by Tim Heath
“We’ve cracked the latest entry, from August last year. It’s going to make the situation explode,” he said. Charlie and Zoe followed him immediately into the meeting room. They looked down at the device, and Charlie read aloud:
Entry 4 - August 2013
William Hackett is a spy. His charity and family are all just a front. They aren’t even his children. His wife never died of cancer; she was killed because he crossed the line. He shot her. And I’m going to expose him. I can’t stand what he made me become. I can’t stand the life he lives, the street we once shared. His over-the-top parties, which he never invited me to. The noise they made, with no consideration for me.
I’ve finally broken him. He will be exposed. He will be destroyed.
This next year I will gather evidence. I will track him, and I will watch him.
I will make him dance to my tune, and I will have so much fun doing it.
“This is bad,” Zoe said. “The Russians are going to love this.”
“Look, we have to get straight onto this. The story is going to be back on the front pages, and a storm is coming. We really need to get these answers because soon our jobs will be on the line.” Charlie was fuming. If the Russians were playing a game with him by withholding information, he wasn’t going to take prisoners. “Let’s break this down. Get me everything you have on the UK charity he ran. I need to see his family history too. There is no way we could have missed that one. If there is any truth in the statement about his kids, we need to know within the hour. Find out what happened to his late wife. Speak to the neighbours again about the reference to the parties. I need to know everything and I mean now!” They hadn’t seen him this worked up in a long time and the two technicians, notepad in hand, raced out of the room. “Zoe, if he’s been gathering evidence this last year, we need to find out where it is. Get a search warrant for the offices he has in the UK. I’ll work on the Russian side of things with Anya. If this is what got Fernandes killed, we have to be the first to know. I don’t want it appearing in a bloody newspaper before we’ve heard about it.”
Zoe left the room. Charlie read the words slowly one more time. If he was seeing them, so were the Russians and therefore also the same press that had been viewing the previous entries. What did Fernandes know that they didn’t? How had he managed to expose Hackett as a spy when, as far as he knew, the British knew nothing of it, or were keeping it quiet if they did? Charlie knew he would have to go right to the top at MI6, way past his clearance level. If there was any truth in the claim, he needed the facts. The world now knew, or very shortly would, that William Hackett, the supposedly innocent family man, was, in fact, a spy, if these words were to be believed. And yet they’d almost certainly got Anthony Fernandes killed in the process, thereby adding weight to the accusation.
His week had just taken a swift nose dive. Charlie looked at a photo they had of William on the wall and said:
“Who are you, Bill? Who are you really?” He too now left the room, in search of something hot to drink before his trip to MI6 HQ.
That weekend the press was having a field day. In the UK they were focused on the surviving family, the children’s position brought into question.
“There is no truth whatsoever in this hurtful, lying accusation,” Bill’s oldest daughter had been filmed saying. Still, the press loved to speculate.
In Russia, the focus was on the captured British spy who was finally being brought to justice. It was not questioned that his family was anything but fake, his charity work and business life just a front for his real, sinister and criminal, activities. There was a battle for his innocence being played out in the international press, and William Hackett was far from winning. He sat in a St Petersburg maximum security prison under constant guard. He was not allowed to circulate with the other prisoners, nor could any visitor see him before the trial. All his family members had been denied visa access to travel to Russia. The isolation and sense of loneliness––from everyone he loved––was tangible. Even the Consul General in St Petersburg had been denied any further access to the prisoner. His trial was now less than one week away. He was unaware of the media storm surrounding him at that moment, which was undoubtedly a good thing. Just getting through each day, alone and frightened, was as much as he could bear. To have seen his children suffering as they were in front of the watching cameras would have pushed him over the edge.
In Moscow, a group of men sat around a large conference table in a quiet section of the Kremlin complex.
“This is a crime against one of us, someone at the highest level. By a proven British spy. We have no option but to make a statement with his sentence.”
There was a murmur of agreement around the table.
“By sentencing him to death, we’ll distance ourselves from the European Community, tovarishch.”
“What, any more than we already are?” he shot back. “This was a crime against our nation, committed on our soil. We have to use the fullest possible penalty.”
“It’ll be a hard sell to the world, that’s all.”
“It doesn’t matter. This is Russia, and this is our legal process.”
The room went silent. No one dared speak against the actions for fear of risking their own position in the power structure.
“Then we are agreed. We’ll back the call for the harshest possible sentencing, and push for a corporate punishment outcome. I’ll clear it with Putin himself, but if anyone steps out of line on this, you’ll have me to answer to. We present a united front on this one. Stand up for your nation and stand true to who you are. This type of assassination cannot be allowed to go unpunished. We must respond with equivalent force; otherwise, they’ll keep coming. It could be one of us next, for all we know.”
They each raised their glass.
“To Russia!” was the toast, and they downed their vodka in one go.
