by Lee Harding
Are you really glad your father is dead?
It made her stop and consider. The business card nudged her thumb. She lifted it and read the details again. Gavin had asked her not to judge her father too quickly.
Forwarding the new anonymous email to Professor Phillip, Alana began composing a message to her late father’s counsellor. If there was more to this story then she had to know.
Chapter 18
22nd November 04:00
“This is the police. Stay where you are.”
The half-naked man with dreadlocks and dishevelled beard stood perfectly still with his back to the Armed Response Unit. Red lasers pierced through the little light to train on his head. Three large dots circled ready to puncture through his cranium if he dared move.
“Raise your hands then slide slowly onto your belly.”
The suspect was trembling as he attempted to follow their instructions without falling on his face. He felt his arms being twisted behind his waist and a tag tightening around his wrists. A black boot pressed against the nape of his neck.
“Where is she?”
“Don’t know what you mean. I live alone, man”
The accent was thick Caribbean, probably Jamaican. The officer raised his head to sweep the scene. His night-vision goggles made darkness as day. A short hallway led to an open-plan living area with two doors to the left. The television was high against the wall and an exercise ball sat below it. There was a vase of flowers on the table.
The man on the floor muffled a scream as the boot cut into head.
“She’s in the bedroom.”
Like ghosts the team glided forwards. One lowered his weapon and gripped the handle. He twisted it and slammed the door. In a split second the trio had entered and scanned the bedroom for signs of their primary target. The bed clothes were upturned and a set of curtains flapped like a giant bat with the chilly breeze sweeping from the open window.
They checked under the bed then flung open the wardrobe but only found some dresses and a negligee. Outside a fire escape was affixed to the brickwork but was deserted. They doubled back and opened the other door to the bathroom. Reluctantly the leader sent his transmission.
“Oscar Niner. One male suspect detained. Primary target is missing, repeat missing. Over.”
Michael received the update two floors below.
“Lima Six, is the area secure? Over.”
“Roger, Oscar Niner. Over.”
“Copy. We will rendezvous with you shortly. Out.”
Damn. Michael turned to Charlie and grimaced. Twelve uniformed police officers awaited their Inspector’s orders.
“Go upstairs and search the place thoroughly.”
When they joined the assault team, Michael ensured he was the first to enter. A bare chested black man in his early thirties was propped up against the wall. The light from the lamp revealed a terrified and confused detainee who kept looking towards the open bedroom. Michael ignored him and walked to the left, passing the edge of the sofa.
It appeared as though Tara Lucas had heard someone at her front door, told her lover to check the commotion, then when she heard the police knock it down, opened the window and fled. He stood to take everything in. The mattress was queen size to accommodate the moderate space. The floor was carpeted and a pair of pink slippers lay by his feet. The single wardrobe had been forced to the side when the assault team checked it for hiding suspects. A folded sweater had fallen out and flopped over a crease in the carpet. A clock on the wall stated the time was 04:13.
Leaning outside, Michael grabbed hold of the frosted metal of the fire escape. Charlie peered over his shoulder.
“She won’t last long out there, Mike. Probably die of hypothermia before we can catch her.”
Michael pulled himself inside. Something wasn’t right. He went back to the main room and called to one of his uniformed officers.
“What have you found?”
“We’re examining every square inch, sir. We got her car keys and handbag.”
“Any mobile phone?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Keep searching.”
The officer joined his colleagues who were dismantling a bookshelf. She must have taken it with her. A loud sniffle turned his attention to the semi-naked suspect in dreadlocks who still had a red laser dot burrowing into his chest.
“Get him up,” Michael ordered and the assault team hoisted the man to his feet.
“What’s your name?”
“L..Lenny.”
“Where’s Tara, Lenny?”
“She were in the bedroom, I swear. I heard a noise then you bust in.” His accent took a few seconds for Michael to fully grasp what he was saying.
“Where’s her computer?”
“She don’t have one.”
The wide eyes, high shoulders, and raised brows meant he was telling the truth.
“Have you a photograph of her?”
“On my phone in my jeans. They’re in the bathroom.”
Charlie went to retrieve Lenny’s mobile and gave it to Michael. It was an older generation iPhone with no security pass. He pressed the icon for the Photos app. A series of thumbnails showed some selfies of Lenny with his arm around an attractive red head. She had shoulder-length hair, smooth arching cheekbones, and a high forehead. Her leafy-green irises sparkled as she smiled into the camera.
“That her?” He flipped the screen towards Lenny.
“Yeah.”
Michael took Charlie to the side. “If your house was on fire and you had to grab just one thing what would it be?”
“Probably my phone, why?”
“So did Tara Lucas but I don’t think she got far.”
He tapped the Contacts app and scrolled down until he found her name in the list. A fraction of a second later a ring tone sounded from the bedroom before being terminated.
The assault team leapt up and rushed in followed by Michael and the others.
“Sergeant, she’s behind the wardrobe.”
With a heave they wrenched it out from the wall to discover a hidden closet.
