The Mephisto Threat

by E. V. Seymour

  They went inside. ‘Kitchen’s this way,’ Tallis said, taking the pint and putting it in the fridge. ‘Pull up a chair. I’ll work out how we’re going to get into your parents’ house while you work out how I can best hack into a computer program.’

  It was like inviting a Viking home for dinner. Tallis, even in his late teens and at his zenith for demolishing food, had never been able to eat like Jimmy. Three bacon sandwiches later, he started making serious inroads on a loaf of bread.

  ‘So you’re saying there’s this bloke who is running a system within a system?’ Jimmy was saying, spraying bits of toast onto the table.

  ‘I don’t know for certain. More of a hunch.’

  ‘Bit like that Number Ten business, cash for honours, like? Police hacked into computers and found secret emails.’

  Tallis felt genuine surprise. ‘Didn’t know you were that interested in current affairs and politics.’

  ‘I’m not.’ Jimmy scowled. ‘My dad says politicians are a load of wankers, but anything techno—that’s right inside my box.’

  ‘So how would I go about taking a look?’

  ‘You?’ Jimmy looked at him as if Tallis had just announced he was going to have a sex change. He had a point. Tallis felt comfortable with finding his way around most computer systems but this was specialist stuff. Perhaps he should call up one of his mates in the force. Then again…

  ‘Thing is, you can get round the password. Sometimes people put in a hint, like.’

  ‘A hint?’

  ‘Yeah, like a memory jogger. You’d be amazed how obvious they can be.’ Tallis didn’t think Kennedy dealt in the obvious. ‘Failing that, you can go to the admin user and change the password, or log in via electronic mail.’

  ‘Sounds simple.’

  ‘’Course, you might need more passwords to get further into the system, but sometimes you can get round that by running a program within the system’s command files, giving you super-status.’

  ‘Sounds ingenious.’

  ‘’Course, you might come up against beat the clock.’

  ‘Beat the clock?’

  ‘Systems that log out after a period of inactivity. Could be anything from sixty seconds to sixty minutes. Oh, yeah,’ Jimmy said, as if he’d forgotten something crucial. ‘This bloke might only use voice recognition.’

  ‘To gain access.’

  ‘Neat, huh?’ Jimmy grinned.

  Oh God, Tallis thought, baulking at the task ahead. The best he could expect was that he’d find out if Kennedy was hiding something.

  ‘What kind of computer are we looking at?’ Jimmy said, taking another enormous bite.

  It depended. Most of the office used PCs. Kennedy had a flat-screen Mac, like him. He told Jimmy this.

  ‘Could be using FireVault.’

  ‘Contents will be encrypted,’ Tallis said, glum. ‘You’re not making this any easier.’

  ‘It’s not supposed to be easy,’ Jimmy scoffed. ‘Who knows? Maybe he got lazy.’

  Tallis didn’t think so. ‘Could you hack into it?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Now that his stomach was full, Jimmy was reverting to can’t be arsed mode, Tallis thought. Was he taking an un-acceptable risk? Was he even putting Jimmy’s life in danger? ‘What are you doing later on?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Fancy a trip out?’

  ‘Not especially.’

  ‘Shame. Think it’s going to rain.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘You’re going to get wet.’

  ‘But you said…’ Jimmy burst out, indifference taking a sudden acrobatic leap to umbrage.

  Tallis grinned. The lad had been outmanoeuvred and he knew it.

  ‘Where?’ Jimmy scowled.

  ‘Nowhere scenic.’

  They both knew what he was asking. Suddenly, Jimmy’s demeanour seemed to alter. He sat up a bit, gave Tallis a shrewd look. ‘You offering me a deal?’

  ‘I am.’ Tallis flashed a smile.

  ‘Will money change hands?’

  Tallis met Jimmy’s crafty expression. What was it with kids today? From washing up to keeping their bedrooms tidy, they all expected filthy lucre. He’d even heard that schoolkids in higher education got paid a fat wedge, a bonus, if they consistently showed up. Ironic if the rise in binge drinking was directly connected to government handouts, he mused.

  Jimmy continued to eye him. Tallis was beginning to feel like the parent whose every ideal and principle had crumbled under the weight of adolescent intractability. ‘Could be arranged. In the meantime, you use my expertise in return for me using yours.’

