Day Zero

by James Swallow

  She looked up, and saw news drones gathering – GBB, ITV, EBN, the whole alphabet. Ready to zip down and follow the drama as it unfolded, delivering it in state-approved bite-sized chunks to the people at home, sitting placidly in front of their telly.

  Maybe that was why DedSec was changing. As things got worse, the populace became resigned, and resignation soon turned to complacency. How do you fight a system that controls every aspect of your life? The short answer was – you didn’t. Not unless you could imagine a different sort of life. A better life. Most people couldn’t afford to let themselves think past the next pay-slip.

  There was no easy answer. Hannah knew that all too well. Her own life had been one hard decision after the next. Agreeing to work for Sarah had been one such. The only way to change the machine was from inside. Sarah claimed to believe the same herself. And maybe she did…in her own way.

  Her thoughts turned to Albion, and Holden’s visit. She hadn’t been able to dig up much on him that they didn’t already know. He was middle management – a technician by training, with an interest in drone technology. By rights, he should have been in a lab somewhere, and not roaming around threatening people.

  With Bagley’s assistance, she’d managed to turn up a few older CCTV images of him going in and out of pubs and betting shops. More so the latter than former. Holden seemed to have a gambling problem, which was interesting. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but it was interesting.

  Her Optik chimed, and she pushed the thought aside for later. It was synching with two others, as their owners approached. Another DedSec outlaw app, allowing members of the Resistance to identify each other. She turned. One was Soames, the courier from the previous day. The other–

  “Where’s Krish?” she asked, as Soames and the woman approached. On her display, the woman’s face was scrambled, off-centre, as if there was a glitch in the program, centred right on her features. It was only as she dismissed the display that she could see her clearly. She didn’t recognize her, and her facial recognition app wasn’t bringing anything up. Whoever she was, she was a blank slate. “And who are you?”

  “Call me Liz,” the older woman said.

  Hannah studied her for a moment, and then nodded. In a way, she was glad. She’d known Krish a long time, before DedSec even, and she doubted he could manage something like this. Krish wasn’t criminally inclined. Her eyes flicked to Soames. Olly, she recalled. Liz and Olly. “I don’t want to know why you need to get inside. I just want your promise it’s not going to come back on us.”

  “Worried about your career?” Liz asked.

  “My life. Albion is sniffing around Sarah, and me.”

  Liz raised an eyebrow. “You think they know about your connection to us?”

  Hannah looked away. “I don’t know what to think. I know I don’t like it. Something is going on, something big.”

  “The sooner we find out what, the better for everyone,” Liz said. “Especially you and your boss. Speaking of which, where is she?”

  “Waiting for the right moment.” Hannah reached into her pocket and produced a set of plastic badges. “We’ve alerted the major media outlets, as well a number of local news-sites – a few bloggers, one or two podcasters. That should make for plenty of signal noise. These are press passes. Keep them close, ditch them when you’re done.” She handed them over. “I’ve told Sarah you’re from one of the digital dailies, looking to write a piece on Albion’s prospects in Tower Hamlets. She agreed to let you follow us, so you’re covered as far as getting in. After that, it’s up to you.”

  “No worries,” Liz said. “Thank you.”

  “Thank me by not getting caught.” Hannah looked at Olly. “Or getting me shot.”

  “That wasn’t my fault,” Olly protested. Liz silenced him with a look.

  “We’ll do our best,” she said.

  Hannah sighed. “Come on. The police station is just the other side of the garden.”

  Sarah was directing traffic when Hannah finally arrived, two journalists in tow. Sarah gave them a cursory glance. “A bit scruffy,” she murmured to her PA. Drones hovered around the area, and flesh and blood press as well. Stage managing it all took a bit of doing – she wanted them to get shots of her entering the station ahead of Albion, and mingling with the hardworking constables like a true woman of the people.

  “Independent journalists,” Hannah said, not looking at her. “I think they’re cultivating a look. Makes them more trustworthy, in the eyes of the public.”

