Wreckoning

by Lee Harding

He opened the attachment. The car continued to zoom along the rural road.

  “It’s the analysis of Wreckoning’s latest video. Merkel has amended a few of his previous theories but more or less agrees with his initial report. He believes at least one member was accused of a crime and that it went to trial but he or she was found not guilty. They spent a considerable time in prison on remand and now feel their role is to protect the innocent, whoever they may be. This is no run-of-the-mill burglar or drug dealer. They have little respect for the general public yet believe in a grand state of justice for society.”

  Charlie drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “That helps narrow our parameters. We can run a search against the Ministry of Justice’s database. I’ll make the call later.”

  “Has the report on Alana White been completed?”

  As Michael spoke her name something inside his chest lurched. He put it down to a bump in the road.

  “Almost. Carla and Julia are digging as we speak.”

  As the Mercedes rounded a bend the two police men caught sight of Maryland Prison in the near distance. It rose across the green landscape, a metallic thorn in the tranquil flesh of the countryside. Razor wire danced along the top of an unyielding concrete wall daring its occupants to try and flee. Tower-mounted security cameras kept an eagle eye’s watch and Michael became aware they were being monitored as they entered the visitors’ entrance. He had been here on one other occasion as a young patrol man transporting a prisoner from a Saturday special court. He was glad he lived on the other side of the wall.

  Maryland was a Category B and C prison housing less violent offenders. The detectives’ arrival coincided with a scheduled family and friends’ visit and Michael hung back to let them in. Sombre faces hiding many burdens would soon be masked with happy smiles to encourage their loved ones. In a place where twenty-three hour lock-ups were commonplace any chance to escape the cell for an hour was seized on. He never had a relative behind bars and felt a tinge of sadness and even guilt as he watched the long procession traipse in.

  Charlie led the way and after speaking with the officer at the desk they were shown to the searching area. A burly guard patted them down, examining the contents of their wallets and mobile phone. “You’ll need to leave these here,” he said. “There’s a set of lockers down the hall.”

  Past the lockers, Michael and Charlie were escorted to the professional visits area where solicitors met with their anxious clients. They entered a room not much bigger than a holding cell and sat down on two bolted chairs behind a graffiti ridden table.

  “How do you want to play this?” Charlie said.

  “Leave it to me,” Michael replied as the form of Robbie Clarke peered through the plastic window before entering.

  Clarke had lost forty pounds of blubber since the last time Michael had brought him in for questioning. He looked positively gaunt. His unkempt beard remained, however, and partially hid a fat pair of rubbery lips. He wore a navy jumpsuit and a pair of prison issued unbranded trainers.

  “Robbie. It’s wonderful to see you again.”

  Michael stood up to greet the inmate who stepped back in surprise. Michael held out an open hand waiting for Clarke to shake it. Clarke glanced behind him then slowly raised a limp wrist which the DCI shook with gusto.

  “Please, take a seat.”

  Expecting to be tripped or pushed against the wall, Clarke sidestepped them. Michael retook his seat opposite.

  “How are things?” he said.

  Clarke narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?”

  “Robbie, I’m hurt. I thought you might have wanted to catch us up on what’s been happening in your life. I hope the accommodation is satisfactory but you mustn’t be enjoying the food. I’m not sure I like the new light version.”

  “My life’s a living hell in here, is that what you want to hear? I haven’t even gone to trial yet because computer forensics are swamped with other cases.”

  Michael tutted but Charlie showed no expression. “No money in the budget, Robbie. Schools and hospitals always get priority over criminals.”

  “I haven’t been found guilty so I’m technically not a criminal.”

  “But a criminal is someone who commits a crime. And you have committed many crimes, haven’t you?”

  Clarke went to speak but changed his mind. His big, rubbery lips wriggled together like a pair of breeding worms.

