“Young enough.” He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Is what it is, innit?” He turned his attentions back to the Optik.
She felt a moment’s sympathy, watching him. Olly was young, inexperienced. Not exactly a hardened criminal or a revolutionary. He was just a kid who’d pulled some clever clogs shit and gotten drafted into a fight he didn’t really understand. So few of them did. The thought made her feel old, so she pushed it aside.
She paused. “Hell.”
“What?”
“Holden.”
“Who?” Olly was staring at her now. Liz ignored him.
“Bagley, who’s the bloke Hannah is looking for? Holden something?”
George Holden. A managing technician at the drone facility in Limehouse. He’s gone walkabout apparently. Why – oh. Ah. I see.
“I bloody don’t,” Olly said.
“Holden was looking into the shooting as well. And being sneaky about it. That’s not a coincidence.”
“You think he has something to do with it?”
Liz leaned back. “Maybe. Maybe it’s just coincidence. But I don’t think so. Either way, I need to inform the others. If there is a killer drone flying around, all of DedSec London need to keep their eyes and apps peeled for it.”
“I’ll get back to it then,” Olly said, turning back to his work. Liz watched him for a moment, then made the call.
“Yes?” a voice answered. “Sabine,” Liz said, softly. She moved away from the table, activating a scrambler app as she did so. Not that Olly was paying attention, but better safe than sorry. Like a genie springing from a bottle, Sabine Brandt’s ovoid icon appeared on her display.
“Liz. Anything new?”
“Some. None of it good. We have the Optik. It belonged to a Marcus Tell. That name seem familiar to you?”
“No, sadly.”
“What about Colin Wilson?”
“Again, no. Though I might be able to find something out.”
“I’ll work on it from this end as well. There’s more. Bagley got us the scene-of-crime analysis reports for both shootings. The shots were made by a high powered semi-automatic rifle. And the trajectory – they could only have come from above.”
“The rooftops?”
“Higher.”
Sabine was silent. Then, “That is an interesting wrinkle.”
“I thought so. I think someone is using a drone. We know Albion have combat operational models, but someone would have seen something. Unless…”
“It was camouflaged somehow.”
“Exactly.” Liz frowned. She could hear the doubt in Sabine’s voice. “Whoever Marcus Tell is, someone wanted him dead. I intend to find out why.”
“You sound angry, Liz. Maybe you should leave it to someone else.” Sabine paused. “I know Alex’s death must have hit you hard, but…”
“But what?” Liz snapped. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but no. No, I’m not handing this off. We need to know what happened. If there’s some lunatic out there using a drone to snipe targets, we need to stop them.”
“We’re not the police, Liz,” Sabine said. “DedSec has a mission. We have a mission. Leave this one to them, or Albion, or whoever. There are more important matters to hand. This city is a powder keg, and someone somewhere has lit a fuse.”
Liz recognised that tone. “Dalton found something.”
“Of course he did. He always does.” There was a trace of bitterness there. Liz had often wondered if Dalton Wolfe and Sabine Brandt had had something together in the past. The former MI5 operative and the outlaw hacker – it was a Hollywood screenplay waiting to be written. The way they’d acted around one another the few times she’d seen them in the flesh… but she’d never dared broach the subject. It wasn’t her business.
“Well it’s no surprise he’s good at his bloody job, is it?” Liz murmured.
“He suspects someone is planning an attack. No idea who, but there’s been mutterings around the TOAN conference…”
Liz glanced back at Olly. “Do you think it’s connected?”
“Not this time,” Sabine said, firmly. “Not everything is part of some grand conspiracy, Liz, no matter what your parents taught you.”
“That was low,” Liz said. “But point taken. So what is it?”
“I don’t know yet. When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.” Sabine paused. “I think things are going to get worse before they get better. Be safe, Liz.”
“You too, mate.” Liz cut the connection.