12
The Home Office had been on a long call with the Russian Embassy in London since news reached them about the sentencing preference that had been added to the murder charge.
“When we agreed to the extradition, we explicitly stated that concerning murder, we do not extradite to a country that carries the death penalty,” the Home Office spokesperson said.
“There was no such agreement in place. As you know, we have no legal position to influence the court’s outcome.”
“Rubbish!”
“Look, I’m telling you, this is outside of our jurisdiction.”
“Anything of this magnitude would have to come from the Kremlin itself. Even calling it a political assassination has got Putin written all over it.”
“I can assure you that President Putin is not involved in any of this, though he is, of course, being kept informed of events. This was, after all, a high-profile killing that took place on Russian soil.”
“As we are all aware,” said the spokesperson, frustrated at the circles they seemed to be going in on this call. “You have to take a death penalty sentence off the charge sheet. That comes from the Prime Minister himself.”
“I need not remind you that your Prime Minister has no authority in the Russian legal system. Justice will be served, and if Mr Hackett is found guilty, the sentence will be passed down that is justified by the crime.”
“Cut the crap. This sentence has been handed down by the Kremlin itself. There was no talk about this when extradition was being requested. Nothing before these statements from the tablet started appearing all over the press.”
“It is what it is. We’ll be in touch.”
The line went dead. The Home Office was left fuming. The press had already given them a hard time when they granted the original extradition order. Once this latest news got out, there would be no hiding from anyone.
Anya stood on a little bridge crossing one of the many canals that networked all over St Petersburg. The interviewer stood in front of her; the camera from the state news station was taking some shots of the surrounding area, while they paused an
d gathered their thoughts before continuing with the interview. It was a dry but cold day. Temperatures were due to hit zero overnight, and the cold air bristled in the wind already. They’d been twenty minutes, having focused on the criminal side of things for the first interview. She hoped the final part would be quicker. She wanted to get back inside. She had never liked the cold.
Moments later the team on the scene motioned for the interview to get back underway. The microphone was put back in place, and Anya stood ready, smiling at the camera, with the interviewer off the shot to the side. She was a natural in front of the screen.
“Let us now talk a little about the device itself. We take it; you’ve actually seen it?”
“Yes, of course. It was recovered from the scene of the crime,” she said.
“What do you make of all the hype surrounding this device and the latest rumours that it can do so much more than the average tablet?” She didn’t know what she was being asked but wasn’t about to let that stop her now.
“Hype and rumours there will always be, but my job is to focus on the facts of a situation and to take things from there.”
“But from what you’ve seen of the device, could these rumours be true?” The interviewer was pushing the point here.
“The device is currently with technicians,” she started, not happy to suggest the British, in fact, had it. It was the only known prototype. “They are working hard to understand the device. I’ve met with them all personally...” which was true. The interviewer could see she was sidestepping the questions rather well, but she was too sweet for him to want to expose her publicly on camera as someone not knowing the full story. He’d been grateful for the interview in the first place. The last thing he wanted to do was to shame her in any way.
“The company’s share price has continued to rise based on the weight behind these rumours. RusCom has gone from being valued at around twelve million dollars at the time of the killing to over fifty-million this morning. With the public sale of the company still meant to go ahead within the next four to six weeks, do you see these as connected events? The killing of the company’s owner and chairman, Mr Anthony Fernandes, and the increased value of his old flagship company?”
“I think we do have two different things going on here. The criminal investigation into the murder of Mr Fernandes is something in which I’m personally involved. I was the one that brought the accused back from the UK to face trial here in Russia. I read him his rights under Russian law. I’m working with a team of people around the clock to build the case by gathering all the evidence. When it comes to business interests and the value of one company’s shares over another, I lose interest, if I’m sincere. It doesn’t fall within my role if you understand what I mean, and unless a crime is being committed that would involve the FSB, then really I’m not interested in such things.”
“Thank you, Miss Lubova.”
The camera was switched off, and the pack-up process began. Anya’s mike was unattached and returned to the sound man. The interviewer walked her back to the car.
“Thank you very much for your time. Would you be available again in the future?” he said.
“That should be possible, but next time, let’s do this inside, shall we?”
“Yes. Look, sorry for probing you about the device, but I was asked to bring in that angle to the story too. It’s causing quite a stir.”
“So what is the rumour, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Not at all. Sources close to RusCom themselves claim their uDecide app does much more than it seems, helping the user create their own world around them. They are using these outputs from the device you have hold of as proof that it’s possible. Mr Fernandes rose from nothing to someone in four years, and they claim it’s all because of the device. They claim there is more to come. Proof that it can do more than we realise. Between you and me, they expect the share value to continue to rise way beyond its current level.”
“But I thought you said the value of the company had already gone up over four times since the murder?”
