly? I’ve not been able to sleep or focus on anything since receiving your email and that bit of code. It looks very exciting.”

  Brown opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Michael before any words could escape.

  “How about some details from you first. You’ve told us nothing about who you are. We’re not telling you anything until we’re sure you are who you say you are.”

  “OK, fair enough. Although I should point out that you’ve not told me anything about who you are yet. So either one of us could be lying really.”

  Michael’s expression crinkled into an irritated frown.

  “Two days ago the Ephesus group, of which I’m part, received an email to our secure R.I.G email account, ephesus@rig.uk. It was sent from the address horsemen@rig.uk. Only a select few people have access to these addresses. The email said you were in possession of an app that could potentially bring down UKCitizensNet. We were sent a segment of code that had some of the most advanced deployment algorithms I’ve ever seen. We sent a reply telling you to meet us here this evening, which I might add, puts us at great fucking risk.”

  The anonymous man stopped, stubbing his cigarette out on the concrete path before half-smiling.

  “Oh, and by the way, you can call me Simon. As for you, even beneath the bloody stupid hats I know you’re Michael Robertson and you’re John Brown. I’m assuming that’s not you’re real name. And from what I read on UKCitizensNet the five of you have been rather busy. So tell me, what is this all about?”

  Satisfied the man was who he said he was Michael relaxed a little as he looked around, half expecting soldiers to emerge from the bushes and arrest them at any moment.

  “About two years ago my wife and daughter were murdered. At the time the police claimed it had been the work of anti-net campaigners. They publicly stated the person responsible was a man named Davey Wilkes. I had a nervous breakdown and spent a long time in care whilst I recovered. When I finally came home I discovered Colette, my wife, had kept a number of confidential files in a deposit box. These files related to work SW Technologies were doing on a tender to run the new state network, what became UKCitizensNet. But you know all this. Around the same time my wife died a leading technology specialist and project lead at ACE Solutions was also brutally killed. There were a number of similarities in the killings that pointed to the supposed anti-net campaigners. Not long after discovering these files Brown and the other ‘horsemen’ approached me and told me the real truth about what happened to my wife and daughter, and what SemComNet were capable of doing. I passed on Colette’s files and data to them. It seems what they were developing was incredibly important. And SemComNet are willing to kill and implicate anyone with anything in order to get their hands on it. That’s why we’re on the run and need your help.”

  Simon leant back on the seat, his forehead creasing as he absorbed what Michael had revealed.

  “Let’s be clear, SemComNet are in the pocket of the government, or at least a government department, most probably Defence. They’re in a position to do anything and mobilise any support they need to get their hands on what you possess. But the question is what exactly do you possess? And, more importantly, why do you think it can bring down UKCitizensNet?”

  Michael turned to Brown for a detailed explanation.

  “SW Technologies had begun work on an advanced app, with wireless capabilities, based on 5 generation semantic web technologies. I don’t believe they ever envisaged it working as weapon. It was more an advanced way to link networked functions together. But SemComNet must have got wind of it somehow and saw the real opportunity of using it as a covert weapon. What Michael gave to us was an incomplete version of the app. The four of us got to work on it in an attempt to perfect it. Unfortunately they found us before we could finish it so we had to run. Our equipment was destroyed and we don’t have the necessary kit now to finish the work. That’s why we desperately need R.I.G’s help.”

  Simon looked thoughtful for a moment.

  “Am I guessing the recent attack against UKCitizensNet was done by you? And if so, what were you using if the app wasn’t complete?”

  “We had most of the app working, although at the time the wireless parameters weren’t completed or configured properly. We did punch a hole through the UKCitizensNet firewall. Although I think they let us in. It was all too easy.”

  “So how is this going to bring UKCitizensNet down?�
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  “If we can get the app inside their system we can use its destructive capabilities to launch attacks inside the network and from within SemComNet. They won’t be expecting an assault to come from inside their system so won’t be looking for it.”

  Simon scoffed, reaching into his shirt pocket for his packet of cigarettes.

  “Come on, you’re never going to get past UKCitizensNet’s encryption and through the firewall. We’ve all been trying that for years without any success.”