Not for the first time, Olly found himself wondering what he was doing with his life. Why was he still in London? Anyone else with any sense and the ability to falsify travel documents would be on a plane to Ibiza. Instead, he was in a sub-basement, dissecting proprietary technology and breaking dozens of laws.
Yesterday had been close. Exciting, but it could have ended badly. Might still end badly, unless he was careful. He thought about what Liz had said, about London. Did he feel the same? He’d never really thought about it. Not like that. London was just… London. It was the place where he was. He’d never thought about being anywhere else.
East London was home.
He paused, looking at the Optik. It was home, and you defended your ends when some fucker came looking to mess things up, right? It sounded simple, but it wasn’t really. This wasn’t the sort of thing that could be solved with punches or hacking a program.
A string of scrambled texts appeared on his display, dredged from the memory of Tell’s Optik. The scrambling was due to an encryption app. You had to have the right cipher to decode it. Luckily, he had a universal decryption program – it was useful for password prediction. The texts were lists – materials, he thought, though for what he couldn’t say.
They’d been sent to a number that he knew right off was for a burner phone. Old fashioned, but not unexpected. He made a note of the materials. Whatever project Tell had needed them for, he’d probably already completed it.
“Bagley?” he asked.
Oliver.
“What do you make of this list?”
Ah. Oh. Oh my. That is naughty indeed.
“Meaning?”
These materials have a multiplicity of uses, but their accumulation on a single list implies they are being combined into an improvised explosive device. And not just one.
Olly felt a chill. “How many?”
Ten, at least. It depends on the payload.
“Jesus,” he blurted.
“What?” Liz asked, from behind him. She’d finished her call, and he flushed slightly as he realized she’d been listening. He turned.
“Tell was making bombs. Or helping someone make bombs.”
“Bombs?” Liz joined him. She looked at the list, and whistled softly. “Oh that is not good. Not good at all.” She frowned. “Wilson – the second victim – was a van driver, wasn’t he?”
Indeed, though not what you’d call a successful one.
Liz waved Bagley’s observation aside. “So what was he delivering?”
“Maybe we should ask Tell,” Olly said. “I got an address.” He brought up a map of Whitechapel on his display, with the GPS pings arranged on it. “Right, so, the majority of the Optik’s pings are here. Now, given the data, I figure he’s an old geezer, which means on an average day he doesn’t go very far, right?”
“Depends on the geezer.”
“Well, the data tells the story,” Olly insisted. “And I figure he’s got to be local to Whitechapel, probably Lister or Treves House, if he was at that rally, right?”
“So far so good,” Liz said.
“I narrowed it down further, cross referenced the name with Council records, and what do we find but – voila!” He gestured, and an indicator arrow flashed over Lister House. “Marcus Tell, resident for a decade.”
Liz nodded again. “Very good. What else?”
“He’s got a debit card, a credit card, but neither have been used in a week. Not much money in his account, but t
here’s a lot of activity nonetheless. He keeps a minimum in the account, but he’s got more somewhere else. I haven’t found it yet.”
“Cryptocurrency?”
“Yeah, but it’s the same. Bare minimum. Like, exactly the amount you’d expect a guy like that to have. And no movement on it either. I bet he’s got another account, maybe two or three. A bit more time, and I might be able to narrow them down.”
“No. I think this is enough.” Liz studied the map. “Whoever killed Alex has probably figured out by now that they got the wrong person. Tell must have suspected that as well, which is why he’s in the wind now.”
“So, I might be able to clone his Optik data and figure out where he is now, especially if he got a new external unit. But he doesn’t have any social media which is just bizarre. Even my nan had instant messaging.”
“Not bizarre if he’s trying to hide. Social media is just handing over data that can be used to find and identify you. If he’s really in hiding, he won’t have anything like that, or if he does, it’ll be faked.”
“This bloke was somebody bad, wasn’t he?” Olly asked, hesitantly. “I mean, a bomb maker? Those don’t grow on trees.” He looked at her. “So what do you want to do?”
