by Lee Harding
“Cyber security firms like Hydra Security are usually on top of things but this dates back six months.”
“You mean we’ve been sitting on a ticking time bomb for half a year?”
Michael cleared his throat. “It appears so, sir.”
“And they’ve deleted all the media’s data. Can’t it be retrieved?”
“They haven’t actually deleted anything. The information still exists except it’s been encrypted. It’s impossible to access without the correct decryption key.”
Noble unlocked his fingers and slammed his palms down on the desk. The boom made Michael tighten his jaw.
“I thought the boffins could crack all forms of encryption? Have you liaised with the NSA?”
Michael suppressed a smile at the mention of the National Security Agency. The US department had its dirty little secrets exposed by former employees. “I’m afraid the NSA is refusing to help. They’re under strict orders to deal with their own national activities only.”
“Mmm, we’ll see about that,” Noble mumbled through his moustache. “What about back-ups? Can’t these companies just stick in a new drive and install a previous day’s information?”
“That’s what we’re advising but it’s not as simple as that. Whole networks need to be configured and the price of hard drives has gone through the roof. The big players are at an advantage but even they’re facing problems of scale.”
“And meanwhile there’s the deadline of 12th November.”
“Yes, sir.”
Noble walked to the window and peered out to the sprawling metropolis skyline.
“This will be devastating to the economy, Grant. I heard that the FTSE is down three hundred points already.”
Michael glanced at his watch as his boss fell silent.
“Give me your honest analysis of who these people are.”
“They’re highly motivated and highly skilled and I deem their expertise to be unparalleled. They’re able to carry out the threats they make and they must have some financial backing. This isn’t the work of some school kids in their parents’ basement. It’s organized, systematic, probably planned years in advance.”
“What makes you think they have someone providing financial assistance?”
“The equipment needed to crack the media’s security isn’t cheap. We’re talking about supercomputers not to mention the talent required to operate them.”
“Are you investigating unusual purchases of these supercomputers?”
“Yes and no, sir. You can’t simply walk into a store and pick one up. We’re checking with regulated universities along with IBM, Microsoft, and other corporations.”
“Is this another government then like China or Russia? I’ve heard they attacked America during the elections.”
“It seems to be a deeply personal vendetta and for that reason I have ruled out an attack from a foreign nation. The British press isn’t an essential service like the power grid or water mains. If another country wanted to disarm us they would target vital systems first.”
“You seem sure it’s not just one person.”
“It requires a team effort to mount an attack of this magnitude. Also, they refer to themselves as we not I. I’ve ordered a full psychological profile on the video. I will send you the report by tomorrow afternoon.”
Nolan returned to his desk and slid Michael a piece of paper. “What do you make of these?”
Michael had read and memorized the bulleted list an hour after it went online. Wreckoning had uploaded the demands onto an untraceable web server in Russia. At first glance Michael thought them quite reasonable but declined to share his opinion with his supervisor.
“It’s a smokescreen. They’ll attack again regardless if we give in,” he said.
Noble leant closer. “Attack again?”
“The video clearly states this is their first attack.”
Noble’s mouth hung open. Michael could see three shiny fillings glistening at the back.
“Grant, I want you to report to me every hour on the hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
Michael retrieved his hat and stood up. He left his superintendent recoiling at the prospect of further strikes.
One thing puzzled him, though. His gut concluded this was personal to the hackers. The press was responsible for many destroyed lives but no one had attacked them as a collective group. It was the final statement in the video: Justice will be served. Justice implied wrongdoing. At least one member of Wreckoning had been personally affected by the British press and now sought vengeance. It must have been a national story too otherwise they would have targeted the offending newspaper. The real question was what not why.
Entering the elevator, Michael skimmed down the array of buttons to Level 3. A minute later the metallic doors unfolded with the accompanying ping and he stepped out into the quarters of the Cyber Terrorism Unit. His heeled, polished shoes clipped off the marble alerting his staff to his presence.
Many years earlier during the formation of CTU his team was relegated to a basement office barely large enough to house a filing cabinet. The notion of cyber terrorism was an in-house joke and CTU was cobbled together to keep the cretins in Westminster happy. It was more of a public relations exercise than a serious attempt to tackle a growing problem.
He recalled being head-hunted to lead the new unit. During his years in Homicide he earned the reputation of being tenacious and never backing down. In one way his persistence served him well but it prevented him from rising higher up the ranks. Those in senior positions showed little love for an outspoken voice that put work before politics.
It came as a shock then when the job of leading CTU was offered. At thirty-six he would be the youngest Inspector in Scotland Yard’s history to head such a task force. Recognizing it as an attempt to dump an unwanted position on an unwanted employee, he accepted the post regardless. This would be an opportunity to work around the yes-men and carve his own niche in a problem few thought was worthy to waste time on.
