Johnny turned his attention back to the stage. At least this was a real girl. The snake was gone. The woman squatted, and it was back again. The show continued, the stripper showing her prowess with ping-pong balls, one landing in the ashtray on Johnny’s table, and then her own version of fire eating. Johnny had flinched as the flames leapt from her open thighs toward him. The show ended to a rousing standing ovation.
The rock music returned and the strobe lights started again as Johnny and Doug chatted over their drinks. Johnny was frustrated, his eyes on stalks as he watched the antics of some of the bar girls and the other, luckier, punters. Maybe Doug would help him score. He was about to ask when Doug spoke.
‘Kate says you’re a real computer whiz. What exactly do you do?’
‘Shit jobs man. Mostly repair and maintain websites. It’s so, so boring.’ Johnny hiccupped and was starting to feel wonky.
‘You know much about computers themselves? Like starting them up, finding files, things like that?’ Doug waved the waitress over for two more beers.
‘No problem. Why?’ Johnny tried to focus on him but there were two Dougs. ‘Your computer frozen?’
‘Yeah, think so.’ He shrugged and took a swig of beer. ‘Well I’m pretty useless with them myself. Just use computers for email and the occasional word documents. Y’know. Nothing too difficult.’
‘I’ll take a look tomorrow, see if I can do something. What is it? Notebook? Tablet?’ Johnny’s tongue felt thick and was not responding as well as it should, the last words coming out as ‘Wa-shit? No-book? Tabbit?’
‘I’ve no idea. It’s not really mine. I had some business with the guy that died. The internet guy, Simm. He gave it to me and was supposed to set it up for me. There’s stuff on there that I need, but I can’t get at it.’
Doug swigged from his bottle again.
‘No problemo.’ Johnny was struggling to drink his beer, burping and hiccupping as he spoke.
‘That’d be great. I can’t even find the switch to turn it on. And it hasn’t got a keyboard, just looks like two screens hinged together. If it didn’t have the chip manufacturer’s name on the base you wouldn’t even be able to tell it was a computer at all. It’s like some puzzle you have to crack to enter.’
The two Dougs slipped back together, Johnny’s mind flashing. ‘Man! Is the case gunmetal grey? And is it like super thin, as if two iPads are hinged together?’ Excitement was sobering him fast.
‘The one you had by the pool?’ Johnny nodded as Doug continued, ‘Sort of, but it’s like you said, thinner. Much thinner. It’s in a leather folder. I thought it was a document case when I first saw it.’
Johnny was on his feet, like a sprinter jogging on the spot to warm up before the race. ‘Doug! You got this from George Simm? Man, he gave you that? Where is it? Let’s go. I have to see this!’
‘Calm down Johnny. Chill man. I thought you were here for the women. Sit down and finish your drink. Why’re you so excited?’
‘Jeez Doug. It sounds like you got an Nsa T12!’ Johnny felt like he was explaining the secrets of the universe but Doug seemed none the wiser.
‘And? What’s the big deal? Surely a computer’s just a computer at the end of the day?’
‘You really don’t know man? Everybody knows!’ Johnny’s view of the world outside his bedsit was somewhat warped. ‘It’s legendary. Like part of a conspiracy theory. No one would ever give one of them away.’ Johnny eyed Doug, wondering.
‘Look. I gotta level with you. I’m in security, real high-level industrial espionage, and I was paid by one of Simm’s competitors to obtain the machine. I never met the man.’
‘Whoa! You stole his Nsa T12?’
‘Keep it down. Yeah. I had no idea it might be special. Stealing this sort of stuff happens all the time in my game.’
Johnny couldn’t believe his luck. ‘Gimme five man!’ He held his hand up and Doug slapped it. ‘Happens all the time! No way Jose! There’s supposed to be only about ten or twenty T12’s on the whole planet.’
‘What?’
‘You can’t buy one man. They ain’t for sale. The T series uses the latest gizmos developed by Nasa, Intel, the chip manufacturers and other systems companies in the US. You really know none of this?’ Johnny was incredulous as Doug shook his head. He explained, ‘The government boffins work hand in hand with the computer giants. I’ve only heard the rumours of course, but they say only the very top software people have these things to play with. They get them for nuthin.’ The reality now hit Johnny hard. ‘Jesus, that pervert Simm got his T12 for free! But so did you man!’ Johnny put his hand up for another high five.