  Lock picked, and Jimmy safely installed back home again, Tallis arranged to collect him early evening, around six, and drove over to his mother’s house in a backwater of Hereford.

  ‘How lovely,’ she said, taking the flowers he’d brought, looking pleased to see him. He followed her into the kitchen, watched as she filled a vase with water and carefully arranged them. She looked good, he thought. He’d expected her to lose weight, to look weary, yet she appeared more rested, fresher than she’d seemed in years.

  ‘Sherry?’ she said.

  ‘Lovely. I’ll fix it.’

  He couldn’t stand the stuff. Not that he’d ever admit it. It was one of those strange, harmless deceptions indulged in by families the world over. Trouble was, little deceptions led to bigger ones. Made him wonder how much parents really knew about their children. Probably about as much as children knew about their parents.

  She’d gone to a lot of trouble: full roast with all the trimmings.

  ‘And I’ve done your favourite,’ she said happily, taking the potatoes out of the oven and turning them. ‘Apple and blackberry crumble. Hope you’re hungry.’ He smiled, instantly regretting the late sandwich. ‘About ten minutes then we can eat,’ she said.

  They went through to the conservatory, as his mother called it, a glass lean-to in which his father had grown geraniums. They talked of nothing important. Tallis found himself listening in stereo, one voice his mother’s, the other Kennedy’s.

  ‘Hannah’s coming up for half-term week with the children.’ I prize loyalty more highly than love.

  ‘Says it will give Geoff a chance to catch up on some DIY.’

  So you don’t believe in punishment for wrongs?

  ‘I thought I’d let the boys have your old room. Orla will sleep in Hannah’s room on the Z-bed.’

  Torture always guarantees the truth.

  ‘Quite the little miss, isn’t she?’

  The deception, pretending you’re someone you’re not, becoming a bad guy to defeat people like me.

  ‘Paul?’

  Always reckoned you were special.

  ‘Paul, you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said.’

  ‘What?’ He jolted. ‘You were talking about the sleeping arrangements for the kids.’

  She threw him an old-fashioned look, the same expression she’d reserved for him when he’d got away with lying to his father. After that he tried very hard to concentrate, to take an interest, to look animated. They had finished their main course when she asked him about his current employment.

  ‘Still working for that lovely man?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, Paul,’ she said, disappointed. ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Things didn’t work out.’

  ‘What sort of things?’ she said, eyeing him suspiciously.

  ‘Business.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Good question.’ He flashed a smile, trying to make light of it.

  ‘It’s the only question. You can’t wander through life without purpose.’

  He didn’t react, didn’t respond. The last thing he needed right now was a lecture from his mother.

  ‘Sometimes…’ she cleared her throat ‘…things don’t work out the way you planned.’ Either she meant Belle or his apparent lack of gainful employment. He felt a strange sullen kinship w
ith Jimmy. ‘That’s when you have to be flexible,’ she continued. ‘You’re still the same person with the same desires and ambitions. Nobody can change those. But you have to set about achieving those goals in a different, more imaginative way.’

  He sat up, stared at her. ‘Mum?’

  ‘Yes, dear?’

  ‘Will the crumble keep?’

  ‘Why, yes, I sup—’

  Tallis stood up. ‘There’s something I’ve got to do.’

  ‘What, now?’ she said, bewildered. ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘No,’ he said, striding over to her side of the table and kissing the top of her head. ‘It’s fine. You’re absolutely right.’

  He phoned Jimmy as soon as he hit the road. ‘Change of plan. Should be able to pick you up around four.’

  ‘We’re not going in the crapmobile, are we?’

  Materialistic little swine, Tallis thought, gunning the engine. ‘If you mean the Rover, no.’

  ‘Good. Wouldn’t be seen dead in it.’

  Tallis didn’t notice the journey, the speed or road conditions. His thoughts were on Kennedy, his personality, his ingenuity, the way he’d double-crossed absolutely everyone, and played them all for fools.

  Jimmy was outside waiting for him. He got into the car.

  ‘Got your keys this time?’ Tallis said, reversing hard into Jimmy’s drive and haring back down the road.

