Wreckoning

by Lee Harding

  It was there that Alana first met her father. Although that wasn’t strictly true. Her mother hadn’t told her but Alana figured out he was in her life for the two years before Paula was born. She had no recollection of him but as she stared at the man something familiar flashed into her mind; a fleeting image of a face with gentle eyes.

  Cameron Faith was broad-shouldered with a bald head. He was clean shaven and wore a friendly smile. As he stood to greet them she noticed he was quite short for an adult but his wide chest and narrow waist belied the fact. As he approached, Alana recognized her nose as his then the curve of his full lips. It really was her father.

  “Hi there.” He bent down nimbly to one knee. Alana noticed he held something in his right hand.

  “I am so pleased to see you. I have a gift for you both.”

  He looked up at Rachel as if for approval before presenting the girls with two tiny wrapped boxes. The sisters thanked him in unison.

  “You don’t have to open them now. I thought we could maybe play with some of these toys?”

  Paula let go of Rachel’s hand and was examining her gift, shaking it roughly. Her doll was stuffed under her arm, its head tottering with the momentum. Alana hung back to watch her father clear the other toys away and set down a Wendy house.

  “Perhaps your dolly can have a nice cup of tea in here.”

  Paula went to sit beside him. “This is Susie,” she said and held up her best friend.

  Their dad took the doll’s hand and moved it up and down. “Pleased to meet you, Susie. Would you like to join us for a cup of tea?” He slid a play set between his legs and lifted off three tiny cups. Placing one by Paula’s feet then one by his own, he motioned with the other.

  “Would you like to drink with us too, Alana?”

  Alana felt unsure. She was always naturally cautious around men, especially strangers. She needed more time.

  “No thanks.”

  The man’s smile faltered but then lifted again. “That’s no problem. Maybe there’s something else you’d like to play with?”

  She withdrew her console. “I’ll just play a game on this.”

  “Wow, that’s a brilliant machine,” he said. “What games have you got?”

  “Puppy Love and Rainbow Land 2.”

  “I love computer games. Have you played Winter Olympics?”

  Alana nodded. “My friend at school has it.”

  “I used to make computer games. I also write books. Do the two of you like to read?”

  Paula, who was feeling a little left out of the conversation, piped in, “I love reading. Mummy reads us stories every night.”

  “Well maybe your Mummy will allow you to read some stories I’ve written just for you, my beautiful daughters.”

  Alana tentatively moved closer. “Here’s my highest score,” she said and held out her arm.

  He examined the screen and raised his eyebrows high. “That’s really impressive, Alana.”

  Paula poured some imaginary tea and offered a cup to her sister. She took it then sat down next to Paula. Their father smiled then proceeded to sip from his drink, raising his pinkie into the air which made the girls chuckle. Cameron lowered the cup and managed a small burp. “Excuse me,” he said and they all laughed together.

  The allotted hour flew by quickly and soon Rachel announced they had to leave.

  “Alana, it was really wonderful meeting you,” Cameron said. “Maybe next time I can bring you some games to take home?”

  She nodded and smiled.

  “Paula, I can’t wait to see you again next week.”

  Paula grabbed him around the waist and he returned the hug. Alana remained beside Rachel by the exit. She gave a wave before leading the way out.

  Later, as they drove home, Alana decided to open her gift. Her mother asked if they were okay but made no mention of their father or their presents. Unwrapping the glossy pink paper, she held the box out to examine it. It was made of red velvet and Alana recognized something similar which her mother kept hidden in her jewellery box at home. It opened with a snap and inside, nestled on a cushion of silk, was a silver necklace.

  Pinching it tightly with forefinger and thumb, she raised it into the air. It sparkled in the setting sunlight and in the middle, five solid silver cubes were slotted next to each other. Each side had a different letter engraved and they were all jumbled up. Alana recognized a puzzle when she saw one and set to solve it at once.

  It took almost two minutes before she formed the first word, one which was very familiar: A-L-A-N-A. Sensing there were more words to be found, Alana swivelled the cubes until another word became clear: L-O-V-E-S. Still, two more sides could contain two more words. Just as they pulled into the driveway Alana cracked one more: D-A-D-D-Y.

  Twenty-five-year-old Alana fingered that same necklace which rested on her neck. She mouthed ALANA LOVES DADDY and snorted in disgust. She never could work out that final word. Though she had little love for the man Alana never had the heart to throw the thing away. In fact the last time they spoke, just prior to the accident, he specifically asked if she still had it. She brought it out from behind her jumper to show him, much to the man’s delight.

  “So they’re no further forward fixing your computers?”

  Paula’s voice transported her firmly back to the present.

  “Not as yet.”

  “It makes you wonder what else they can do, these hackers. You said all the media companies have been attacked?”

  “Yeah.”

  Alana hadn’t shared with her sister about her own workstation being targeted first. She hadn’t really gotten over the initial shock to process it fully. Until then she’d keep it to herself.

  The rain transformed to sleet as they drove back into the city. Pulling up alongside Alana’s flat, Paula put the Land Rover into neutral and rested her hand on her sister’s shoulder.