“Tara, we know you’re in there so come out and save us the bother of having to smash your flat up,” Michael said.
Within ten seconds the wooden panel shifted to the side and a young, red-headed woman stuck her face out. Unlike her boyfriend she seemed unafraid, even having a smile on her face. The three armed officers lifted her out of the hole. Michael could see a laptop on a bench behind her.
“Good of you to join us,” he said. She didn’t reply.
“Tara Lucas, I am arresting you on charges relating to cyber terrorism. You have the right to remain silent but anything you do say may be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand what I’ve told you?”
“I’m shocked the courts are still operational,” came the Scottish accent which surprised him. “Didn’t Wreckoning serve them proper justice?” She sat on the bed, her wrists handcuffed together.
“Mr Knox tried to but it seems we’ve just arrested him, or is that her? You’re the notorious online hacker Mr Knox, are you not?”
She smiled but said nothing.
“Aren’t you intrigued as to how we found you? I’m sure a brilliant mind like yours is racing through all the possibilities. Perhaps it was a sloppy piece of coding we traced here?”
Tara’s lips were closed and curled up at the corners as she listened.
“No, you’re too good to do something as silly as that. Then someone sold you out but whom? Rest assured it’s not Lenny out there. He hasn’t a clue about your other identity. Maybe he would like to hear this though.”
Charlie backed out and returned with Lenny, his hands tied behind him.
“Tara? Where you go? You okay?”
She ground her teeth behind the faltering veneer of indifference but remained quiet.
“You were set-up, Tara,” Michael said, “ratted out by your own team. And by the way, we know all about your account in the Cayman Islands which is now f
rozen just like the thousands of solicitors’ around the country.”
“You bastards.”
Tara screamed and tried to jump but was firmly pushed back on the mattress.
“Did I hit a nerve?”
“That money is mine. I earned it. You have no right.”
“Is that the definition of irony, boss?” Charlie said.
“Tara, the money is the least of your troubles. You are looking at several decades in prison. You’ll be having your menopause in there and still won’t get out. However, if you help us stop the third attack then the judge will be lenient.”
“You’re joking, right? After his private life has been shared with the world?”
“There are powers above the judge, Tara. Powers that have greater clout but I’m sure you already know that. Help them by helping us and things won’t be that bad.”
Tara wanted to cry, Michael could hear it in her voice, but she remained strong.
“Tell me who betrayed me and I’ll share what I know.”
Michael’s bluff had been called. Tara was staring right into his eyes. He had no other choice.
“Willy Rood. Your friend and former lover.”
“That little shit,” she said and slammed her fists against her thighs.
“It took us days to break him, though. We threatened to show some explicit images you sent him to his girlfriend who, by the way, is expecting a baby girl next month. He melted like butter and gave you up. As thick as thieves I believe the expression goes.”
“You seeing Willy behind me back?” Lenny said, his bottom lip quivering.
Tara’s face had broken out in blotchy, red welts. She disregarded her boyfriend and addressed Michael instead.
“All of this doesn’t matter. In five days’ time this country will be destroyed. You can cut a head off but another will replace it. Wreckoning can’t be stopped no matter what you do to me.”
Michael sighed to himself. She wasn’t going to break easily. “Take them downstairs, Sergeant.”
The assault leader forced Tara to her feet and his two colleagues led her and Lenny from the room leaving Michael and Charlie alone.
“I’ll get them to tag all of the computer equipment, Mike.”
“There’s probably no point. She had enough time to zero the drives and destroy any links to Wreckoning.”
Michael narrowed his eyes trying in vain to formulate his next move. “I believe we’ve met a dead end here.”
Chapter 19
22nd November 16:30
Rioting intensified and the Mayor called in the military. Images of troops riding green trucks past Trafalgar Square were reminiscent of a foreign civil war. The social media stratosphere was in meltdown. Posts varied from anti-government hate to warnings of no-go areas. A virtual map pin-pointed the latest violent black spots. Alana watched as another red circle appeared over Piccadilly Circus. As the 27th November approached darkness loomed.
A news report said a member of Wreckoning had been apprehended. Wreckoning did not respond. And why should they? Even if they don’t carry out their attack society is destroying itself, she thought. The Prime Minister gave a stern warning to all law breakers. He vowed to identify the looters and rioters and bring them to justice. But they didn’t care. Facing a greater threat had abolished their inhibitions. Nothing was as dangerous as someone without hope.
Was it anarchy or mere frustration? Alana could see both strands in the surviving media’s coverage of what was coined the British Revolution. Except there were no guillotines to behead the avaricious aristocracy only wild panic driven by a desire to save wealth. The dark underbelly of society was becoming exposed and each individual’s wanton desire to protect their modern way of life came to the fore.