  “Well, no one ever accused the public of being smart.” Sarah looked them over again. The young man looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t place him off hand. Maybe he’d covered one of her speeches. The woman was older, and had a look that Sarah had previously associated with embedded war correspondents. Satisfied with what she saw, she dismissed them into the background. “We’ll do it inside. The drones won’t be able to come in, but the reporters will.”

  Hannah hesitated, but only for a moment. “Are you certain you want to do it this way?” she asked, softly. “We could arrange a more regular press conference…”

  “The best defence is a good offence,” Sarah said, smiling at the drones. “Albion wants a spectacle? Well, I’ll give them one. And I’ll keep doing it until Cass swallows his pride and gives me what I want – a tour of their facilities in Limehouse.”

  “And after that?”

  “It depends on what we find.” Sarah paused. “Anything more on our visitor, Holden?”

  Hannah consulted her Optik. “Not much. He’s one of the lead techs for the Limehouse facility. Research and development, whatever that means.”

  “I already knew that.” Sarah had done her own research on the Limehouse Basin drone facility. It had been pitched as an economic net gain for the borough, but so far the predicted funds hadn’t appeared. The facility was almost entirely automated, save for a skeleton staff. One of whom was Holden. “What I want to know is why he tried to plant a bug in my office.” She looked at Hannah. “Find that out, and I’ll give you a raise.”

  “Working on it.”

  Something in her voice made Sarah pause. After a moment, she said, “Are you certain you’re alright? I know these past two days have been… eventful. If you want to take the rest of the afternoon off…”

  “No. I’m fine. Thank you.”

  Sarah looked at her for a moment longer, then nodded. “Good.” She turned, smiling, so that a drone could get a shot of her standing beneath the station’s blue lamp. “Then let’s not beat about the bush. Faulkner will be here any minute.”

  Inside, it was clear the station house had seen better days. Like much of Tower Hamlets, it was undergoing refurbishment and had been for several years. Clear plastic dust covers hung from abandoned scaffolding or stretched across doorways. Everything smelled of dust, bleach and damp. Sarah chose to make her stand near the front desk, where everyone would have a good view of the confrontation.

  PC Moira Jenks was on hand to greet her, one of a handful of uniformed officers in the building. Sarah smiled. “I take it the Chief Inspector is out to lunch?”

  “The Guv was unavoidably detained, ma’am,” Jenks said. “She sends her apologies.”

  “And Detective Sergeant Miller?”

  “Out sick,” Jenks said, briskly. “Stomach bug. Got most of the CID unit too. Strangest thing.”

  Sarah noticed several of the nearby constables trading meaningful looks as Jenks spoke. She shook her head, disappointed, but not surprised. “Left you holding the bag, eh?”

  “It’ll be a privilege, ma’am.”

  Sarah laughed. “You say that now.” She paused. “I saw that you had a bit of confrontation with our friend Faulkner yourself. Are you sure you want to bring yourself to his attention again?”

  “I doubt he’ll remember me,” Jenks said, with a shrug.

  “I wouldn’t put money on it. Faulkner is quite the one for holding grudges.” Sarah took a breath, looked at Jenks consider
ingly, and said, “You know this is a publicity stunt, right? One way or another, he will leave here with that evidence. I have no way of stopping him. He can’t get at me, but if Albion’s contract is extended, it’s very likely you’ll be reporting to him in the future.”

  Jenks paled slightly, but shook her head. “I doubt I’ll stay on if that happens, ma’am.” She looked at Sarah. “Is their contract really going to be extended?”

  “Not if I can help it,” Sarah said, smoothly. Hannah gave her a sharp look, but thankfully kept her mouth shut. It wasn’t a lie, as such. Currently, she had no intention of letting Albion cement their foothold in the city. But things changed. As Darwin had discovered, adaption was the key to survival, and Sarah intended to survive whatever politics threw at her.

  She looked at Jenks. “I don’t suppose I could get a cuppa while we wait?”

  Jenks smiled. “I think that can be arranged.”

