by J. D. Weston
“He showed you how to kill though?” asked Melody. “And not get caught.”
“He showed me how to do many things, Melody.”
“And you know who killed him?”
“I will do. If it takes me another twenty years, I won’t stop, Melody. I’ll find him just like I did the men who raped Hannah.”
Melody was silent for moment. “So, if we’re friends, tell me something. About you I mean. Something that doesn't involve killing.”
“Like what?”
“Like where you live, where you go, what you do. You’re a mysterious man, Harvey Stone, and we’re, well we’re a curious bunch. Maybe if we knew more about you, we could all be better friends?”
“This is what I do.”
“And where do you go? At night I mean, where’s home?”
“Not far.”
“You’re being coy,” said Melody. “Okay, is there a potential Mrs Harvey Stone?” Melody smiled, she was enjoying watching Harvey be uncomfortable.
“Not really, women never really worked out for me, they asked too many questions they wouldn't like the answers to.”
“You have your eye on anyone? I mean, come on, we all need an outlet right?”
“There’s no-one, Melody.”
“Okay, nice to know. Maybe I can set you up with one of my friends?”
“That won't be necessary, Melody.”
“Okay, I can see this is making you uncomfortable, let's leave it there, but I am going to learn you, Stone.” She looked up at him. Harvey looked back. Then, over her shoulder, he saw a huge black plume of smoke erupting from the Isle of Dogs, which was visible just a few miles along the river. It was followed by the faint, dull thump of a distant explosion a few seconds later. The noise was deep and angry-sounding, rumbling towards them and beyond.
“What the-”
“Back inside, let’s go,” said Harvey.
They ran the hundred yards back to the building and walked inside. Denver was underneath the van, Reg was tapping away furiously on his computer keyboard, and Frank was nowhere to be seen.
“Reg,” said Melody, “get me the satellite of the Isle of Dogs.”
“Eh? What for-”
“Just get it up, there’s been an explosion.” She called upstairs, “Frank, you need to see this.”
“See what?” he called from inside his office.
“Explosion. Isle of Dogs. It’s a big one.”
Frank stepped from his office and looked down. “How long?”
“One minute ago, Harvey and I saw it from the river.”
“Looks like Canada Square, but the smoke’s too thick to see where exactly,” said Reg.
“Reg, get us a news broadcast, we may as well see what’s happening.”
In true Reg style, he dragged multiple news feeds across several of his screens, muted two of the channels and played the audio of one over the speakers. According to the presenter, a video had been sent in by a member the public who had captured the scene on his phone. Media teams were also in the area were setting up. All three of the separate news broadcasts showed breaking news at the bottom of the screen, and after a few minutes, live video feeds began to show what the team saw on the satellite imagery. Thick black smoke and people running from the buildings. A reporter on the scene stood amid the chaos of crowds, ambulances, police cars and fire engines, all working hard to evacuate the public and close off the area. A few teenagers could be seen taking videos on their mobile phones behind the reporter. Another news channel repeated the video footage from moments after the blast, sent into them by another member of the public. Smoke poured from the ground floor lobby of One Canada Square, an iconic tower in London’s Canary Wharf.
Ten minutes had passed, and people were still emerging from the smoke-filled building. The reporter stopped talking to allow the cameraman to film the remaining workers walk away. Most came out coughing and ran past the firefighters who stood outside ready to douse any fires that emerged. The evacuated workers held shirts and rags up to their faces. A group of women held their shoes in their hands and ran along the street barefoot, directed by the police to an assembly point away from the building. The assembly point was down some steps in a small square beside the river. One man casually strode away, his coat and bag hung over one arm, in the other he held a small boy’s hand tightly. The man was Asian, the boy was caucasian.
“That man there, watch that man,” said Frank.
“What do you see?” asked Reg.
“The man with the boy. He’s too casual, he looks out of place. He’s not scared, plus look how he’s clutching his bag and the boy's hand, he’s heading for the kill zone.”
“The what?”
“No, stop him,” said Frank to the screen. “Reg get me someone on the scene. I can’t be the only the only seeing this.”
“Who do you want? The officer in charge?”
“No, his phone will be crazy, get me the Isle of Dogs fire department, quickly, Reg.”
The phone rang over the speakers and, a few seconds later, a woman answered hurriedly. Frank spoke over her introduction. “Sorry, lady, this is DI Frank Carver from SO10, I understand your units are attending the blast in Canada Square?”
“Who are you? Yes, they are-”
“Good. Get hold of your officer in charge, there’s a male IC6 currently walking from the scene towards the assembly point, and he’s loaded. Do it now, you can make a note of this number and call back for confirmation of my credentials, but I urge you act quickly. We can iron out your questions later.”
“This is most-“
“Lady, there’s a man with a bomb in his bag walking towards the assembly point. Make the call.”
“Disconnect the call, Reg.”
Melody, Reg and Denver all looked across to Frank who stood transfixed, staring at the screens. “Stop him, come on, someone.” He spoke to the screen as the suspect, just meters away from the reporter, remained within the cameraman’s frame. Another broadcast showed a group of firefighters stood beside the truck. The team watched as one of the men took a call over his radio and began to look around.