Still in its infancy, cyber terrorism was a nuclear missile being pieced together. Soon it would be complete and when it launched the world would see its destructive power but by then it would be too late. Michael was one of the few who agreed with the warnings, that the days of physical warfare would soon be eclipsed by the rising mushroom cloud of digital terrorism. So he got to work recruiting a hand-picked staff that he knew and trusted.
First was Charlie Mace. They were partners for four years in Homicide before Charlie was transferred to Traffic and not by his own request. An affair led to a messy divorce which descended into a bout of depression. Michael had gone through a similar ordeal. He chose to immerse himself in his work as a means of therapy but Charlie fell to the bottle. There were accusations of a gambling addiction too but Michael always remained firm by his friend’s side. They met frequently at The Plod, the local bar not far from the Yard, where Michael always paid the bill. Many remarked how he could remain with a gawky ginger loser but he would never desert a friend. They trusted each other implicitly and Charlie jumped at the chance at working as Michael’s number two.
Michael then approached Carla Rivers. Carla wasn’t known for her tech savviness but as the mother of three boys and two girls she could maintain discipline no matter the circumstances. Also she was the best investigator Michael had ever known. Her help in the arrest of the Cockney Cannibal by tracing a piece of broken tooth led him to ask for her transfer. When he explained how her skill set could be easily transposed to the digital world she smiled. Carla would be next in rank and control the department when he wasn’t there.
Julia Jacobs was number three on his radar. She had an extensive knowledge on cyber warfare techniques and was just as determined to commence battle as Michael was. Then there was Stevie Jackson. At twenty-seven he still acted like a teen and surrounded himself with gizmos and gadgets. He once worked in the private sector as a computer programmer before
joining the force. Before Michael swooped him up he had been working on surveillance of suspected drug smugglers in an emerging technology called ‘the dark web’.
The motley crew cliché was overused but Michael took pride when he overheard those whispers about his little team. Although his superiors had limited plans for them, Michael wanted to create an immediate impact. The three arrests of Islamic extremists caught everyone by surprise. Then the foiled attack on the London Underground, intelligence gleaned directly from his band of misfits. The higher-ups begrudgingly increased the department’s budget and Michael rewarded his team well. Their new accommodation finally offered some sunlight and with an additional staff of twenty the third floor of Scotland Yard was buzzing.
As he went to open his office door, Charlie called out:
“Mike, you got a sec?”
“Sure. Give me five minutes to change.”
The full dress uniform was for show only. Noble regarded form more than functionality even when it came to matters of grave importance. Michael stripped off the suit and stepped into his black trousers and black shirt. His tie was fastened to the neck but the top button was left undone. He slipped on his shoes and surveyed his office. Feng Shui played no part in his consideration to the layout of the room but the precision of efficient space would make a visitor think otherwise. Everything had its place, nothing was out of alignment. Even the pens on his desk were ordered by length. Charlie often teased him about his OCD but he never looked at it that way. An uncluttered life meant an uncluttered mind which was essential in his line of work. Still the jibes about the cold emptiness often stung. Taking the messiness of life away might be more efficient but in doing so removed warmth. Especially the warmth of a woman in his life.
A knock sounded. Charlie entered wearing a grimace.
“We’ve just finished interviewing Willy Rood aka Pockman,” he said, resting his back against the wall.
Michael wanted to take part in the questioning of the known hacker but had to delegate the task due to the impromptu meeting with Noble.
“I don’t think he has anything to do with the attack. He’s still on license from his last sentence and his girlfriend’s just had a baby. He’s more scared of her than he is of us.”
“Part of his license stated no access to a computer if I recall?”
“He can’t go near one otherwise he goes straight to jail. No passing ‘GO’, no £200. He was practically weeping when I led him into the interview room.”
“And what makes you think he knows nothing?”
Charlie smiled. “You know me too well, Mike. I hit him immediately with ‘you’re the prime suspect in this investigation’ and he nearly died of a coronary. He rambled on and on about trying to live a decent life and that he’s got a steady job in a supermarket. I told him we had intelligence that said he was part of Wreckoning. He’d be charged with treason which could carry a life sentence and, I said, even today carries the death penalty.”
Charlie let his threat hang for several seconds just as he’d done with Willy Rood.
“That’s when he began blubbering. We had to pause the tape so Julia could bring him some tissues. To strike while the iron was hot I told him that if he cooperated then perhaps we wouldn’t have to pursue the full set of charges. I swear I could see a battle raging in his head before he opened up.”
“What did he say?”
“He’d been hearing rumours for over a year that something big was going to happen. Someone with a lot of cash was hiring and only the elite should apply.”
“And did he?”
Charlie laughed. “He defrauded old age pensioners using malware. No, the person hiring needed expertise and those who would be willing to use it.”
“Does this person have a name?”
“Willy told me it was just some guy but I think he knows more.”
Michael rose to circle his desk. He tapped his chin while Charlie waited.
“I want you to let him go.”
“But Mike–”.
“Later this evening. Let him sweat a little more.”
Charlie knew not to ask further. “There’s one more thing,” he said. “Stevie’s been trawling though Alana White’s computer.”