  But before she could go anywhere, the sounded of booted feet tramping on lino reached their ears. “On second thought, cancel the cuppa,” Sarah said, putting on her best smile. “The guests of honour have arrived.”

  Faulkner entered with all the bellicose militancy she’d come to expect. He slammed the doors wide, a smile on his face. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, but was ready for war otherwise. His men were similarly kitted out. As if they’d expected a fight – or were hoping for one. “Hello officers, we’re here to pick up some evidence,” Faulkner said, loudly. “I hope you have it ready for us…” He trailed off as he caught sight of Sarah and the coterie of reporters and police constables. “Ah.”

  “Hello again,” Sarah said.

  “And why are you here, minister?” Faulkner asked, bluntly. “I don’t see how this involves you at all.” He glanced at the reporters, but his expression didn’t change. He’d obviously expected there to be a few hanging about.

  Sarah smiled with as much geniality as she could muster. “I am here to look after the best interests of my borough, Mr Faulkner.”

  “Sergeant,” Faulkner corrected icily.

  “Of course, forgive me. I have a hard time remembering such things. Sergeant Faulkner – I’m told there was a bit of a set-to yesterday. Care to explain?”

  “To you? No. I answer to my superiors, not civilian authority.”

  Sarah’s smile didn’t waver. “I suppose I’ll just have to ask Nigel Cass next time I see him. I think we’re becoming great friends, he and I.”

  Faulkner hesitated, weighing the implications. “We’re here to collect evidence in an ongoing investigation,” he said, finally. Before she could interject, he added, “An internal investigation, I should say. One we are conducting in the interests of continuing our working relationship with the UK government.”

  “And what does that have to do with a shooting in Whitechapel?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.” He turned to Jenks. “The evidence?”

  “Still in the property room,” Jenks said, not quite politely.

  Faulkner tilted his head. “I was assured by your Chief Inspector that you’d be providing us with all due assistance, PC Jenks.”

  “He hasn’t been in today,” Jenks said.

  Faulkner snorted. “Of course not.” He looked at Sarah. “Politicians all. That’s why you need us, you know – the Met is full of politicians, more worried about budgets than policing. That’s why this borough, why this city, is in the shape it’s in now… wouldn’t you agree?” He’d pitched his voice so that it could be heard by everyone.

  Sarah frowned – a calculated look of disapproval. “I wouldn’t, actually. In fact, I think the last thing Tower Hamlets needs is a paramilitary force with zero accountability roaming the streets. And I intend to say as much.”

  Faulkner nodded. “Say what you like. I just follow orders. Speaking of which… Tyerman, McCoy, go to the property room.” He glanced at Jenks. “No need to show them where it’s at.”

  “They’ll need a code,” Jenks began.

  “Got it already,” Faulkner said, an unpleasant smile on his face. Sarah wasn’t surprised, but she was somewhat offended on the Met’s behalf.

  Faulkner looked around. “We might keep this place on, afterwards. Have to give it a good cleaning first.”

  “Counting your chickens a little early, aren’t you?” Sarah said.

  Faulkner laughed. “I like to plan ahead.” He fixed her with a steady look. “You can leave now, if you like. I’m sure you have other places to be.”

  “I intend to stand here until you leave, Sergeant. Just to make sure you don’t accidentally overstep the limits of your authority, as you did yesterday.”

  Faulkner grimaced, but didn’t reply. Instead he turned away, obviously intent on ignoring her. Sarah gave him a few moments and then sidled over. She leaned close, so that they wouldn’t be overheard. “A man named Holden came to my offices today. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  Faulkner hesitated. Just for an instant. If she hadn’t been looking at him, she might not have even noticed. “No. Did he say what he wanted?”

  “To talk to me. Claimed he was investigating the shooting.” She watched Faulkner’s face, but could read nothing in his expression. “Which is odd, because the only Holden I know who works for Albion is in your R&D division. Specifically, he works in the drone factory in Limehouse. The one I’ve made numerous requests to visit.” Faulkner blinked. Sarah nodded. “You’re not the only one who knows things, Sergeant.”