“There’s our man,” said Frank. “He’s spotted him.” The firefighter shouted a uniformed policeman over to him and began pointing towards the suspect. A group of several hundred people had congregated in the assembly point five hundred yards from the building. The policeman immediately got on his radio, and another one appeared from the steps that led down to the assembly point. The policeman was small in the picture in the distance behind the reporter, but the team could easily see him emerge from the steps and hold his hand up to stop the suspect with the bag and the boy. He returned a call into his radio.
More people emerged from the building and ran towards the assembly point.
“No,” said Frank. “Get away. For God's sake, take him down.”
There seemed to be an argument between the cop and the suspect, who was indicating that he wanted to go down the steps to the assembly point. But the uniformed policeman blocked his path and was struggling to hear his commanding officer over his radio.
Then, without warning, the broadcast went bright white, immediately followed by a Signal Lost message across the screen.
The team were silent. Reg folded his arms over his head and rested it on his desk.
“Oh my god. Did we really just see that?” said Melody, her head in her hands.
Harvey and Denver stood silent.
Frank lowered his head, removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Team, take as long as you need to digest what you just saw. We reconvene in the meeting room as soon as everyone is ready.” Frank turned and walked up the mezzanine stairs to his office. Harvey watched him wipe his eyes as he closed the door.
The white screen was directed back to the news studio. Melody had walked backed to her desk to be alone. Reg held his face in his hands, and Denver and Harvey stood transfixed at the shocking news.
The news reporter began to tal
k with a broken and emotional voice. “We have just witnessed a tragedy. A cold-blooded attack on our nation's capital has just taken place. Ladies and gentlemen, a hotline is being set up for those who want to communicate with loved ones who may have been at the scene. We are still waiting for a damage report-“
“This is disgusting,” said Denver. “I feel sick.”
“It’s cowardly,” said Harvey. “I wish I could get my hands on the sick bastard.”
“You and half the country, mate.”
“I feel so helpless, stood here watching it on the news. We’re supposed to be fighting this sort of thing.”
“No mate, that's not us,” said Denver. “We need to focus on what we’re doing, we’re not trained for this sort of thing.” He paused. “How many do you think-“
“Killed?” asked Harvey. “Who can say? We’ll find out soon enough. But what does it matter? If it’s one or one hundred, it’s still a loss, it’s still an attack.”
The news reporter broke the tension between the two men. “And this just in, the BBC have just received information from known terrorist, Faisal Al Sayan, claiming responsibility for the blast. He has made no threats, no demands.” The screen showed a photo of a Middle-Eastern man in a white headscarf with a hooked nose and thick beard. The reporter continued. “The Afghani man, who is at large in the UK, has claimed the blast a victory that, in his own words, will send a message to the city. He claims he will cleanse London, and make it a beautiful, sinless place once more.”
Frank waited patiently for the team to arrive, he allowed them time to sit and settle, then began.
“I think it’s prudent to observe a one minute silence for those who were lost in the tragedy we all just witnessed.
The room was already silent and remained so for the minute’s entirety.
“What we all just saw is truly the height of what we are up against in modern day Britain. Such a cowardly attack is just one example of the war we are fighting. The people you saw congregated in the assembly area and running along the streets are those we serve to protect, those we are sworn to protect.” The team nodded.
“However, this unit is not trained to fight the war on terrorism. There are others that are fighting that particular war. We fight alongside them, yes, and behind them, for sure.” Frank took a deep breath and focused on each of the team individually.
“We are professionals, we must remain professional, and we must continue with our work as hard as it is in times like this. I know the urge to go and offer assistance is high, but trust me, now is the time we need to be vigilant. Now is the time that criminals attack, when all eyes are looking elsewhere. Now is the time that Al Sayan will be moving, planning, and preparing for a follow-up attack. But Al Sayan is not our concern, our target is Stimson. We must remain emotionally intelligent. Do not let the horrors that unfolded today obscure your vision. Or else we will lose this battle. Is that understood?”
The team nodded.
“I do not want any heroes. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” said Melody. Reg and Denver both grumbled a confirmation.
“Tenant?”
“Yes, sir,” said Reg.
“Any questions?”
“No, sir.”
“Good, well done, guys, get to it. I have every faith in you all.”
7
Shadow of the Monster
The mood was sombre as the team prepared.
Melody began loading the back of the van with her kit. She had Peli cases containing binoculars, a small tripod that held a sighting scope, and another for the DLSR camera, along with various lenses. Each item, including the binos, camera and scope, had the foam insert carefully cut out around it to ensure a snug fit.
Reg had given her a bag of tracking chips, which LUCY was able to pick up and communicate with once they were activated. Melody didn’t intend on getting too close to Larson, but if the opportunity arose, she would slip a chip into his pocket or his car. The chips themselves were tiny, and if placed correctly, the carrier wouldn’t even know they were there.
LUCY was an extremely powerful software and hardware combination that Reg had built and developed himself. Officially, LUCY stood for Location and Unilateral Communication Interface, which produced the acronym, LUCI. But Reg had given her the unofficial name of Lets Us Catch You, so she remained LUCY.