But if Alana was true to herself she knew that the rioters were a minor reason for not wanting to return home. Since the revelations concerning her father she yearned to be among close family. Paula spoke nothing more about the file and Alana was glad. They would deal with it in their own way. For now they acted like loving sisters and Aunt Alana was the star attraction in the world of baby Stephen. He squealed with delight when Paula brought him into the bedroom, crawling on the covers to bury his nose into the back of his aunt’s hair. Alana carried him downstairs and fed him a breakfast of porridge which he usually refused. For a few hours at least she was able to cast her burdens aside and focus on her nephew.
After lunch the trio retired upstairs for a nap but Alana couldn’t sleep. Her dreams were haunted by the faces of her own aunts and the pain that undoubtedly remained. She woke up bathed in sweat and quietly moved out to use the toilet and dry herself off. When she returned her eye was drawn to the file poking out from under her coat. She pulled it out and sat on the top of the bed drawing her knees to her chin. She began to read and didn’t stop until she noticed it was time for her online video call.
Sheena Edison had been working on her computer when she received Alana’s email. It was 11.40am in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. She arranged to talk via video link the next day. Now that the time had arrived, Alana brushed her hair back with her fingers before connecting the call.
The virtual dialler was replaced by the head and shoulders of an attractive elderly woman. Although her hair was as white as wool, Alana swore the lady was in her early sixties and not almost eighty. Her skin was taut and the few sag lines were hidden by a flourishing fringe.
“Hello, Alana. It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”
The accent was a mix of South-London to French-Canadian.
“Thanks for agreeing to speak at such short notice, Mrs Edison”
“Please, everyone calls me Sheena except the tax man.”
Alana glanced to her own face on the screen. Sheena was studying her features closely.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying but you look a lot like Cameron did.”
Alana was well aware of the fact which made looking in the mirror recently so difficult. She changed the subject.
“I knew my father on and off for fifteen years. I was led to believe he left my family when I was very young. I’ve since been told he was in prison and during that time you were his counsellor.”
Sadness drained down Sheena’s profile.
“I’m afraid so. I visited him every month for a long time.”
“So you didn’t work in the prison?”
“Good gracious, no. Most people think that prisoners have access to all the resources they need for rehabilitation. The truth is they have very little and while on remand especially are entitled to nothing. I volunteered to assist Cameron who was in great need. He reached out to me.”
“You knew my father before he was arrested?”
“Partly. I was his mother’s counsellor for many years before receiving the sad news. He was in a terrible state but not because he was in prison. In fact he knew he deserved to be there but was tortured because of his family. Your mother was pregnant with Paula. He was worried for the three of you.
“Alana, this is going to be difficult to hear but your father loved you very much. He told me he cared little for his own life as long as you were looked after and loved.”
“I read the transcript of the police interview,” Alana said, “and he says that over and over again. Why didn’t he bother to contact us from prison?”
“Believe me, he tried. Many of my visits saw me console him after another failed attempt. Unfortunately your mother refused all his requests including photos of his daughters. He didn’t even know what you and Paula looked like until he was released and the courts allowed him supervised visits.”
“It’s not my Mum’s fault for the things he did.”
“Cameron didn’t blame her. She could have shown him some mercy though but he tried never to judge her.”
“Sheena, was my father a bad man?”
The lady sat back a fraction and gently shook her head. “I met many so-called bad men during my career and Cameron Faith was not one of them.”
&nbs
p; “Then why did he do those things to my aunts? For God’s sake they were teenagers.”
“The human heart is capable of untold good and unfathomable evil all in the space of a heartbeat. There is no easy answer to your question but over the time Cameron and I talked I was able to build a picture of what went wrong.
“When the offences took place your father had recently got engaged to your mother. They had been together for eight years and in your father’s words he felt led to move on to the next stage in their relationship. Except he wasn’t convinced that Deborah loved him as he loved her. He said she showed little emotion, with him always initiating a hug or a kiss and she would then respond. His self-esteem had always been poor yet he outwardly projected self-confidence but that isn’t the same as self-worth. Stress from work was getting to him. His business partner John was quite a forceful figure and very demanding.
“Your aunts became a substitute for your mother. They showed emotion more easily, didn’t seem to recognize Cameron’s own demeaning mental projection of himself, and offered him a chance to break free from the restraints of his life. In a sense it was the closest thing to an affair he dared to act upon.”
“Heather and Helen were not grown women. He should have left them alone and told my mother about his problems.”
“He would have agreed but at the time Cameron didn’t have the capability to react like that. He thought he had no choice. I’m sure you’re aware that your aunts and mother look remarkably similar. From what Cameron said Heather especially was the double of Deborah. Both your aunts developed physically at a young age and by the time the offences happened they resembled young women, specifically your mother.”
“That gave him no right to touch them.”
“You’re right and Cameron detested himself for crossing that line. Unfortunately once he did it led him down a road of self-destruction. He wanted to die and then you were born. Suddenly he had someone to live for. He told me that Deborah changed too. She never wanted to be a mother but when you came along she transformed into a caring and loving lady, something Cameron had rarely witnessed. Still it was too late for him. His guilt was such that he took steps to be found out.”