‘So, why would Simm have one?’ Doug asked as he slapped Johnny’s paw.
‘Cos he was supposed to be a top internet guru. The idea is these guys use the T series to test out the most advanced technology long before it hits the shops. It ensures US software companies get the lead over foreign competitors, developing programs in advance of general availability. At least that’s the theory.’
‘Right, the conspiracy theory.’ Doug was starting to understand. ‘But what makes this thing so special?’
‘Well, you know my brand new, state of the art tablet? Well it’s like... like...’ Johnny couldn’t find the words to express the difference, his voice petered out.
‘Like what?’
‘It’s a dinosaur, man. That T12 is top.’ Johnny took a gulp of Singha. Burped outrageously, once again turning heads. ‘They say it can create holographic images, the two screens you mentioned project lasers to produce the effect. Sounds totally awesome.’ Johnny could feel no trace of alcohol now, the mere thought of the Nsa T12 had cleansed his body.
‘Is it possible to unlock it, to find out if Simm kept any secrets on it?’
‘Never seen one man. It’s supposed to have a cryptogram to start it up. Voice recognition to ensure only the owner can use it. S’why you can’t switch it on. What about the people who paid you to steal it, bud? You gotta give it to them?’ He was crestfallen at the thought.
‘Johnny, I need to check out some things about Simm. It may be he was using SimmpleTravel as a cover for perverts. I want to know for sure. It’s possible the US Government knew about Simm being a child molester too. Maybe they’re covering up for him. Big important businessman, y’know?’
Johnny nodded and frowned as Doug continued.
‘I don’t plan to give this machine to anyone until I know what’s on it. If it’s just normal business stuff then I’ll give it to my employers. But if there’s other information on it.’ The words dangled before Johnny.
Always eager to believe a conspiracy theory, Johnny said, ‘Yeah, Kate wondered about a cover up too. You really think the T12 would have some of that stuff on it, illegal activity and that?’ Johnny fixed Doug with a stare. ‘This could be great for Sis. Another scoop man! You’d let her have it, the information?’
‘Sure. Think about it, if you had a machine like that you’d lock your secrets up on it too, huh?’ Doug looked at Johnny, expectation written on his face.
‘You want me to open it!’
‘Can you?’
‘Man, I dunno if I can even start it up. Never thought about it before.’ He was thinking about it now though. ‘The stuff I’ve read on the net says you have to put codes in even before the screens light up. It’ll probably only start on Simm’s command, when his voice speaks the right sequence of code. But maybe if I could rig it to mine. I dunno... I need to see it.’
‘Okay, but I don’t want you to say anything to Kate yet. Let’s keep this our secret.’
Johnny was confused, uncomfortable about excluding his sister.
Doug continued, ‘She thinks I’m one of the good guys! If she knew I’d stolen a T12 from Simm just for money... Let’s find out what’s on it first, eh?’
Johnny felt better. ‘Cool, man. She likes you. So do I. You should go for it!’
‘Okay. That’s settled. And I promise you, you open that T12
for me, if there’s anything Kate could use, it’s hers. Right Johnny?’
They shook on it.
***
Doug’s choice of venue was not random. He wanted lots of noise and diversion. While they chatted together he had been checking the other customers, and had seen nothing suspicious.
Sir Benjamin’s two mercenaries had followed Doug and Johnny to Mama Sin’s. They had paid the katoey two thousand baht to place a miniature transmitter on Johnny. The microphone consisted of a sticky label one centimetre square with a tail of wire of a similar length. It was tucked under Johnny’s tee shirt at the neck. The ladyboy sneaked it there as he whispered into his ear, rubbing his crotch to distract him. Johnny never did find the bug.
Although the quality was not good, everything Doug and Johnny said was recorded.
***
‘It’s beautiful man!’ Johnny fondled the T12. A lover’s touch. ‘It’s a titanium shell. You could throw this off your terrace, five or six storeys, and it would probably still work.’ He opened it and whistled.
‘I don’t even know if it works now, Johnny.’