There had been no expense spared on the design and build of LUCY. The interface ran on a master server, which was water cooled, had twenty-four multicore processors and one hundred and twenty-eight gigabytes of memory. In addition to the master server, LUCY called upon the resources of three slave units with identical specs to the master. The software ran on a virtual operating system so that if at any point the master server crashed, a slave unit would step up and take its place.
LUCY’s database was striped across several block-level storage systems, giving her a combined storage potential of one hundred and twenty-eight petabytes. The entire system was powered by four high-powered, uninterruptible power supplies and a backup generator.
The immense power and speed of the software merely provided the infrastructure for LUCY’s interface. Her capabilities allowed Reg to link together various other pieces of software to provide a one-stop shop for satellite imagery to identify the location, speed, height above sea-level and temperature of digital trackers that could be placed anywhere. The chips were five millimetres square, which meant that they could be put in a mobile phone, items of clothing or even, as Reg had done to Harvey six months previously, hidden inside a watch.
In addition to the tracking of chips, LUCY could monitor mobile phones on virtually any network internationally. This allowed Reg to not only hear the conversations but access a live view of a smart phone’s interface, which provided access to messages, calendars, contacts and more.
LUCY’s primary function had been to monitor communications on suspects and monitor operatives’ whereabouts. However, due to the success of the system, Reg had been granted an additional budget to enhance the system to include the security of the building, the comms system, and the digital telephone system. Reg had taken the upgrade to the next level and was able to control headquarters within headquarters. He could open and close the shutter doors, change the temperature, manage the alarm system and control the lighting. These additional features didn’t provide any value to the unit, but made life easier for Reg.
Each of the team had various chips on their person at all times. Reg had installed them in their phones, in case the signal was ever lost, and in their vehicles and coats. Lucy was able to detect anomalies in behaviour and provide alerts. If a carrier had a habit of driving a particular route at a particular time of day, LUCY would alert Reg if they one day took a different route. He could set various thresholds per carrier to provide alerts should an operative veer off course by a given distance.
Denver wiped his tools and put them back in the relevant drawers inside his tool chests. He’d been doing maintenance on the van, which was brand new and needed little effort to upkeep, but it was what Denver did. It was Denver’s responsibility to ensure that the vehicles were maintained and that routes were planned. If somebody needed an entry or extract, he would know the potential exit routes, times, speeds, and safe places to tuck themselves away. It was a far cry from his days as a teenager when he would be chased across the country in a stolen supercar. He’d been trained by the best, and although his defensive driving and tactical driving were impeccable, he knew the safest thing to do if being chased in a town is to hole up out of sight. Being in a car and trying to get away in the age of the internet was just asking for failure. Having several locations near to an extract, where he knew he could get out of the sight of satellites and the public eye, was key to a good exit strategy. Usually, when the chaos had died down, a slow drive out a city or town was safer than driving at over one hundred miles per hour trying to outrun someone, which would be like waving a flag to whoever is doing the chasing.
“O
kay, guys, here's your location, I’m sending it across to your phones now. You’re looking for a place called Wethersfield, about fifteen minutes from Braintree in Essex. I’ve got Larson, Stimson and our mystery man on screen, and I’ll update you first thing if the location changes,” said Reg.
“Thanks,” said Melody. “You going to miss us, Reg?”
“While you guys are out on a joy ride, I’ll be busting through World War Two on my new game.”
“Is that right, Tenant?” said Frank from above him on the mezzanine.
Reg looked startled at Frank’s voice above him. “Well, it’s not precise, sir, but I’ll be thinking about it.”
“Mills, Stone, stay in touch with Tenant.”
“Will do, sir,” said Melody. “We set?” she said to Denver.
“We are, I’ll drop you home then pick you up in the morning. Harvey, you want a ride home or you taking your bike? Looks like the weather’s going to get awful nasty out there.”
“I’ll take my bike and meet you in Wethersfield, we might need two vehicles.”
“Suit yourself, say six am?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Let’s do it,” said Denver, and he started up the van. He listened to the van’s engine purr for a few seconds then climbed into the driver’s seat. “Reg?”
Reg looked across the floor of the headquarters with his eyebrows raised.
“Door?” said Denver.
“I’m a doorman is what I am,” said Reg, hitting a button on his keyboard. “An overqualified doorman,” he called to Melody as her downcast face passed by, and Denver put his foot down. Harvey followed the van out on his bike and Reg hit the door button again, causing the sliding metal shutters to close.
The three news channels still showed the devastation of the bomb scene at Canary Wharf, but the sound was down. Reg switched them off.
“You don’t want to know what’s going on, Tenant?” said Frank from above.
Reg stayed looking at LUCY’s interface on the screen in front of him. “It’s not that I’m not interested, sir. It’s just that we have a job to do, and as much as it pains me, going after Al Sayan is not part of that job. I’m not a violent man, sir, as you know, but I bet there isn’t one Brit that wouldn’t like to get his hands on that guy right now. I dread to think what would happen if Harvey got hold of him.”