  Michael straightened up in his seat, looking into Simon’s dark eyes.

  “But in the past you’ve never actually been inside SemComNet trying to hack into their system, have you? We will be.”

  Simon’s eyes widened as he lit a cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke through his nostrils.

  “You’re the five most wanted men in the country at the moment. You think you’re just going to walk straight into the SemComNet? You’re in cloud-fucking-cuckoo-land.”

  Michael gestured dismissively at Simon as he thought about their forthcoming liaison with Digger and the planned journey into his tunnels.

  “Don’t you worry about the how. We’ll get inside and we’ll bring UKCitizensNet and Trevellion down.”

  Simon’s dark eyes widened further, and Michael still couldn’t get the feeling out of his head that he was familiar. But he still didn’t know why.

  “You’ve dealt with Vincent Trevellion?” Simon asked, trying, but failing, to sound disinterested.

  Brown cast a look in Michael’s direction before looking at the ground. Michael felt his fist clench involuntarily as images of Colette flashed through his mind again as she accused Trevellion of his crimes.

  “Vincent Trevellion was responsible for the death of my wife and daughter.”

  “How do you know it was Trevellion? It could have been anyone at SemComNet. Or someone from whichever government department is supporting their activities.”

  Colette’s accusing voice rang in Michael’s ears.

  “I just know. And no-one is going to make me believe some countryside campaigner who spent his life living in trees was capable of their murders. Vincent Trevellion is going to pay for what he took from me”

  Simon inhaled deeply on his cigarette, shuffling uncomfortably in his seat. Noticing his apparent discomfort Brown leant forward to face him.

  “So what’s your interest in Vincent Trevellion?”

  Simon sat back in his seat and looked the two men squarely in the face.

  “He’s my younger brother. I’m Dr Simon Trevellion.”

  Michael felt the air being momentarily sucked from his lungs in surprise. From the moment he’d met Simon there’d been something that had bothered him. The dark piercing eyes and slightly detached persona should have given it away. Now that he knew he could see a family resemblance. As he sat looking at a blood relative of the man who had butchered his family he felt the permanent knot in his stomach tighten.

  Michael turned to look at Brown, an expression of complete bemusement on his face.

  “But, how you can be Trevellion’s brother? You’re part of R.I.G? How can….”

  His voice trailed off as Simon stubbed out his cigarette and reached for another.

  “Look, Vincent and I have never been close. Not even as children. We always had different ideas about things. Although, ironically the one area we did have a common interest in was computing. But our careers took us in totally different directions. I was interested in the free distribution of academic knowledge. Whereas Vincent rapidly got into, and became very adept at, commercialising computing technologies. Whilst I took my PhD in grid and pervasive computing techniques, he rapidly worked his way up the company ladder for parasitical companies wanting to stamp out academic freedom and exploit technologies for morally reprehensible motives. That’s why SemComNet was such a perfect fit for him. And it’s why R.I.G came into being. How much have your four friends have told you about the origins of R.I.G?”

  “Not much,” Michael replied, looking to Brown.

  “Well, I can’t speak for the ‘Horsemen’ because I don’t know too much about them. Although I had heard of them, obviously. But, when the government put the state network out to tender and banned, and then ultimately dismantled the UK’s old internet infrastructure, the creation of UKCitizensNet ended free online speech and the global sharing of content and ideas on what we once called social networks. UKCitizensNet users, and by definition, UK citizens, were unable to access internet-based information from other countries. Of course, McCoy defended this claiming the internet was unregulated information fatally permeated with illegal web sites wherever you went on the web. What UKCitizensNet and the government didn’t bank on though was an increasing number of people, predominantly academics, prepared to defend this bastion of universal information flow. Between us we stockpiled hoards of secure servers to preserve the ‘real internet’ and the principles on which it once stood. We have a limited, but vibrant network that still exists. The only problem is the vast majority of normal people can’t access it anymore because of UKCitizensNet and SemComNet. The ‘real internet’ is independently run by groups who are all part of R.I.G, or the Real Internet Guardians. The government and SemComNet know it exists. They’ve always tried to track us down and get rid of what they see as an ‘illegal’ network. Ironic really considering all the illegalities surrounding UKCitizensNet. And I’m not just talking about basic civil liberties. We’re talking about murder, industrial sabotage and God knows what else. If your app can bring UKCitizensNet down and open the way for the real internet to be restored then all of R.I.G will be behind you. Just tell me what you want us to do.”

