Silent Warpath (Sean Quinlan Book 1)

by Dominic Conlon

  ‘That’s pretty much everyone on the Mosquito’ muttered Stan.

  Natasha mouthed the word ‘Arabesque’.

  Stan keyed the mike again. ‘Any information about the Arabesque or the Tribune?’

  ‘None, sorry. We hoped that they would rescue us but there’s been no sign of them.’

  The sadness in his voice was apparent from three thousand miles away.

  ‘We’ll call you again in fifteen minutes.’ Stan closed the mike.

  ‘You can’t argue with that Stan,’ Natasha said reproachfully.

  ‘No, you’re right. It does look like the weapon was activated and Cetus used it to sink its supply ships.’ Stan pushed his fingers through his hair. ‘But that doesn’t mean a virus caused it. It still could be just corrupted software.’

  He looked at Natasha. ‘The alternative just doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  Chapter 10

  The phone vibrated silently in Sean’s jacket pocket. It was Lomax.

  ‘Just got a call from DD. He says he has something for us.’

  ‘That’s quick - I wasn’t expecting a breakthrough so soon.’

  ‘Well maybe it’s not the breakthrough we’re looking for, but I believe he’s on to something.’

  Sean thought for a moment. ‘I’ll pick you up on my way.’

  Twenty minutes later they were at DD’s apartment. DD showed them into the bedroom. Sean looked at Lomax and received an understanding glance in return.

  ‘Well guys’ DD enthused, obviously pleased to meet them. ‘Wait ‘til you see what I have to show you!’

  ‘Before we get to that’ said Lomax grimly, ‘didn’t you have to pass a personal security and survival course?’

  DD was taken aback. ‘Yes, I went on a week’s course. What of it?’

  ‘Didn’t they teach you to at least lock your door and use the chain?’

  Sean put his hand on Lomax’s arm and spoke quietly. ‘We’re not playing games here DD. By not following the routine you’re putting your life in danger. If we were the opposition you would be dead by now.’

  DD looked visibly paler. ‘I’m sorry, I just thought I would crack on with the job - you said it was urgent.’

  Sean looked at DD steadily. ‘You can’t help us if you’re dead.’

  DD held up his hands. ‘OK, OK, I get the message.’

  ‘Well just so that you do, after we’re done here you and I are going to go through and secure this place and I’m going to give you a quick refresher about security procedures.’

  Sean understood why DD had chosen this room to work in. It was the largest in the apartment and over the bed and bedside tables sprawled a tangle of computers and cables. There were three laptops and on the bed Sean recognised a satellite phone - presumably non-Government issue.

  DD had brought up the kitchen room table and chair and placed them right up against the built-in wardrobe. On top of the table he had another two computers and a printer. Sean thought he had no place to hang his clothes, but then he probably hadn’t brought any.

  ‘So, what have you got for us?’ asked Lomax impatiently.

  DD turned a laptop around to show Sean and Lomax. ‘I’ve managed to break into Ben’s laptop. It was a tough job because the hard drive had taken such a knock. I got as far as opening some of the files.’ DD showed Lomax some printouts. They contained various lists of work items and to-do lists. Lomax scanned down the pages quickly but could find nothing of interest.

  ‘Only some of the files?’ Lomax’s disappointment was obvious.

  ‘Yeah - well the most interesting ones will be those Ben accessed at work. But in order to get into them I need a user id and a password and an authentication device.’

  'What sort of authentication device?' Lomax asked.

  'About the size of a USB memory stick' replied DD. It would probably have a small window showing a row of numbers which change every 30 seconds or so.'

  Lomax scowled. ‘You mean to tell me that you can’t access his work files without this gadget?’

  DD shook his head. ‘Unless you have a couple of years to spare, the answer is no. This gadget is synchronised to the computer systems at Ben’s work. You have to type in the number that shows up in the little window. If it matches the number at work you are let into the next stage. That’s when you need to type in your password. The number on the device changes at set intervals to a different number and so does the one at Ben’s work.’