  “You managed to sneak out of our investigation but unfortunately for you got into another scrape. Being part of a hacking group that robs the elderly of their pension is a serious offence. And with all the commotion regarding Wreckoning I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes when the judge hands down your sentence. Eight to ten from what I hear with some major license conditions when you finally get out.”

  “Why are you here?” Clarke’s voice was low but came out like a growl.

  “Mr Knox. Formerly of the @LOLz hacker group you were part of. We want to know who he is and where he is.”

  A sharp, harsh laugh sounded from within the wiry beard.

  “Him? You came out here to ask about him? I’m afraid it’s impossible for me to talk about him.”

  “Ten years is a long time, Robbie. How old are you? Twenty-six? You’ll serve at least five which means you’ll be celebrating your thirtieth birthday with your cell mate. I wouldn’t like that. Sergeant Mace wouldn’t like that–” Charlie remained impassive, “and I’m sure your mother wouldn’t like that. Hilary, isn’t it?”

  “I told you. I can’t tell you about him.”

  “Are you scared, Robbie? Has Knox got something on you or your family?”

  “It’s impossible–”

  “We can help, Robbie. We can provide you with protection and maybe get the CPS to knock some years off. No one has to know you told us, Robbie. Just give me a name.”

  Clarke’s hands were shaking as he rested them on the table. He closed his eyes as if praying. Michael prayed too that he would take the bait.

  “I want that in writing and I want my case to appear in court by next month.”

  “No problem. Tell me his name.” Michael held his breath.

  “I can’t. I don’t know it, honestly. But I know someone who does. He wasn’t part of @LOLz but we met in a chat room a few times and became friends. He called himself Pockman.”

  Michael sat back and turned to Charlie whose mouth opened in surprise. They had questioned Pockman only ten days earlier and had let him go.

  “You mean Willy Rood knows Mr Knox?”

  “Knows Knox? They were having a fling.”

  Despite himself Charlie scrunched up his face. “But Willy Rood has a girlfriend and a baby on the way. Are you saying he’s secretly gay?”

  “No, you idiot,” Clarke said. “Isn’t it obvious? Mr Knox is a woman and from what Willy told me she’s a right stunner.”

  Once back in the car Charlie phoned Scotland Yard to lift Rood immediately.

  “I can’t believe that little slime ball tricked me.”

  “That’s why he was really scared,” Michael replied. “He knew if his girlfriend found out he was having an affair he wouldn’t be able to see his child.”

  “I’m going to throttle him when I see him.” Charlie tightened his grip on the wheel.

  Michael powered on his tablet then logged in to his email. One new message from Julia Jacobs flashed up.

  Hi Michael

  Noble is stalking the office looking for you so be warned.

  Carla and I have finished the check on Alana White and found out she was referred to the psychology ward of the Great Elizabeth hospital as a teenager. She was being aggressive and having severe bouts of depression. It seems she was upset about her mother remarrying.

  Michael paused. I thought her parents still lived together, he thought then continued reading.

  Victor White is Alana’s stepfather. It took a while but we found out who her biological father is, or should I say was, as he died two years ago in a boating a
ccident. His name was Cameron Faith and he had a record. He was arrested twenty-third years ago when Alana was two and was sentenced to ten years, serving half in prison. I’ve listed his charges below. It’s not nice reading.

  Michael trawled the rest of the email. Julia was right, it wasn’t nice. Poor Alana, he thought, how did you manage to survive that?

  Chapter 14

  16th November 20:10

  “Alana? I wasn’t expecting to see you this evening. Is everything all right?”

  “Dad, is Mum home?”

  “She’s in the kitchen.”

  Victor moved out of the way as Alana entered and pushed open the living room door.

  “I thought I heard your voice,” Deborah said. She was setting down two cups of tea. “Would you like a cuppa?”

  “Mum, we need to talk.”

  Deborah’s smile at the surprise visit vanished as she saw her daughter’s face. “What’s happened?”

  “I need to speak with you about Cameron Faith.”