‘I need to take this.’ He eyed Doug, as if the other man might not trust him with it. ‘I really want to do this. It’s the best ever puzzle. The wickedest birthday present for me, in my life!’
‘Take it. How long before you crack it?’
‘No idea. Maybe a day. A week. A month. All I know is I won’t sleep until this mother’s open.’ All thoughts of women were displaced by the much sexier T12.
‘I’ll call you tomorrow to see how you’re doing. Thanks Johnny. Let’s see what that perverted asshole was up to, huh?’
Johnny nodded, and cradling his new toy like a mother with a newborn infant, went to his room.
***
‘Sir Benjamin. We’ve located the targets. There’s a package with them. The one you needed to find.’
The mercenary listened to the man in London.
‘That’s right, sir. A real fancy computer that belonged to your friend.’ He listened again.
‘Of course. Will do. Tonight.’
***
‘Kate?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Sorry. Did I wake you?’
‘Doug? Is that you?’
‘Yeah.’ He had thought long and hard about making this call and in the end could not resist. ‘Uh, sorry if I disturbed you. Thought you might like a nightcap. I know it’s late but I brought Johnny back as soon as I could tear him away from the nightclub. We can meet in the hotel bar if you fancy.’
‘Give me fifteen minutes, okay? What room are you in? You’ve got a mini-bar, we don’t need to go out...’
He told her, put the phone down and felt fully alive.
***
He’s sleeping. Wakes as the bed moves. The man is whispering. Touching. Pushes his face into the pillow. He can’t breathe. He’s panicking, heart thundering, head light. The man has pulled his pyjama pants down. The pillow moves. Air. His head clears.
White-hot pain rips into him. He starts to scream but his face is shoved into the pillow again, smothering the noise.
He scrabbles for the knife, but the man’s weight is crushing him.
He can’t breathe.
He’s dying. Sobbing and gasping.
At last the pain eases. His hair is pulled and his head wrenched up. He can breathe again.
The man whispers, a vicious rasp: ‘Tell your mother, runt, and I’ll kill you.’ He knows the voice.
His hand slides under the pillow and finds the handle. He swings his arm at his father aiming at his throat.
Now he’s hanging. Suspended over nothing. His fingers feel the rock. A thin ledge. He lets go one hand. Power surges through his body. He feels exhilaration. Elation. He releases his other hand.
He’s flying.
He’s an eagle.
The man below is standing looking into the void, arms outstretched. He looks up and cries out: ‘I am alive.’
Doug woke and for the first time in his life, after dreaming of his father, he felt good. He was sure he would never experience the nightmare again.
He was purged.
The Hunter was finally dead.
He snuggled up to Kate’s warm naked body and drifted.
***
‘This stuff she’s sent isn’t at all bad. May make a reporter out of her yet.’ Charles Tandy was reading Kate’s emailed story and Gus was sitting with him.
‘Yeah not bad. For a novice.’
‘This Lee guy is convinced about the serial killer targeting child molesters. Kate’s right. If the same man killed Simm then Simm must surely be guilty.’
‘What about this missing laptop? You think it’s important? Evidence of other people being involved, maybe even Gary Knight and his SimmpleTravel outfit?’
‘Dunno Gus. We can run with this: Kiddie Fiddler Killer! With that story, the acting MD of SimmpleTravel in hospital from an overdose of cocaine, his girlfriends’ cat fighting, along with the pictures we’ve got, it’s another bumper issue for us, Gus! We’re gonna outsell everyone this week!’
***
Sir Jeremy breathed a sigh of relief. He had been busy today. The estate agent had agreed the sale of Kylie’s apartment, the wealthy Arab client did not even want to see the property. He was a royal prince who already owned fifty properties in London and would be fully aware of the rental value he could achieve. The solicitors would rush things through and, with no complications, the money would be in trust for Kylie within a week or so.
Despite his relief, Sir Jeremy was still concerned for Kylie’s safety. He was due to see Sir Benjamin and was running late. Sir Benjamin was waiting in a private members’ room at the Club.
‘Hullo Jeremy, what’s your poison?’