  ‘Suppose you made a note of the numbers that changed - you might be able to type in the correct number without having the device’ said Lomax.

  DD shook his head again. ‘The numbers don’t ever repeat. And you have only three chances to type in the correct matching number during that 30 second window before it changes. It’s impossible without the authentication device.’

  ‘What would happen if you were unsuccessful the third time?’ asked Sean.

  ‘The computer system at work would lock you out for a long period of time - and set off the equivalent of an alarm bell. So you could only try a couple of times a day. In any case there would be a file of all your unsuccessful attempts to log in - and they would be bound to pick up on that.’

  ‘Does it have to be the one Ben owned or could we get a replacement?’ Lomax asked DD.

  ‘You can get a replacement from the company that makes them – but that’s very difficult. They will only give them out to an authorised representative. Strictly speaking it doesn’t have to be the one Ben owned though.’ DD thought it through. ‘But it would have to be the same type and it would have to have been previously matched to the computer systems where Ben worked.’

  ‘Would everyone at the company need one if they wanted to work from home?’ Sean asked.

  ‘Yes, if you were able to borrow someone else’s, I could use that to access the network. Once I’m on the network I’m pretty sure I could get to Ben’s area.’

  ‘Can you get a USB token that to all intents looks exactly like the one Ben had?’ queried Sean.

  ‘Yep, if you knew what it looked like’ replied DD. ‘In fact I brought some with me. Hang on a sec.’ DD moved the table back to open the door of the wardrobe, pulled out a tattered rucksack and fished out a plastic lunch box. He tipped out the contents onto the bed. There were different types of connectors, plugs, some tiny cables and a variety of USB sticks and plastic cards. Sean sorted through them and picked one that looked like the one he had seen Natasha using in her apartment. He placed it in DD’s hand.

  ‘That’s the one.’

  Natasha jerked into wakefulness. One quick look established that the outside light was on. In itself this was not surprising - she had known the light to come on several times during the night, mostly in response to a prowling cat or a stray gust of wind. Struggling to pull on her jeans, Natasha hopped over to her bedroom window and looked out. There was no sign of anyone.

  The apartment faced a courtyard which was surrounded on three sides by other apartments. It was in a quiet area so any unusual noise would alert the neighbours; some of them were very nosey. The apartment had an external door light which came on when anyone approached. An alarm sat high up the wall in the eaves.

  Cautiously she made her way to the front hallway. The external light was still on. Just before it timed out she saw a movement through the opaque glass door. She stood absolutely still while a shiver ran up her back. She heard a soft metallic noise as something was inserted in the lock.

  Passing back through the hallway she stumbled over the bike, hurting her shin in the process. The thought crossed her mind that the bike could be useful in making a quick escape.

  She carried it through the hallway to the stairs at the back, opening the rear door with one hand while holding the bike with the other. She looked carefully up and down the alley. Nothing stirred.

  She ran alongside the bike and quickly mounted the machine. That’s when the bike reminded her of the squeak that she had been meaning to fix. Looking over her shoulder
she could see no signs of pursuit. She turned into the street from the alleyway, intending to make for Stan’s house a couple of miles on the outskirts of town. She knew the route well in the car. Natasha slowed down as she came to the next junction, pulled into the shadows and waited. She looked both ways.

  A dark coloured car emerged from a street several blocks away. It crept forward slowly and Natasha pulled back, flattening herself against a doorway. The car turned towards her on the main road and her heart went into her mouth. Had she been spotted?

  The car continued to move slowly towards her. She froze in the darkness. It pulled abreast but thankfully carried on down the main road.

  Natasha took several big gulps of breath to try and steady her racing heart. Building up her courage she pushed the bicycle round the corner, remembering to lift the back wheel to stop the squeak. She peered back down the main road. The car had stopped just ten feet away! She quickly pulled the bike into a doorway but even as she did she could hear the car doors open and people spill out.