  “Everything will work out. But even if it doesn’t you know you can always come and live with us.”

  “The paper’s not going out of business,” Alana snapped. After an awkward pause she said, “I’m sorry. It’s been a horrible day.”

  “It’s okay, big sis. You better get inside before this turns to snow. I’ll see you at Mum’s tomorrow around six.”

  Alana nodded and unbuckled her seatbelt. Opening the door, she jumped out and ran at speed for a lonely, late lunch.

  Chapter 4

  6th November 18:24

  “Mum, can I switch on the news, please?”

  Although Alana had lived in the house for ten years before uni she always respected her mother’s wishes. One of the many rules Deborah White enforced was no TV during meals.

  A joint of piping-hot roast beef took centre stage at the table. Roasted potatoes toppled off the serving plates with baby carrots, mange touts and steamed sprouts. The party waited for Deborah to dish out the food, some more impatiently than others.

  Victor White hurled a roastie into his mouth and swallowed without chewing. His glasses were steamed but he paid no heed as he skewered some meat. Paula poured the drinks while Aunt Heather picked at her veg. Alana hovered by the television with the remote in her hand.

  “I’d rather you wouldn’t. Dinner’s for family not TV.”

  “But Mum, I need to hear about the attack.”

  Deborah’s thin lips drew together accentuating her age lines. Alana ignored the silent rebuke and pressed the button.

  “Did you manage to see the news earlier, Auntie Heather?”

  Heather was the favourite aunt. Her chin was pointed like Paula’s and she had a small, upturned nose like Alana.

  “Those hackers posted a video on the Internet,” she said.

  Alana hissed as her thumb hit the wrong button and the TV went black again. Her morning had been wasted listening to the Chairman of the Board droning on for hours about the seriousness of the situation and how his contacts in Westminster would soon kick things into touch. Then she missed the bus and had to share a taxi
with Danny. He wouldn’t shut up either, bombarding her with inane facts on dabbling in the stock exchange. She stared out the window as he tried to impress her but he eventually got the hint.

  The screen spluttered into life and Alana selected BBC News. The hacking video was the lead story and the anchor man spoke but no sound came out. She fumbled to turn up the volume just as they played the recording.

  The silhouette of someone filled the picture. It wasn’t clear whether it was a man or woman but the outline suggested they wore a hood. A female, south-English accent spoke and Alana recognized it as being similar to Siri, the computer generated voice of the iPhone. Everyone paused from eating to listen.

  “The media of this country has been selling lies as truth for too long. Hiding behind a false banner of freedom of speech and having the best interests of the public, they have abused the trust bestowed on them. Their lies they call spin and their hounding of the innocent and guilty they name the search for truth.

  “The media’s insatiable lust for power must now be addressed. They will be judged.

  “We are Wreckoning. We are agents for reform in a corrupt society. Many will call us socialists or fascists, others left-wing liberals. Tags do not concern us. We are all part of the same collective where respect should be a corner stone. We are not all equal and never should be. Respect for the diversity of humankind is essential.

  “The Great British press shows no respect. They believe they are above the natural law. As the government has proven powerless to tame their beast we have intervened to cage it.

  “A list of our demands to reform this potentially great bastion of society has been posted online. You have six days to conform to our terms. If you are unwilling to change then the days of Wreckoning will continue. The data we infiltrated is encrypted but still available. We are not thieves. Non-compliance to our demands, however, will result in its permanent deletion and with it the hypocrisy of the press. We will grant until noon on 12th November to state your reply. Justice will be served.”

  The voice ended its monologue. The dim lights brightened and the silhouetted figure was revealed. A person dressed in the Union Jack, the national flag of the United Kingdom, sat on a black chair facing the camera. The red, white, and blue fabric was woven into a hooded jacket. The cowl was pulled up to surround their head but their face was hidden by a skeleton mask. Its hollow eyes bored into the camera and the silent screaming mouth made Alana drop the remote, pausing the feed.

  “Turn that off,” Deborah said in disgust.

  Alana hit the switch then returned to the table.

  “Who the hell do they think they are?” Victor said, his glasses almost slipping off his nose.

  Deborah tutted. His wife hated foul language.

  “No one has the right to attack the press. They may not be perfect but they do a splendid job of informing the public of what’s happening in the world.”

  “Really?” Paula said. She put down her cutlery. “I’d hardly call them splendid. More like parasites. No offence, Alana.”

  Alana didn’t reply.

  “Where would we be without the news?” Victor said. “Back in the dark ages, that’s where.”

  “Would that be such a bad thing? Why should we have the right to pry into other people’s lives? If the shoe was on the other foot and they hunted you down how would you feel?”

  Victor rolled his eyes at his youngest stepdaughter. “You make them sound like predators. It’s the predators out there we need to know about. Those evil scumbags who break the law and couldn’t give a damn–” Deborah tutted, “–about anyone. Yes, I believe I should have the right to know.”

  “But Dad, that’s just fear talking. The press are scaremongers feeding everyone’s fears.”

  Victor turned to Alana for support. “And you’ve nothing to say in defence of your profession?”