Sir Jeremy shuddered at the term, thoughts of murdered children spun in his head. He needed a drink. ‘Scotch please.’ He watched as Sir Benjamin poured drinks from the trolley. The top shelf was crowded with decanters of cut glass, all full of liquor, and heavy tumblers glittered in the low light of the room. In a club where illicit deals and Old Boys conspired, an honesty system prevailed, a pad was provided with the trolley for members to write down what they drank. Their bills, for meals, drinks, use of special facilities such as conference rooms and so on, were combined each month and deducted by direct debit from members’ bank accounts. Very civilised.
The ancient leather sofas creaked as they sat, scotch in hand. Pleasantries over, they talked.
‘Well Jeremy, it’s very nice to have a drink, but you called me. You seem calmer, panic over?’
Oily. That was the word that came to Sir Jeremy’s mind.
He was losing confidence, was not sure how to handle the subject, wondered what degree of involvement Sir Benjamin had in Simm’s affairs. Just how dangerous is this man he had called ‘friend’? He decided to jump straight in.
‘I think George killed the girls, the ones in my apartment. Before Kylie.’ It sounded outrageous, discussing George like this, here in these surroundings. Sir Jeremy wanted to be wrong. He tried to read Benjamin’s reaction, hoping to see shock there.
Sir Benjamin snorted, beady eyes holding Sir Jeremy’s. ‘Don’t be absurd! George wouldn’t kill, any more than you or I would. That’s preposterous!’ Sir Benjamin threw back his scotch. Waited, tumbler in hand.
Sir Jeremy ploughed on, confidence waning. ‘I think George was also killing the boys, and that makes you, me and the members of your club, all of us, accessories to murder.’
Sir Benjamin slammed down his glass, almost shattering the base on the marble table between them. ‘Your imagination is getting the better of you, Jeremy. I think you should be careful what you’re saying. George was a good friend.’
‘Think about it. I own my apartment, a gift from George.’
‘Your reward. For helping save us all. I know. So what of it?’
‘The girls. George talked to them, told me not to worry, he would pay them off, ensure they never talke
d.’
‘And I’m sure he did, they’re probably in some hideaway in the Caribbean now. He did the same for the boys. George was very generous, as you well know. So what about the apartment he gave you?’
Was he lying? Sir Jeremy thought so, but could not be sure, was finding it difficult to read the man. Years of sitting on the bench in judgement of others had allowed him to assess all sorts and styles of liar. But his old friend was too good.
‘Look. George promised Kylie my apartment. I think he did the same with the others.’ He could see Benjamin thinking, the snake eyes boring into him.
‘Perhaps he did, and then bought them off. Gave them cash instead. Come on Jeremy, George wouldn’t murder anyone. And to a girl like that,’ the disgust was evident in his voice, ‘a few hundred grand is a fortune. George probably bought each of them a pad in the sun. Who knows? Who cares?’
Doubts reared in Sir Jeremy’s mind. He was in turmoil. He wanted to believe Benjamin, wanted to feel Kylie was safe. ‘But what about blackmail? Any of those girls could come back to haunt us if they were just paid off. Dead people can’t blackmail, don’t go to the press.’
Sir Benjamin got up and poured them each another drink. He was scrupulous in his honesty, jotting the drinks down under his name. ‘So let me get this clear then, Jeremy,’ his condescension oozing. ‘You think George Simm, respected multi-millionaire businessman and friend of the President of the United States of America would risk everything by murdering a few whores and rent boys?’ Sir Benjamin swirled his drink in his glass, sniffing at the rich malt. ‘I think you’re insane. Overwrought. Panicked.’ His complacency was evident. ‘Take a holiday old boy. It’ll do you good.’
Was he right? ‘What about the boys? Your club?’ George called it the ‘Young Boy Network’ – a play on words, on the Old Boy Network so precious to Sir Benjamin. George’s club, made up of the men Sir Jeremy had saved from Operation Candyman. The child buggerers. The thought sickened him and the distaste he felt was transmitted as he said the words ‘Your club’.
Sir Benjamin bristled in response. ‘Ah, so now we have it. What you do is okay. You fuck little girls. We,’ his voice was raised but only Sir Jeremy could hear, ‘screw little boys. We are perverts. Isn’t that right Jeremy? That’s what you think?’
The Hack Page 23