  “Duly noted,” Faulkner murmured. “I don’t know anything about that. But I’ll find out for you, if you like.”

  “And what would you expect in return?”

  “We can discuss that later. Perhaps over lunch? Albion’s treat, of course.”

  “Why don’t we discuss it during a tour of the factory?”

  Faulkner glanced at her. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Not until I get what I want, Sergeant.” Sarah smiled. “And I want answers.”

  12: The Property Room

  Olly watched as Lincoln and Faulkner faced off. The tension in the air was palpable, and both the plods and the Albion goons looked nervous. The reporters just looked excited. Liz tugged on his sleeve. “Come on,” she murmured. “Now’s our chance.”

  As she spoke, Olly’s display flickered. He realized that she’d activated her camouflage program, and he hastily followed her example. When he was done, he looked down at himself, but things didn’t seem different. Not that they would’ve.

  How did the Invisible Man see himself? A question for the ages.

  “Ta, Bagley,” Olly muttered. “Anything useful to contribute?”

  Yes. You are only invisible to someone looking at you through a display. If they use their eyes, infrared or anything else, they will spot you right off. I would move quickly, if I were you. Bagley sounded almost amused.

  Olly shook his head and glanced back towards the confrontation. Lincoln and Faulkner were trading words – not especially heated ones, but certainly not friendly. “I almost want to stay and see which of them wins,” he said as he hurried after Liz.

  “Any other time I’d say feel free, but we’ve got more important things to do.”

  “Are you sure you know where you’re going?”

  “Bagley scrounged up the floor plans for this place. Unless they changed something in the last six months, we’re fine.” She led him quickly through the police station, away from the office spaces and into the back.

  Olly felt his nerves twist and tighten the further they went. He’d enjoyed the Met’s hospitality more than once, usually after a night on the tiles. Being here brought back memories and anxieties he’d done his best to move past in the months since he’d joined DedSec. “What if we can’t find it?”

  Liz didn’t reply. Olly fell silent. The station house looked larger from the outside than it was. They moved past the interview rooms, the custody suite and finally down the stairs and along a corridor. They stopped in front of a heavy do
or, with a mesh viewing slot and a touchpad digital lock.

  “Can you get it open?” Olly asked. Liz looked at him.

  “Sure. The question is – can you?”

  “What?”

  Liz stepped back. “Consider this a surprise test, Olly. Get the door open, and without setting off the alarm. I’ll keep watch. You’ve got two minutes.”

  Olly stared at her. “You can’t be serious…”

  “One minute, fifty-seven seconds,” Liz said, not looking at him. Olly swallowed and turned back to the door. He took out his Optik, and activated a subroutine on his display. A moment later, a disguised toolkit unrolled across his display – apps for every occasion. The lock was an older model, requiring a digital PIN code to unlock. There might be just one, or several. No way to tell. Input the wrong one too many times, and it would perma-lock the mechanism until someone input the master reset code. Or worse, it would activate an alarm.

  He activated a schematic app, trying to find the right one in his saved files. If he had it. If it wasn’t too old. “How’s it coming?” Liz asked.

  “Got a knife?”

  “Will a multi-tool do?”

  “Long as there’s a blade.” Olly took it and slipped the knife out. Carefully, he extracted the touchscreen module, exposing the connector. He took a capture of it, and compared it to the schematics. He handed her back the multi-tool. “Right, I’ve got to brute force it. That means I need to–”

  “I know what it means, Olly. Can you do it?”

  “I need more time.”

  “Minute ten,” Liz said.

  “It’s not going to be enough,” Olly hissed.

  Liz sighed. “I could bust this lock in ten seconds with a bricked 5G handset and a bit of a sing-song if I wanted. If you can’t do the same, what good are you?”

  Olly wanted to glare at her, but refrained. He focused on the lock. Once upon a time, a hacker would have needed something to attach to the connector, which didn’t care what it was attached to. These days, you could just connect the lock to an Optik, via a modified power adaptor. Luckily, he had one on him.