  ‘Ha-ha,’ Jimmy said, slouching in the seat.

  ‘Put your seat belt on,’ Tallis said.

  ‘What are you, my mother?’

  ‘If I was your mother, I’d kick your arse into the next century. Now, put it on.’

  He’d had to make a decision—Lye, Walsall, the haulage company or the brothel. It was also possible that Kennedy might have some form of incriminating evidence on his computer at Shakenbrook. His real problem was that he didn’t know exactly what he was looking for. The only certainty he had was that Kennedy had not changed, had never changed. Revenge was programmed and in his hard drive.

  He drove to Lye first. A Sunday, it was as quiet as a vault. He drove round the back, parked in Kennedy’s private parking slot, automatically glancing up at the church belfry as he climbed out of the car. No flash of light, no sign of another. He felt relief seep out of him.

  ‘This it?’ Jimmy said with disdain.

  ‘’Fraid so.’

  They went inside, Tallis taking care to disable the alarm.

  ‘You want me to look at all those? We’ll be here for days,’ Jimmy said, eyeing the bank of PCs.

  ‘Don’t worry. We’re going upstairs.’ Where we can’t be seen, Tallis thought.

  ‘Fuckin’ hell,’ Jimmy said, gawping at the fridge in the corner, the expensive blinds at the windows, leather sofas, leather executive chair, leather-topped desk.

  ‘Right, then. Can you see all right?’ Tallis said.

  ‘Can’t we open the blinds?’

  ‘Rather not.’

  Jimmy shrugged. ‘OK to put on the desk lamp?’

  ‘Sure. Want a coffee?’

  Jimmy nodded, switched on the Mac and rolled his sleeves up as if he were a concert pianist about to perform a Rachmaninoff piano concerto. Tallis smiled, scooted back downstairs to the tiny kitchen. Coffee made, he returned with it upstairs and, after putting Jimmy’s on the desk beside him, retreated to the other end of the room. Five minutes passed then another five—the only sound the whirr and buzz of the computer, the tap of Jimmy’s deft fingers across the keys. After another five minutes had passed, Tallis asked how the lad was getting on, was told to shut up.

  Tallis picked up a trade journal, flicked through, put it back down, finished his coffee. Was he setting Jimmy off on a wild goose chase? Perhaps Kennedy, like his a-Q counterparts, was smart enough to ensure no trail was left behind. Perhaps all contact was made by word of mouth. So what exactly was Kennedy planning? Sure, he’d delivered Ahmed, foiled a terrorist plot, but Tallis didn’t believe that Kennedy had backed off from his real ambitions, not for a moment. Ahmed, the whole a-Q charade was a convenient smokescreen. While the security services were rushing around, their focus elsewhere, thanks to Kennedy’s brand of information, he was going to unleash the fury he felt for Billy’s disability and pull off something that would make them all shudder. Should he call Asim, tell him what he believed, and tell him that Finch—the real driver—and his cronies were in danger? Except he didn’t know how exactly, or even when Kennedy would take his revenge, whether he was in it for the long haul.

  ‘Found anything?’ Tallis said once more.

  ‘Lot of weird stuff on brain injuries.’

  ‘To be expected. Anything else?’

  ‘Nothing dodgy so far. I’m trying to work out the key password.’

  Tallis drummed his fingers, thinking, thinking.

  ‘Oh, fuck!’

  ‘What?’ Tallis started.

  ‘I’ve just tried a password that’s been rejected.’

  ‘Try another one.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. I only get two shots at this. If I screw up again, the whole system will close down.’

  Great, Tallis thought, feeling a tic in his temple. He closed his eyes, and let his mind go blank. Suddenly, what had once been at the back of it flashed to the front.

  ‘Mephisto,’ he burst out.

  ‘What?’ Jimmy said, mouth going slack.

  Tallis spelt it out for him, leant back, heard the leather creak, heard something else. He stood up, silently crossed the floor, peeked out from between the blinds, saw nothing. Imagination, he thought. Obviously getting jumpy.

  ‘Who’s Billy?’ Jimmy said, out of the blue.

  ‘Why?’ Tallis walked away from the window towards him.