“Did he find anything?”
“Seems it’s like all the others. The data still exists but it’s been encrypted. He says that particular algorithm is unbreakable, by the way. Anyway, he managed to detect a file that wasn’t encrypted. A simple text document.”
Charlie withdrew a sheet of paper from his pocket. Michael straightened out the creases and turned it length ways to read it.
“Get me Alana White’s phone number,” he said. “I believe we need to have a chat.”
Chapter 6
7th November 11:27
The bells of St. Paul’s Cathedral resounded along the shops of Ludgate Hill. Tourists bustled by trying their best to fight against the gale. The rain had eased but dark storm clouds were sailing in from the west.
Alana checked her phone for the third time in ten minutes. She looked to the window, peering past the café’s logo on the smudged glass, and up the street. She had always cherished St. Paul’s. Perhaps it stemmed from her favourite film when she was a little girl; Mary Poppins. As her order arrived she found herself humming feed the birds, tuppence a bag.
The waiter set down an oversized mug of hot chocolate. Mini pink marshmallows bobbed on a fluffy blanket of whipped cream. She took a tentative sip and licked the froth from her lips.
The entrance to the café swung inwards and in stepped the man she had been dreaming of. Inspector Michael Grant was wearing a different trench coat today. This one was a deep charcoal and tailor made. His silver tie was done in a Windsor knot and matched his black shirt. He still hadn’t shaved but the stubble was neat and ended at the rim of his jaw. The battering wind had done little to impact that impeccable mop of lustrous black hair. He flicked the only stray strand away and glanced around the room. Spotting her, he smiled.
The elfin young woman was sitting in the corner next to the window. Michael sensed her staring at him as he scanned the room. As he smiled as a sign of recognition he noticed her blush and look down at her phone. She was cute. No, cute would describe a puppy chasing its toy. This woman was beautiful in a way that he had never considered. He instinctively went for tall, bleached-blonde buxoms who ravished him with flirtatious eyes and pouting lips. His ex-wife was the prime example and look how that had ended. This petite girl with lazy ringlets and soft cheeks drew him in a different direction.
“Good morning, Michael.”
Good, no formalities, he thought.
“Good morning, Alana. May I?”
She offered him the seat at the other end of the cosy couch and he sat down.
“I’m sorry but I needed warming up so I ordered already.”
“No problem at all,” Michael said as he took off his jacket and draped it over the chair. Alana couldn’t help but notice his prominent shoulder muscles. “I hope I’m not too late?”
“No, it’s perfect timing. Eleven-thirty on the dot.”
“I’m glad you were willing to meet on such short notice.”
“I can’t work from the office at the moment seeing as you still have my computer.”
Michael didn’t respond. He would save that particular item of discussion for later. He changed the subject to her.
“I wonder if you could share a few things with me. How did you come to work in The Unbiased Reporter?”
“I started as an intern at the end of my degree. That was three years ago. Roger liked my work and my attitude and decided to give me a job when I graduated. I mostly cover the mundane like death notices and magistrate’s court although recently I was helping to launch the new website.”
“And you have experience doing that?”
“Like I told you on Monday I studied IT as well as journalism in Uni. The others in the office are computer illiterate except for working with Quark.”
<
br /> “Quark?”
“It’s the software we use to publish the paper. It’s an industry standard.”
They were interrupted by the waiter who took Michael’s order before returning to the back.
“Tell me more about the staff at your office.”
Alana shrugged. “What’s there to say? I haven’t worked anywhere else but I would think it’s a pretty normal setup for a local newspaper. Roger you’ve met. Smitty is the sergeant of the troop. He’s been there twenty years.”
“That would be Aaron Smith?”
“That’s right. Audrey Pearce has been working there for around five years, I think, and Danny Larkin started six months before me. Oh, and there’s Deirdre Hawkins.”
Michael recognized the tone of animosity when Alana mentioned Deirdre’s name but decided to let it pass. Their files on Deirdre Hawkins showed no criminal history or anything that would indicate she was connected to cyber terrorism.
“And your boss, Roger. How would you define your relationship with him?”
She took a long sip of her cocoa. “Roger’s a decent editor and an alright boss. It took a great deal of persuasion to make him bring the idea of an online presence to Sir Ian.”
She saw the confusion.
“The Chairman of our Board of Directors. I had to do all the legwork, of course. Printing off research about the rise of the cyber media and how it would complement not eradicate the traditional newspaper.”
“So you’re saying it was your idea to start the website?”
“Not totally. I mean, we all had our say in the office. It was Smitty who finally convinced Roger that to survive in the 21st century we had to keep up with the public’s way of consuming the news. Laptops, tablets, phones – they’re all rivals to the printing press. But we report the news, not the format it’s presented on.”
“So all your systems were upgraded to integrate with the new website?” Michael said. He was unable to take his eyes off this energetic and intelligent woman as she waved her hands around while answering his questions.