“Yes, it has. But my source says that’ll be nothing compared to what it will do when the rumour really starts circulating.”
“Well, I’ll keep an eye on it, but really it’s nothing to do with me.” Anya opened her car door and got inside.
“We’ll let you know when the interview goes out. It should be later tonight in the main news show, but you’ll get confirmation. Thanks again for your time, and I hope we can do this again sometime.” He shut the door for her and moments later watched her drive off into the city traffic. He returned to the team, helping them to pack away the camera into the van, before all heading back to the studio.
Charlie had been chasing shadows all day at MI6 head office. He’d been denied access to the most senior people but had forced his way into meetings with those with whom he needed time. Four hours later he was no more precise on where things stood. All denied that William Hackett was, or had ever been, working for the British. Charlie knew this could just be a cover-up. Hackett had apparently failed, after all. He was now sitting in a Russian prison awaiting trial for a crime of which he’d most certainly get convicted. To admit he was one of theirs at this stage would be unthinkable.
Charlie had been around the system long enough to know when he was being fed a lie, however. As far as he could tell, these people were telling him the truth. Nothing had come to light of anything that would challenge the statement that William was anything but a civilian. MI6 had assured him that they had nothing on Hackett working for anyone else either. The family seemed to check out too. Aside from literally taking a DNA sample, their medical records, birth records, everything they could find, all pointed to the fact they were a family unit through natural circumstances. William’s late wife was confirmed from the Coroner’s Office as having died from cancer. Her medical records were scanned through looking for any sign of tampering. There just wasn’t any. Eleven months of fighting the disease, chemotherapy for six months, the last two weeks spent in a hospice that William had visited every day and staying overnight for her last few days. This was not the behaviour of a man living a lie.
Still, the accusation hung there, like some potent smell lingering in the air. Why did Anthony Fernandes write on his personal device that William Hackett was a spy? Why did he say what he did about his family, actually accusing William of killing his own wife for crossing the line? What had he made Anthony become? These were thoughts and questions racing through his young mind even after a day with some of the most senior people in the British security service. These were men and women who would know the answers if anyone would, but he was no nearer the truth. And that annoyed him massively.
Heading back to Scotland Yard later that day to join the rest of the small team he was now working with, and Charlie was amused to pick up the Russia Today news coverage which ran Anya’s interview in their evening programme. She was made for the screen. Calls from the British press were now coming in all the more frequently. If the Russian lead investigator was freely available to give interviews on the case, why were their British counterparts playing so hard to get?
“Team, let’s gather around,” Charlie said, waving away the lady from the PR team with yet another snub for the press. “Let’s share information. Who’s first?”
They all looked to him, knowing he’d just got back from Six. “Okay, I’ll update you,” he said, picking up the hint. “We’ve nothing on him, and I believe them. No intelligence on him working for another country either. The family check-out, too. It would seem to be just slander. I have no idea why.”
“The family are understandably distraught by the whole situation,” Zoe said, who’d spent the morning with them. They were under heavy police guard following the latest entry to have been released from the device. The press were swarming like locusts. “Neighbours recall the parties Mr Hackett and his wife used to give. No memory of them ever being anything but civil. No police record of having been
called to one, either. No one remembers if Mr Fernandes was ever there, but those that remember him at the time, all stated that he didn’t socialise with any of them that much at all. He kept himself to himself apparently. He did live directly next door, and a fence only separates the gardens. Had there been a party, he would have heard any noise. But like I said, there was never a record of a police complaint made about noise.”
“What about these rumours coming from Russia about the device itself? Anything on that?” Charlie said, looking towards the two technicians for anything they might be able to share.
“Rumours are reported to have come from someone senior connected in some way to RusCom itself, but that’s yet to be verified. What's being suggested is impossible, of course.”
“That’s not what the public believe though, is it,” Charlie said.
“It’s pure hype, perhaps driven up by the RusCom shareholders themselves ahead of the sale.”
“But it isn't a publicly traded company,” Zoe said
“True. Fernandes owned all the shares. It’s his estate that will benefit from the company’s sale, but I can hardly see that his widow is behind the rumours, can you?”
“Not from what I’ve seen of her, no.”
“Look,” said the technician, taking back the conversation. “From a technology point of view, this device is quirky, I’ll say that for it, but nothing ground-breaking. Certainly, the speculation, if based on this device alone, is very over-blown. I’m sure they’ll all realise that soon enough. Some functions are clever. The way it operates is new, and the device has no internal storage limit so would never get full, as its programs are held on the main company server. For that reason, it’s meant to be more secure, but as we have seen, these entries from the device have been detected and read by all. We have to assume they were designed to do that. But the whole ‘uDecide’ positivity is just a clever marketing gimmick. It’s putting power back to the people, kind of positive thinking. The rumours are getting way out of hand, however.”