  ‘You were right about the password. There’s a list of names here, like this Billy’s having a party.’

  ‘What?’ Tallis said, confused.

  ‘See, Mephisto, it’s in this secret folder.’

  Tallis stared at the screen, looked at the names, people he’d never heard of, a hit list, for all he knew except that Finch wasn’t on it. At the top of the ten-name list was a three-word heading entitled

  BILLY’S BIG BANG.

  ‘Jesus!’ Tallis burst out. That was it. Kennedy was going to plant a bomb.

  ‘You want to take a better look?’ Jimmy said, standing up. ‘I need to go for a piss.’

  ‘Toilets are downstairs on the right,’ Tallis said, sliding into the leather chair, still warm from where Jimmy had sat there.

  Tallis stared some more then logged out of the program and followed an audit trail of orders that had come in over the past month, searching for items loosely described as fertiliser or chlorine, or any materials that could even remotely be used in the assembly of a bomb. Nothing leapt out at him. He trawled some more, mind bracing, thinking, forging connections. Connections—that was it, Kennedy’s stock in trade. Christ, he thought, taking out his phone, glancing up as Jimmy, white-faced, sped across the carpet. Tallis looked at him sharply as Jimmy elbowed him out of the way, Jimmy’s fingers zipping over the keyboard. When Tallis looked at the screen, he felt his blood run cold.

  WE HAVE COMPANY—MEN WITH GUNS

  Tallis looked at Jimmy, nodded silently, put a finger to his lips. He dragged the lad off the chair by his shoulder and thrust him underneath the deep recess of the desk, told him to wait for him there. Jimmy nodded back. Gone the swaggering manner, the whatever apathy of youth. His eyes were the frightened eyes of a child.

  Tallis shut down the computer, slid open the top drawer, released the catch at the back, revealing a false compartment, took out the loaded gun Kennedy kept there for emergencies. It was a Heckler & Koch Universal Self-Loading pistol, USP for short. The model had ambidextrous controls, perfect for Kennedy as a left-hander. Tallis shifted the safety lever at the rear of the frame from S to F, crept with stealth across the carpet, the thickness of the pile muffling his footsteps. Opening the door a crack, he peered outside. Nobody in the stairwell
. Nobody on the stairs. Yet.

  He slid out of the door, closing it softly behind him and, with nimble speed, fled down the stairs to the ground floor. About to enter the toilets, a fair-haired man, the one he recognised from Lavender’s photographs, opened the door, weapon raised. Tallis twisted and darted through to the main office, hurdled a desk and crashed down on the other side as shots fired over his head, slamming into and lodging in the wall. Returning fire, Tallis tried to work out how many there were. As if in answer, a shot from the kitchen confirmed that there was at least one other. Tallis tried to edge his way to the door. Every time he moved a fresh round of bullets sprayed the room, bouncing off furniture, splintering it, a stray smashing through the glass, shattering the window. The alarm should have gone off. Except, Tallis remembered bitterly, in his desire to protect himself, he’d disabled it. And Jimmy was still upstairs.

  Another burst of fire broke over his head; he unleashed a volley of shots, one, he was sure, winging the fair-haired guy near the toilet block. He hunkered back down. Sweat was pouring off him then, without warning, he felt a flash of cold steel against his neck.

  ‘Don’t move,’ the voice said.

  Tallis half closed his eyes. He’d recognise that Brooklyn accent anywhere.

  ‘Throw your weapon down. Nice and slow.’

  Tallis obliged.

  ‘Turn around.’

  Tallis did. It was the man he knew as Koroglu. He wasn’t smiling.

  37

  * * *

  THEY frisked him, took his phone, cuffed him across the forearms, along the line where the cast on his left wrist finished, and put him in a car, a grey Lexus, the same Lexus he’d moved out of the way for on the motorway. Koroglu sat one side of him, fair-haired guy on the other. Bleeding from a flesh wound on his upper arm, blondie wasn’t happy. A large-framed black man with a shaved head drove. He had big, steady hands and his eyes flicked constantly from the rear-view mirror to the road—on the lookout. Tallis wondered if he was the man who’d driven the Volvo and tailed him back to Solihull the day he’d been with Kennedy.