  Alana folded her arms. “Maybe you’re both right. I’m not defending what these Wreckoning people have done but they have a point. No one regulates the press and neither should they but liberties have been taken. It’s not about freedom of speech when innocents are declared guilty before they can defend themselves.”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing this, especially from you Alana. Well, I want to know if some pervert’s running loose around my neighbourhood. It’s his fault his name gets into the papers. He only has himself to blame.”

  “And what about his family or having a chance of redemption?” Paula said firmly. “What about the victims and their families too?”

  Her Aunt Heather suddenly dropped her glass spilling orange cordial over the table cloth.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. Alana noticed her hand was shaking.

  Deborah handed over some kitchen roll. “Its that death mask that’s upset you. It’s a mockery of our national pride.”

  Heather bit her lip. “Excuse me,” she said. She stood up and left.

  Not wishing for the conversation to return to the media debate, Deborah asked Paula about Stephen.

  “Sleepy, thank goodness. I’ve been able to do the housework. Craig hates a mess when he comes home.”

  “He’s working late again?” her stepfather asked concentrating on spiking a carrot with his fork.

  “He’s, um, got a big investment portfolio he needs to focus on. He says he’s sorry he couldn’t make it.”

  She couldn’t hold her mother’s stare so changed the topic.

  “Alana and I visited Father’s grave yesterday.”

  An atmosphere surfaced like a dank mist over the White family. When no one replied Paula continued.

  “I can’t believe it’s been two years since the accident. He never got to meet his grandson.”

  Deborah and Victor refused to look up from their dinner but Alana noticed they weren’t eating.

  “Maybe if he’d spent more time with his daughters and less time jetting around the world I’d have more pity on him,” she said. She turned to her mother. “You had to raise two young children by yourself until you met Victor and he was more of a father to me than that man ever was.”

  There. She finally said it. Paula was still enamoured by her fantasy of a white knight and the whole notion repelled her.

  “He was still our father, Alana. He had his faults and maybe he should have been there for us more. That’s no slight on you, Dad. How you managed to cope I’ll never know.”

  Victor gave a slight smile.

  “Look who’s up.”

  Heather had returned with a very dazed and still sleepy Stephen in her arms. He tried to get his bearings by blinking and looking around the room. Discovering his mother, he pushed out his stubby arms.

  “There’s my little man,” Paula said and went to collect him.

  The sound of a roaring guitar blasted from the settee where Alana had dumped her jacket. She excused herself then went to fumble in the pocket. The number wasn’t one that she recognized.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said and left to go into the hallway, closing the door shut behind her.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello,” came a gruff, male voice that seemed vaguely familiar. “Is that Miss White?”

  “Who’s calling?”

  “It’s Inspector Grant.”

  Alana drew in a deep breath.

  “Hello, Michael. How can I help you?”

  A pause then, “I was wondering if you were free for a cup of coffee?”

  Chapter 5

  6th November 17:18

  Knock, knock.

  “Enter.”

  Michael opened the door and marched inside. He made sure not to let it slam shut.

  “Inspector Grant, take a seat.”

  The grizzly bear with a greying, walrus moustache pointed to the chair opposite. Michael adjusted the flaps of his uniform jacket, careful not to disturb the fake poppy fastened to the lapel. He sat down and placed his hat on his lap.

  Chief Constable Thomas Noble glared without speaking. Michael waited for the tirade t
o begin.

  “It’s been forty hours since the attack and so far I’ve received little leads from your department. Whitehall hasn’t stopped ringing all afternoon I still have nothing to report.”

  Noble’s broad neck bulged as the arteries tried desperately to feed his enormous head. He wasn’t fat exactly but had certainly gone to seed. As the top brass in Scotland Yard Noble took all negative remarks as a direct jibe against him. Michael noticed a bottle of blood pressure pills by the water dispenser. It was empty.

  “We’ve been working with MI5 and Interpol, sir. Over one hundred known computer hackers are being questioned. My team are interviewing William Rood as we speak. Unfortunately we haven’t been able to track down the source of the hack but we’re certain it was a combination of DDOS and Trojans combined with a Brute Force attack–”

  Michael stopped mid-flow as Noble raised a hefty hand.

  “For a moment please assume I know little about hacking. Explain it to me in plain English.”

  Michael’s face turned as red as his poppy. If you’d read my reports you might have a damn clue, he thought. Now that the cyber-attack was front-page news – or not as the case may be – the Chief Constable wanted to know everything.

  “The Internet is basically a group of computers all connected together. Security software helps stop unwanted traffic but a clever computer cracker can often bypass those safeguards.”

  “How?”

  “A Trojan Horse can pretend to be something harmless, like a computer game. When that malware opens it infects the computer and the network it’s connected to. It can remain hidden and idle ready to act when its master desires.”

  “And by master you mean the hacker?”

  “It could also be someone the hacker has sold the software to. Some malware records passwords and bank account details. All that information can be transmitted to the cracker and you’d be none the wiser.”

  Noble leant back on his plush leather chair which threatened to topple backwards. He locked his fingers and raised them to his chins. “And you think they used a Trojan Horse to infiltrate the media. Surely someone would have caught on?”