“We go.”
“Where?”
“Where do you think?”
“He’s probably not there anymore. I know I wouldn’t be.”
“No, but we should check it out anyway. There might be something we can use to find out where he went – or what he was doing that got him marked for death.”
“Yeah, but… Albion will be looking for us. They’re all over the streets.”
“What’s life without risk, Olly?”
“Safe?”
“Boring,” Liz corrected. “Up. You can drink your coffee on the way.”
19: Protection
Sarah sat in an espresso bar on Whitechapel High Street, near Aldgate East Station. It was located inside the eight storey White Chapel Building, and was far too spacious and clean for her liking. Sarah preferred her coffee shops small, cramped and full of homey tat. Maybe some godawful indie music playing in the background.
Artfully exposed conduits and pipework lent a glamorized industrial air, and the tastefully mismatched colour palate reminded her of a university common room. Her mocha was excellent, if lacking in personality. Hannah sat nearby, and PC Jenks as well, dressed in her civvies and nursing an English Breakfast Tea.
When Hannah had put the request in, the young constable had volunteered for bodyguard duties. Jenks was somewhat on the outs with her superiors. They weren’t quite blaming her for the theft of evidence, but Albion wanted someone’s head and it looked like the Met was going to give them hers. For that reason, among others, Sarah had been happy to accept. She liked Jenks. The constable had a bulldog tenacity she appreciated, as well as a refreshing lack of curiosity.
“Are you certain this is the place he suggested?” Sarah said, as she idly scrolled through her Optik feed. The news seemed focused on preparations for the TOAN conference, in three days’ time. Not a word about Sunday’s shooting. Someone had a vested interest in distracting the public. She hadn’t yet decided whether that was to her benefit.
Hannah, sitting behind her, said, “Yes. He wanted a public place.”
“That leads me to more questions,” Sarah replied.
“Perhaps I can give you answers,” Holden said, as he abruptly sat down opposite her. Sarah recognised him from Hannah’s description, and the information in the dossier they’d gathered on Albion.
“Mr Holden, I presume.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d meet me.” He was unshaven, wearing a rumpled suit and too much cologne, likely to hide the fact he hadn’t taken a shower. He sat down heavily, causing the chair to creak.
Sarah sipped her mocha without pleasure. “I was curious. I assume this is in reference to my request to visit the drone facilities?”
Holden smirked. “Not quite.”
“You bugged my assistant’s office,” Sarah said, mildly. “Why?”
“Right to it, then?” Holden said, after a moment’s hesitation. He ran a hand over his unshaven cheek. “Fine. I needed to know what you knew. Turns out you know sod all.”
“Oh, I know more than that – I know you’re in trouble.” Sarah sat back in her chair. “So why don’t you tell me about it?”
Holden stared at her, considering. She could practically hear the wheels in his head grinding away. Finally, he said, “I’ll need protection.”
“From whom?”
“Everyone.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Narrow it down for me.”
“Can you get me protection?” Holden insisted. “I’m not talking without some guarantee…” He looked around nervously. Spotted Jenks. Tensed.
“She’s with me,” Sarah said, softly.
Holden gave a crooked smile. “Worried about my intentions?”
“It seemed prudent, given how you threatened my assistant.”
“I didn’t threaten her,” Holden growled.
Sarah made a dismissive gesture. “What matters is why you are here now. I assume it has something to do with the shooting, given your questions.”
“Shootings,” he said. “Plural.”
“Another one?”
“Night before last.” Holden ran his hand through his hair and leaned forward. “You didn’t answer my question. I need protection. MI5, the police, someone. Everyone. What I know – it’s big. Albion won’t want it to get out.”
Sarah frowned. “Is that who you’re worried about then? Albion?”
“Among others.” Holden gave a sickly grin. “It’s not them. Not really. But when they find out, they’ll be looking to shut me up.” His grin faded. “Or worse.”
Sarah paused. “What is this about, Mr Holden? I need something other than vague statements if I am to do anything.”