  Brown scratched his chin thoughtfully. As he looked nervously through the bushes a group of female students giggled their way past where the men were sitting.

  “I’ve been fiddling with the code of the app the best I can over the last couple of days. But since our equipment got destroyed it’s limited what I can do. The specific configuration I’ve given our version of the app is essentially untested and potentially unstable. We need your group, or any other R.I.G group, to test the app.”

  Simon nodded, running his fingers through his hair as he absorbed the reality of what they were contemplating. This was the best opportunity R.I.G had potentially ever had to fatally damage the UKCitizensNet beast. But there were many issues troubling him. Their involvement in such a high profile assault on UKCitizensNet risked exposing the identities of other R.I.G groups and members. Would they all become fugitives like the Horsemen and Michael Robertson if they failed? Was that a risk worth taking to end the censorship and information sleight of hand UKCitizensNet had pulled on ordinary people? The Horsemen and Michael were testament to what would happen to them if they did fail.

  Images of his brother flashed across his mind. The little respect he’d ever had for Vincent had more or less ebbed away over the years, and certainly since his father had died. He hadn’t even seen or spoken to his brother since then.

  Could Vincent really be responsible for such abhorrent crimes? He might be a shit, but could he have done this?

  Vincent had always been a loner as a child. But then he’d always had a steely determination to succeed in whatever he did. Simon knew he was ruthless. But a killer? Despite his own views on UKCitizensNet, could he stand by and really let his brother be killed to placate Michael’s wrath?

  Michael waited patiently as Brown and Simon Trevellion discussed the app and the role R.I.G could play. Brown certainly sounded persuasive in his assertions that R.I.G could be the final piece of the jigsaw. And giving them a genuine chance of bringing UKCitizensNet and Trevellion down. Maybe it was the need to protect R.I.G that had been the Horsemen’s real motivation all along? Had they been using him as a means to save the entire group?

  But if so, why hadn’t any of them mentioned the Real Internet Guardians earlier? Clearly they weren’t sure whether they could trust him or not.

  The time they’d
spent isolated from the rest of civilisation seemed to have redefined their paranoia. It was ironic really given Michael no longer trusted Brown. He certainly didn’t yet trust Dr Simon Trevellion. How could he, given his blood ties? The Horsemen may have seen him as a means to an end. Maybe Simon Trevellion did too. Maybe they even saw him as expendable in their fight - one life in the pursuit of their academic freedom and sharing of knowledge and information.

  But he was on to them all. And he would have to watch Simon Trevellion as closely as he was watching Brown. If they could help him get nearer to Vincent Trevellion then he would play along with whatever their charade was for now. But his finger would always be close to the trigger of the shotgun.

  As the conversation between Brown and Trevellion moved backwards and forwards Michael caught the odd phrase and technological term. But most of the meaning was lost on him as the two men explored the possibilities of the semantic web. The only portion of the conversation vaguely understandable was the combined view that if the app was distributed to other R.I.G groups then a coordinated attack would be their greatest chance of success. To do this they had to upload the app to a secure R.I.G FTP server so other groups could access their work and reconfigure the app according to their intentions.

  “Are the rest of the Horsemen OK with the fact that you came to see me? We all know this sort of personal contact is a strict taboo within the groups. I wouldn’t have come myself if you hadn’t sent me that sample of code.”

  “The other three are dead,” Michael said flatly.

  Simon Trevellion’s eyes widened before he reached for another cigarette. The dangers of their undertaking becoming more apparent by the second.

  Michael watched with interest as the initial hard-edged, disdainful persona Simon Trevellion had initially displayed began to erode, revealing a softer more vulnerable character. He clearly wasn’t as tough as his brother. And despite the dark, almost emotionless eyes Michael could see a glimpse of the same insecurities the Horsemen had honed to a fine art in their time as fugitives.

  Lighting his cigarette Simon stood up from the bench, rubbing his back from where it had pressed into his spine.