The Codex File (2012)

by Miles Etherton

  “Longer than you can possibly imagine,” Brown replied, standing up from the table, pacing menacingly in front of the three men.

  “Did you ever really think you had any chance in getting to UKCitizensNet or to Trevellion? We’ve been playing you from day one. We’ve known every move you’ve made. There was only ever going to be one outcome to this.”

  A look of confusion spread across Michael’s face as Brown eyed the other two men, his gaze tracing a path from the electrodes attached between their legs back to the black unit on the table.

  “But how? The soldiers who attacked your base could have killed you. The men at the Biomedical Campus were firing on our car and could have killed you.”

  A knowing smile crossed Brown’s face as he exhaled a plume of smoke into the air.

  “I agree, there were certain risks of accompanying you on your inevitable journey back to SemComNet on your revenge mission. But all the soldiers and teams that were pursuing us were all briefed to shoot to kill. It had to look authentic to keep you on the right path back to us. And I was prepared to accept the risks to my own life because I believe in the cause. The ends justified the means.”

  “What cause?” Michael snapped indignantly at Brown’s cryptic response.

  “I think that’s something for Trevellion to share with you if he feels it appropriate. Assuming you ever see him again of course.”

  Michael tried to fight back his fear as he caught sight again of the wires attached to him. He needed more answers than this. Needed to buy time before Brown began to work on them.

  “So what was the point of playing me then? If you knew I was going to come back to SemComNet to try and kill Trevellion and destroy UKCitizensNet why didn’t you just get rid of me when you had the chance? Why this charade? Why waste your time with someone as inconsequential as me? Why pretend to help me?”

  “So many questions, Michael. You know, despite all you’ve been through, you still don’t get it, do you? SemComNet had been working on the app for nearly two years without getting it to a satisfactory state to use it as intended. Then one day in you walk to see Trevellion telling him you’ve got some files that were previously lost that your wife’s company had been working on. And what do you know, these files happen to fill a lot of the knowledge gaps SemComNet had been trying to fill. SemComNet’s role wasn’t just to run UKCitizensNet. That’s a piece of piss. They were also commissioned to use the network’s infrastructure as a means to develop a stealth weapon, deliverable over wireless and non-wireless networks. But then you know this part, don’t you? Once we knew the files existed it was just a simple matter of contacting you, filling your head with conspiracy theories about UKCitizensNet, most of which are actually true by the way, and convincing you SemComNet and Trevellion were to blame for the deaths of your wife and daughter. Given your increasing thirst to avenge their deaths it wasn’t going to take much to make you believe anything we wanted. Even the fact Colette was somehow communicating to you from the beyond the grave. And so it proved.”

  Images of Colette appearing before Michael flashed across his mind, her words of warning filling his thoughts, clouding his logic.

  “No, I saw her. She spoke to me. She warned me about Trevellion. She was guiding me, no-one else.”

  Brown scoffed, stubbing out his cigarette beneath his boot on the pristine white floor.

  “Wake up Michael. How fucking stupid are you? She’s dead. We staged everything. The messages you received from Colette were sent by us. We took some vaguely relevant sounding passages from the Books of Isaiah and Revelation and fed them to you. In your state, the more obscure they sounded the more likely you were to look for the meanings we wanted you to. Haven’t you learnt anything over the past few weeks about IP addresses? How they can give away your physical location? We sent those messages to you at your house to keep you on course, to encourage you to try and attack Trevellion and SemComNet?”

  “But I saw her. I saw her face.”

  “You saw what we created. A simple illusion using advanced 3-D modeling software. It’s a pity I can’t show you ANNA in action. It’s quite fascinating really.”

  “But why did you want me to come back here? What if I had succeeded in killing Trevellion?”

  Brown smiled, returning back to the table, in reach of the small black unit on the table and its array of various buttons. Each capable of unleashing unspeakable agony.

  “It’s very simple really, Michael. You might have given the Horsemen the files from your wife. The other three weren’t in on it by the way. We were using them also as a means to infiltrate the R.I.G. But I’ll come to that in a minute.”

  He cast a menacing look at Simon and Ben who shuddered, pushing involuntarily back in their seats.

  “The one thing we couldn’t be sure of was whether you were holding something extra back from us. A little insurance for yourself perhaps. After all, you had no real idea who the Horsemen were when we contacted you. It would have made sense on your part to keep some of your wife’s information concealed as a safeguard. Wouldn’t it?”

  Michael felt his heartbeat quicken as Brown’s hand moved over the black unit on the table.

  “I didn’t hold anything back. I gave you everything I had. I swear.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t quite believe that Michael. You see once our own analysts started looking at the data it was clear some components and parameters were missing. Vital information relating to wireless protocols was omitted. Probably as a security measure on your wife’s behalf. Very sensible really. We would have done the same if we’d been as advanced in our work as SW Technologies were.”

  There was a pause, for what seemed like an eternity. Michael watched Brown’s hand hover over the black unit.

  “Where is the rest of the information?”

  Michael gulped, his fear from preventing him from speaking, from even moving.