  Without hesitation she turned the bike around and ran with it back the way she had come. There were no shouts from behind but she could hear the sound of leather shoes hitting the pavement just behind her. Without pausing in her stride she put one foot on the pedal, swung her other leg across the bike and started peddling like mad. A burst of adrenalin helped to increase the distance between herself and her pursuers.

  She eventually realised that though she was peddling furiously the bike was hardly moving. In a panic she thought the chain had broken; then she realised that she was still in the lowest gear. She flipped the lever several times to take it up through the gears and the bike gained speed, putting even more distance between her and the men behind. The sounds of pursuit gradually died and she felt a huge wave of relief. Her breath was sawing in and out of her throat, her legs ached with the unusual amount of exercise, and her heart hammered at high speed. She slowed and stopped the bike, intending to look around to check that they had really gone.

  That’s when she heard the squeal of tyres as the car first reversed, then careered around the corner, engine revving.

  There was no time to look back. Natasha cried aloud with fear and frustration and began to pedal again. At the next corner she turned left and then right further on. Although her body was screaming for a rest she managed to control the panic and think about an escape plan. She had seen a sign for a small shopping mall set back off the main road and she started heading in that direction. By now she could no longer hear the car. She had probably lost them with the twist and turns she had taken. But this time she was determined not to underestimate them. At last a sign for the mall appeared and Natasha steered the bike towards it. Thankfully the area was flat and she was able to pick up some speed.

  She felt her stamina fading. Natasha looked all round her for signs of pursuit before deciding to dismount. She held on to the bike as she tried to regain her breath and as her chest heaved for air, she promised herself that when she got out of this situation, she would re-join the gym.

  The stillness of the night was broken by the roar of an engine and the squeal of tyres. Natasha jerked her head around but couldn’t locate the sound. Then out of the corner of her eye she saw the car appear a hundred yards away.

  With a groan she hopped on the bike and started peddling hard. The car soon caught up but just as it was about to make contact she swerved the wheel onto a ramp and through some metal bollards designed to prevent cars entering the pedestrian precinct. She had stopped at this mall a few months ago and was unable to park where she wanted to because of the bollards. If she remembered correctly there were several sets of these around the corner.

  Behind her she heard a loud crumpling noise. She turned around and saw that the car had attempted to ride over the barriers. Either they thought they could crash through or perhaps they had not appreciated how narrow the barriers were. Either way the results were the same. The car had mounted the kerb and lay between two of the bollards. Steam was escaping from under the bonnet. At that moment Natasha prayed that this was the end of the chase. Surely they would need to leave the car. If they had to resume the chase on foot Natasha had the advantage.

  As she looked the car reversed off the bollards to the sound of tearing metal. The engine revved and the car reversed, the driver hunting for another entrance to the mall.

  Natasha watched unbelievingly and desperately started pedalling again.

  ‘Morning, Sir Anthony – you have fresh news?’

  ‘Some, Prime Minister. A laptop from our sleeper was retrieved just after the order was given to cancel the mission.’

  Sir Anthony looked at the Prime Minister and saw the slight hesitation. The Foreign Secretary, Howard Stern, cleared his throat. The Prime Minister was all too aware that Howard had made mistakes in the past, but he made the least number of mistakes of anyone else in the cabinet. The PM sometimes wondered if his foreign secretary would make a better PM than himself.

  ‘Carry on, Howard’ he said.

  Howard looked at Sir Anthony. ‘Tell me a little about our people on the ground’.

  ‘Well we have a team of two very experienced operators’ began Sir Anthony. ‘We also have a technical guy who is helping out with the IT and security side of the operation.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that’ said Howard. ‘I mean, what are they like? How resourceful are they in a crisis? How likely are they to break under pressure? I just want to get a feel for the men whose lives we are putting at risk.’