  Victor stood behind them. Hearing the name he said:

  “I’ll go out for a walk and let you talk in private.”

  “Nonsense,” his wife said. “Sit down and drink your tea. Alana and I can go into the lounge.”

  Leaving Victor standing, Deborah led Alana back to the hallway and into the lounge. This was the special room, the one reserved for important guests like the minister or wealthy friends. A three-seat plush sofa striped in creams and greens was encompassed by an army of porcelain figurines. Ballet dancers, angels, and naughty little boys holding scruffy dogs had their tales cast.

  Deborah sat on the centre of the settee and motioned for Alana to sit in the matching chair. Instead, Alana sat beside her mother. Deborah shuffled to accommodate her and hid her discomfort of such close contact.

  “Why the sudden interest?” she said.

  “For some reason Cameron’s name keeps cropping up. I didn’t tell you but someone’s been sending me emails about him. I spoke with my old professor and he says my father was some sort of genius who owned a thriving computer business when bam, he disappears off the face of the earth.”

  Her mother listened without moving.

  “I did the maths. He left two months before Paula was born and a week before I turned two. He didn’t fly away on business and wasn’t involved in any other company that I can find. Then five years later he resurfaces in London to finally visit his two daughters. What happened, Mum? Tell me the truth, no matter what it is. I really want to know.”

  Deborah White stared past her daughter’s face as if focussing on something distant. A darkness in her eyes hinted it was unpleasant.

  “Understand I was trying to protect you and Paula. Cameron was my husband and I believed I knew who he was. But it turned out I didn’t. I really didn’t know him at all.”

  “Please, Mum. What happened?”

  “You were a toddler at the time. I remember he left for work as usual that morning. We waved at him through the front window. I was packing up your things when I heard a knock on the door. I didn’t recognize the two ladies when I answered but I guessed straight away.

  “They were police officers. At first I thought something terrible had happened to your father. We sat down and you were watching a cartoon on the TV as they told me something that would change all our lives forever. Cameron had been arrested but they wouldn’t tell me why. They were afraid of putting me into further shock since I was heavily pregnant with your sister. I urged them and they said it had something to do with your aunts when they were younger.”

  Alana felt her head go light. Her eyes closed as she swooned. Deborah grabbed her shoulder to prevent her from falling.

  “Alana? Are you okay? Open your eyes.”

  Alana’s head swam as bile rushed up her gullet. She was sick over the end of the coffee table.

  “Victor. Quickly.”

  Alana heard a door being flung open then the sound of heavy footsteps. Victor found his wife holding back her daughter’s pale body from toppling off the sofa. He ran to pull her up and pushed a cushion under her neck.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he kept saying, surveying the sick on the floor.

  “Dad, can you get me a drink of water?” Alana said weakly.

  “Of course,” he said and went back out.

  “Mum, tell me what happened.”

  Unsure whether to disclose any more, Deborah decided to relay little else.

  “He was remanded and eventually sentenced. He got ten years for what he did which wasn’t nearly enough. I divorced him while he was inside and have tried my best to forget him. I’m sorry Alana but your father was a bad man.”

  Chapter 15

  20th November 12:02

  Michael checked his watch for the third time that hour. Twenty-eight minutes until the second strike.

  A row of nervous faces was directed to the man in the navy suit at the head of the table. He was the most powerful man in the country next to the King himself. He usually stood next to world leaders but today he sat only four places away from Michael on the eve of the greatest threat the country had witnessed since Hitler declared war on Europe.

  Prime Minister Max Martin took a long swallow of bottled water. He had been elected three years ago in a hoopla that rivalled even Obama’s inauguration as the first black man to take such an esteemed office. Martin wasn’t as tall or lanky as Obama. Standing at 5’10” his advisors made him wear heeled shoes and hid his pot belly with a pin-sharp, tailored suit. Colour was vital in relaying a message to the media and thus the world. To express solidarity with an allied nation a charcoal jacket and yellow tie would be worn. To demonstrate power and show his enemies he meant business, navy with a white shirt and red tie was a requisite.