  As his scream filled the air of the small confined room he had a feeling of detachment. He could hear his scream ringing in his ears, the pain coursing through his genitals and up into his body as the electrical shock tore through his body. But somehow, for a split second, he felt as if he’d left his body. It was probably his initial reaction to the pain he somehow managed to rationalise as he thrashed around in the chair. Through the haze of the pain he could see Brown still sitting at the table, a smirk on his face.

  As the pain subsided to just a dull throbbing between his legs he watched anxiously, gasping for each breath, as Brown moved from the table, standing over where he was sitting. He could feel his breath on his face as he leant in next to his right ear.

  “The next one is going to hurt more,” he said quietly, menacingly. “But before it does, I want to tell you something else. Something to keep you focused on the futility of resisting us. I killed Colette and Clare. I rather enjoyed carving those words on her chest and using her blood to decorate your bedroom wall. Terrible wallpaper by the way.”

  Michael began thrashing furiously in his chair, trying to fight his restraints, to get to where Brown stood, mocking him. But no matter how hard he struggled, the restraints stayed firm. Sapping his strength as he fought them.

  “Burying your little girl was easy too. She didn’t struggle too much really. Ironic isn’t it? All your rage was focused on Trevellion, and there I was in front of you the whole time. Don’t’ get me wrong though, he was there also. And some of the finer touches were his suggestions. I think he’s a little more creative in his thinking than me. The words on her chest were his idea by the way. But, hey, we can’t all be good at everything, can we?”

  As the video clip of Clare’s body being deposited in the earth replayed in his mind, Michael could feel warm tears rolling down his cheeks. Anger was mingled with regret. He’d come so close to avenging their deaths.

  Brown moved back to the desk.

  “I’ll ask you again. Where is the remainder of the information?”

  Michael swam in and out of unconsciousness as the min
utes turned into hours. Jolt after electrical jolt coursed through him, liberally interspersed by savage blows to various parts of his body. He wasn’t sure how long Brown had been working on him. The whole ordeal had just merged into one long punch and electrical shock as his head bobbed backwards and forwards from the pain.

  Eventually Brown stopped his assault, returning to the desk. He doubted Brown had run out of energy. Someone with such psychopathic tendencies as he was showing, and had exhibited in killing Colette and Clare, and also presumably David Langley, would always find that extra ounce of strength to elicit some more pain out of him.

  But despite Brown’s cruelty and the excruciating pain he’d suffered he hadn’t given anything away. What could Brown or any of these bastards still take away from him? They’d already got his wife and daughter. And now they had his liberty too. What else was there? What did he have to live for that was worth protecting by giving away anything they wanted to know? It wasn’t as if they were going to let him go after this.

  Michael watched as Brown pulled a dark handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his hand. His blood mainly. He cast a withering glare in Michael’s direction as if to say: ‘I haven’t finished with you yet’. Slowly, he turned his attention to where Simon and Ben were also strapped to their seats, equally terrified.

  Brown circled where the two men were sitting, beginning another line of questioning. The two restrained men shuddered involuntarily as he approached, sweat dripping from their naked bodies.

  “Tell me about the Real Internet Guardians. How many groups are there really out there? Where are they located and what contact details do you have for them? Where are there stock piles of equipment housing the pathetic remnants of the old internet?”

  As the barrage of questions about the R.I.G continued Michael realised something fundamental. Despite what Brown had said to him whilst they’d been fleeing across country, he actually had only limited knowledge and information about the groups. The few groups he did know about, which had included Ephesus, had obviously not been hunted down. They were a means to locate the rest of R.I.G and wipe them out for good.

  He wondered how much the other Horsemen had really known about the other groups. Had they been unwilling to share this knowledge with Brown? Or were the groups really that careful not to share their contact details through fear of betrayal?

  “I only know about three of the groups,” Simon said, the fear evident in his voice.

  With a sickening thud Brown’s fist impacted heavily into Simon’s cheek and jaw, a stream of blood spurting from his mouth, spattering over Ben.

  “Come on, you can do better than that,” Brown said threateningly, leaning over Simon’s heaving body.

  “They’re the only ones I know or have any details with,” Simon protested, flinching in anticipation of a further blow. “You know as well as I do, none of the groups know the details of all the groups. Each group only has access to the three or four groups, which in turn have access to three or four more groups. That way no-one group can compromise the whole of the network. It’s not safe any other way. You know all of this.”

  Brown turned away from Simon and appeared to move back in the direction of the table. Simon readied himself for the agony of the electric shock Brown had been administering from the black unit on the table. But instead, he watched as his hand slipped into his pocket, slowly pulling an item free from its concealment.

  Turning back to face the two men Brown took two steps forward, firing the handgun at point blank range at the top of Ben’s head. The thunderous noise echoed round the confined room, bouncing off the walls. The white wall behind turned into a kaleidoscopic mixture of blood, brain and tissue. Instantaneously, Simon vomited into his lap and began to hyperventilate as Brown pointed the gun squarely in his face.

  “I swear, I don’t know anything else about the R.I.G groups. I can give you the IP address of all the secure servers I know of, not just the ones we accessed previously for the app. But I don’t know anything else.”