Holden licked his lips. “A conspiracy. I don’t know what its purpose is, but I know some of the players, and they’re making their moves even as we speak.”
“Albion, you mean…”
“You’re not listening,” Holden blurted. “Albion are tangential. Or maybe not. But they’re not the ones pulling the trigger.” He pulled out his Optik in sudden, convulsive motion. Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah saw Jenks start to rise, and waved her back. She didn’t want to startle Holden. Not when he was finally getting to the point.
“Look, look here – these are pictures, he didn’t realise I’d taken them,” he began, then hesitated. “Or maybe he didn’t care. Either way, I have them.” He brought up an image, a hasty snapshot of an average looking man, dressed in the subdued browns and greys she’d come to associate with a certain sort of middle class undecided voter.
“And who is this?”
“The one pulling the trigger.” Holden frowned. “At least I think so.”
“And why do you think this?”
Another pause. Longer this time. She could smell his sweat, seeping out from under the shroud of cologne. “Because I sold him the gun.” He laughed harshly. “I needed the money. I didn’t think… and now…” He sat back, a hollow look on his face. “But it’s bigger than him. I’ve been putting the pieces together. Little bits here and there. Things he said. Things the others said…”
“Others?”
“He’s not the only one.” Holden caught her wrist in a tight grip. “I need a guarantee of protection before I say anything else.”
Sarah waved Jenks back again, not taking her eyes from Holden. No one had noticed his increasing anxiety yet, but eventually someone would. She needed to keep him calm. “Why come to me, Mr Holden?”
He released her and sat back. “Who better? Everyone knows you’ve got a grudge against Albion. That’s why you wanted to see the drone facilities, isn’t it? You’re trying to dig up dirt on them, on Cass. Well, what I can tell you will make that easier.”
Sarah said nothing. She rubbed her wrist where Holden had ca
ught her. He was frightened and desperate, and that in turn made her uneasy. It was as if she had gone fishing and caught a shark by accident. What was she supposed to do now? Reel it in and hope for the best – or cut the line, like a sensible person?
Her choice was made for her when Holden’s Optik gave a shrill ping. He looked at it, eyes widening, and then at her. “You told them we were meeting,” he said, accusingly.
“What? Who are you talking about?”
“Albion! They’ll be here any second. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you.” Holden shot to his feet, knocking his chair over backwards. He was wild-eyed as he looked around. “This is a trap!”
“It’s no trap, Holden,” Sarah began, half-rising to her feet. “I didn’t tell anyone. I – oh shit shit.” She hesitated. “Faulkner. I mentioned you’d come to see me…”
“Faulkner? You fucking told Faulkner?” He was shouting now, and as he backed away from the table she caught a flash of a pistol holstered beneath his coat. Jenks was on her feet as well, moving towards him.
“Moira, no – he’s armed,” Sarah said. Jenks froze, just for an instant, and then dove towards Holden, clearly intending to rugby-tackle him to the floor. Holden cursed and fell back, and the two of them went down in a tangle. Sarah hesitated, unsure of what to do. It wasn’t a feeling she liked. Hannah caught her wrist and pulled her back. The café was in an uproar now as the struggle upended tables and knocked over chairs.
Despite the differences in their weight, Jenks had the better of Holden from the outset. She hit him quickly, in the sides, and then across the jaw. It was only thanks to his desperation that he managed to throw her off, and her bad luck that she went face-first into a table. As Jenks rolled away, Holden scrambled to his feet. Through the big windows at the front of the café, Sarah saw three Albion drones drop down. Computerized voices bellowed commands as Holden lifted his Optik.
He did something, and all three drones fell out of the air. A moment later, Albion APVs skidded into view along the street, disgorging men and women in fatigues and body armour. Holden backed away from the entrance, eyes wide. He drew his weapon, and for a moment, Sarah thought he was going to make a fight of it.
Day Zero Page 19