  Today only one enemy was on the agenda.

  “You mean to tell me you’ve made no arrests? None of the members of Wreckoning are behind bars and you ask me to trust you that they’re unable to make good on their threat?”

  “Prime Minister, that’s not totally accurate,” Olsen replied. “We have a hacker in custody.”

  “Is he part of Wreckoning?”

  “He’s a known associate. I’m quite certain he’ll give them up soon.”

  Michael was as surprised as any that Willy Rood hadn’t revealed the identity of the elusive Mr Knox, or Miss Knox, as they now called her. There had been four days of threats and gruelling interrogations but nothing, no results. Rood was a tough nut to crack which worried Michael greatly. Who was he trying to protect?

  “One of them’s a woman. Equal rights groups will be pleased,” Martin said with a flick of his hand. “Remind me why our systems of law and order will be safe today?”

  Olsen swept the sweat from his huge eyebrows. “We have assurances from Hydra Security that another attack is impossible. All non-emergency resources have been disabled, the courts have been cancelled, prisons have been locked down and additional police personnel have been deployed.”

  A stout woman with a sour face interrupted. “That’s correct, Prime Minister,” the Minister for Defence said. “I have personally liaised with the Chiefs of Police and they’re confident they can handle any interruption. Speed cameras are all offline, though.”

  “What a shame, Georgina. How will the British public survive a day without speed cameras?” Martin said with a sneer. “I want to assure our citizens they are safe and will remain so.”

  “And so you can, sir,” a nameless senior civil servant said.

  Ignoring the yes man, Martin ordered for the television to be switched on. Michael had to turn his seat to see it.

  “I suppose we better hear what the news channels are saying about me,” the PM said with a frown. The volume was turned up.

  “With the promised attack only minutes away, Prime Minister Max Martin has so far been unavailable for comment. An aide spokesperson told the BBC he is currently in an emergency meeting in Downing Street.

  “Meanwhile his political opponents
were eager to respond. Donald Bruntly, leader of the opposition, was quoted as saying, ‘The Prime Minister hides in his fortress while the fabric of society is torn to pieces by a faceless enemy. How can we expect these terrorists to fear us if our so-called figurehead is nowhere to be seen? Anarchy on the Internet will transcend to the streets. What has Max Martin got to say about that?’”

  “Turn that stupid idiot off,” the Prime Minister yelled and an aide quickly changed channels. It showed a live debate between a barrister, an online rights activist, and a politician. The barrister was directing her ire at the student wearing a SOS t-shirt – Save Our Speech.

  “So you believe these hackers have every right to attack my profession and the laws I have sworn to protect?”

  “They should have the right to speak their version of the truth. You would have them all put against the wall and shot for treason,” the be-speckled youth countered.

  “I’ll have you know I abhor capital punishment. Freedom of speech is one thing but forcing your demands on a nation is something entirely different.”

  “What about the other hackers that have got in on the action?” the politician interjected. “We’ve seen a major increase in hacking-related crime in the past fortnight. They want to bring anarchy to the UK.”

  “If that’s their view then they should be allowed to express it,” the youth continued. “Maybe if our government didn’t try to silence us or spy on everything we do we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

  That set off another barrage of insults and the expression on the Prime Minister’s face told the aide to change channels again.

  A news reporter with pink ears and a pink microphone to match was standing on a very familiar spot.

  “I am outside Number 10 where the Prime Minister is set to address the nation after the 12:30 deadline. My time piece says it is now 12:29. What will happen in the next few minutes?”

  That question echoed around the cabinet room. It seemed to take forever for the seconds to tick by. Then the time arrived.

  A collective buzz swarmed through the room like the interior of a hive. The queen bee clenched his chest as if suffering a coronary. But it was only his mobile phone which vibrated. Like the others he had received a text message. Michael swiped on his screen.