  Sir Anthony glanced down at his papers then closed the file and put it to one side. He knew the contents by heart. ‘I picked this team personally. Our agent is a Royal Marines vet of seventeen years; he’s been in the usual tough spots: Belfast, Bosnia, Sierra Leone. He’s worked with 22 Squadron on a number of occasions but he never wanted to leave the marines. Technically he’s still on their payroll, though we lend him out wherever he’s needed. We discovered he was born to the job of undercover operations. He has always preferred to work alone or in small teams. We had the usual problems with his general lack of respect for authority in the early days but since then he’s mellowed a little. He still has a reputation for being difficult though, but he always brought the right results – sometimes not in the, ah, expected manner.’

  ‘He seems quite a character - I’d like to meet him some time’ said the PM. ‘What about his manager or whatever you call them these days?’

  ‘The executive for the operation is someone who has a great deal of experience and has worked his way up the ladder, so to speak. He began as an agent in the field on shows like this. I won’t bore you with his past successes, but he was a top agent.’ Sir Anthony reopened the folder. ‘I won’t hide the fact that he was traumatised on his last op and had to take some time off. However he has recovered well and is proving that his experience in the field will make him one of our best executives.’

  A pugnacious deputy Prime Minister Martin Dinsdale leaned forward across the PM to face Sir Anthony. ‘You mean the guy who is running our most important operation on American soil is a fruitcake who has just come back from a nervous breakdown?’ he asked bluntly.

  Sir Anthony winced. ‘No, with all respect, I do not mean that’ he replied. ‘You have to know the man to understand the depth of his skills. The recent leave of absence has been his way of coping with extreme stress.’

  Dinsdale leaned closer and the veins on his neck stood out. ‘Pressure – you should try this job for pressure.’

  Sir Anthony remained stock still and replied in a cold calm voice. ‘Sir you don’t know the meaning of pressure. You do not face your executioner every day and stare death in the face. You’re never forced to make split second decisions that might mean life or death!’

  The Prime Minister interceded quickly, fearing another outburst from his excitable deputy. ‘Gentlemen, we’re discussing the suitability of the agents in the field.’ He turned to Sir Anthony. ‘Tell us about the third man – your technical
specialist.’

  Sir Anthony paused before replying, knowing he was treading on thin ice.

  ‘We call him DD. He’s had experience in Saudi, Yemen, Iraq, and South America. He has training in field craft and is one of our of best IT specialists. He is currently studying at MIT but broke off to help at short notice.’

  ‘Has he ever been in a crisis situation?’

  ‘Yes’ Sir Anthony replied. ‘He’s faced problems in his work’ he said, not altogether convincingly.

  ‘Like what?’ enquired Dinsdale.

  ‘Well his mission has always been to assist the main operation. He’s never been a principle.’

  ‘You mean he’s never had to look after himself?’ asked Dinsdale bluntly.

  Sir Anthony looked Dinsdale in the eye and replied carefully. ‘Sir, with respect, that’s not his job. His job is to provide intelligence from the opposition’s IT infrastructure, not to provide the heavy lifting. In his field, he has a track record as good as anyone here in London.’

  Martin Dinsdale was not placated. ‘Well I think it stinks!’ Dinsdale turned to the PM. ‘Look, Terry. What we have here is the most delicate operation we have undertaken since the Second World War. If the Americans – our allies – get a whiff of what we are doing on their soil, it will compromise our special relationship for the foreseeable future! This mission is crazy, it should never have begun. The person who conceived the operation should be put back in the asylum!’

  The PM replied smoothly. ‘Martin, what you say is probably true. But we need to weigh up what we might achieve if the operation is successful. I repeat, if the operation is successful. Besides, I have been reliably informed that some of the technology the Americans are deploying actually originated in our own laboratories. Sir Anthony, is that true?’

  ‘That’s true sir, the propulsion technology came from the University of Suffolk.’ Sir Anthony turned to look at the deputy PM. ‘And there is always plausible deniability.’