  Brown’s finger twitched on the trigger and Michael felt his heart racing. He might not have anything to live for, but maybe Simon did? Maybe he had a family? A wife? Or a daughter? They’d never discussed it. But could he sit here and not try and do something to help him? Perhaps he could bargain for Simon’s life as his own life no longer had any meaning.

  “Wait, I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just leave him alone” Michael yelled frantically.

  Raising the gun away from his Simon’s face Brown turned, his gaze falling onto Michael.

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’ll tell you where the rest of the information is if you let him go,” Michael said, casting a glance in Simon’s direction, who was wild-eyed with panic.

  “You’re not really in a position to bargain are you?” Brown said menacingly, placing his gun down on the table and reaching for another cigarette.

  “You need this information more than I need to give it,” Michael said defiantly as Brown lit his cigarette, tossing the lighter noisily on the metallic table.

  After a short pause for thought, and to light his cigarette, Brown looked up again at Michael.

  “OK, I’ll talk to Trevellion,” he said calmly. “You’re right. We do need the information.”

  Michael looked Brown up and down, knowing he couldn’t trust him to keep his word. But also knowing he had to try something to stop SemComNet killing another innocent person.

  “There’s one further location I know of where Colette kept information relating to the State Network Tender and work on the app. The data is on a secure server. Its IP address is 16.08.23.28.”

  Brown raised an eyebrow quizzically.

  “That’s an unusual IP address.”

  “It’s the date and time of our daughter’s birth,” Michael replied quietly.

  “And what exactly is this data? We’re not interested in fucking boring meeting minutes. We need protocols. Real hard data.”

  “The information relates to wireless deployment modules for the app. That’s all I know.”

  Michael watched as Brown’s eyes lit up at mention of what he’d just described.

  “You had better be telling me the truth,” he said, rising from the table.

  Turning, Brown began to move towards the door before stopping. An idea crossed his mind that he had to act upon.

  Without warning he turned back to face Michael, cigarette in hand, menacingly approaching where he was restrained. Michael flinched expecting a fist or a boot to come in his direction. Punishment for attempting to blackmail him into stopping his torture of Simon. But the reality was far worse.

  Clamping his left hand on Michael’s temple Brown thrust his head back. With his right hand he forced his right eye wide open, pushing the eyelid upwards. Michael began to struggle violently as the lit cigarette was pushed in the direction of his eyeball. His screams filled the confined room as the burning end was pushed firmly into his eye, the pupil and iris melding together, the soft eyeball burning.

  Through his screams and desperate thrashing in the chair Brown held the cigarette savagely in place. Unconsciousness threatened to overwhelm him as his head swam from a mixture of pain, shock and fear.

  Somewhere in the background he heard the sound of the door clicking open. A familiar voice filled the room. Moments later he was aware of Brown moving away from him, the pressure on his head receding, but the fire of the pain in his eye still cruelly burning.

  Through the haze of his left eye, as he threatened to swim into unconsciousness, he could just make out the figure of Vincent Trevellion looking in the direction of where the three of them were restrained.

  “I want them kept alive. At least for now,” he heard Trevellion utter, just before slipping into welcome unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  The cavalcade of five black armoured limousines turned into Cavendish Square, like synchronised swimmers stopping as one in front of the Edwardian hote
l. The middle car was neatly positioned in front of the ornate stone steps, leading into the opulent hotel foyer.

  A series of beige marble archways, neatly offset by floral displays, antique wooden furniture that had barely aged despite its vintage, and countless paintings of rural landscapes, all originals, filled the bustling space.

  In the foyer a swarm of bodyguards, security officials, and media advisors filled the hotel entrance, watching every door for the merest hint of danger.

  Hotel managers were attentively ensuring the Saudi leader’s stay had been as comfortable as possible. Comforting themselves that his every whim had been met.

  In the midst of the bodyguards, President Mahmoud Khalefa Al-Haifi spoke rapidly in Arabic on a mobile phone to one of his senior advisors. The aide was waiting to greet him upon his arrival on his personal jet at Heathrow airport with yet more reports to read for the next leg of his European tour.

  The sooner he left this cold country the better Al-Haifi thought, ending the telephone call, signaling his intention to leave to his bodyguards. With all the pleasantries complete the entourage exited the lavish hotel and headed for the waiting limousine.

  President Al-Haifi was escorted to the centre car which sat, door held open, at the foot of the steps. As the car door closed, the procession of limousines began its slow exit from Cavendish Square towards Regent Street and out of London.

  Vincent Trevellion and Sebastian Tate sat at their normal table in the Japanese restaurant, overlooking busy Oxford Street below. Their food had been delivered and they’d ordered no further interruptions from the waiting staff unless they requested it.

  At two tables nearby four of Tate’s security men sat menacingly, preventing any idle access to the table or their view. Tate spoke quietly into his mobile phone, listening intently to the responses he received.

  A few seconds later the call was over. Trevellion looked expectantly at Tate as he placed the mobile phone down on the table.

  “They’re on their way,” he said assuredly.