by Terry Toler
Armed with that basic knowledge, Pok could access individual cameras in the system with little trouble. That didn’t get him into the overall system, but it was a start. He could gain access to thousands of cameras by simply exploiting the username and password vulnerabilities. However, what Pok wanted was administrative access. That’s what he needed to track me around London like a dog tracked a coon by its smell. A coon’s scent went with the animal everywhere it went. In my case, my face couldn’t escape being on the cameras unless I was making a concerted effort to conceal it.
Pok found a backdoor command line of code that granted administrative access. The code was temporary, and part of the system used during the testing phase when the system was first developed. It should’ve been removed at launch but was overlooked for whatever reason. A minor mistake, but one that Pok used to gain access to the entire system.
Once Pok was in as an administrator, he was able to maneuver around the system undetected. He couldn’t manipulate the cameras or the system without getting caught, but that wasn’t his goal. All he wanted to do was follow me around. As long as he could see the camera feed in real-time, he could coordinate with the terrorists to get in close proximity to me.
Once I confirmed that the system had been hacked, I paused to consider my next move.
I could lock Pok out easily enough by fixing the code. I could create a patch that would make it nearly impossible for him to get back in. That seemed like the easiest solution and the safest for me. That would all but eliminate the threat to Jamie and me. But we wouldn’t know where Pok was. This was a unique opportunity for me to find him.
What I had to do was figure out how to reverse the process. Turn the tables. Spy on him. Was that possible? For more than an hour, I sat on the sofa in Jamie’s hospital room staring off into space. Thinking. How could I do it without him knowing?
It was possible.
The feed from the cameras went through multiple links to get back to his computer system. If the images could get there, so could I. I just had to follow the links. A bolt of excitement went through me when I realized his computers and televisions would have cameras and microphones. Not only could I find his physical location, but I might also be able to surveille him in real time. Watch his every move like he’d been watching me.
If he was careless, I might overhear or see where they intended to place the bomb. I could feed that information to Weaver and thwart the attack. If I simply shut Pok down now, I’d never gain access to that information.
Who knew when I might get another chance?
The risk—he would still be able to see me on the streets. For that matter, he could see everything happening in London in real-time. That would make my movements harder. Any hope of a normal honeymoon was out the window. How would Jamie feel about that? I had no doubts she’d jump into the mission headfirst.
But we had to be careful. We avoided one acid attack. There’d be another. I needed a plan to eliminate the potential of innocents getting hurt or killed.
Starting tomorrow morning.
A two-fold plan.
One that would destroy Pok. Another that would show Weaver that I was one of the good guys.
Now I needed some rest. I looked over at Jamie. She was resting peacefully. The doctor said she’d be able to go home tomorrow morning. The bandages could come off in the early afternoon. She’d be back to normal a day or two after that. With some soreness and tenderness, but, knowing her, she’d probably be back to her sassy self before that.
I looked forward to it.
I missed her.
***
I bolted awake. I looked at the time and realized I’d been asleep for a couple hours. Somehow, I’d been thinking about how to find Pok in my sleep, because when I woke up, I knew just what to do.
Jamie was still asleep. I powered up my laptop. By following the feed through multiple links, I found him within an hour. Confirmed when I saw his ugly mug on the screen. Rage filled me to the point I wanted to hit something. Hit him.
I should’ve killed him when I had the chance in North Korea.
At least now I knew where he was. I also had the proof Brad needed. As a bonus, I had access to all of his cameras and microphones. The hunted coon was now the hunter. The best part was that he had no clue.
Once I accessed the microphones, I could hear Persian. He was definitely in Iran. Hundreds of people were at computer screens. Dozens of televisions were watching the streets of London real time. There wasn’t much of a sense of urgency. Probably because they all knew I was at the hospital. The real action would begin when I walked out. Of course, they had no idea when that would be.
I wasn’t going to make it easy for them.
What I needed to do then was gain intelligence. I scanned every available camera angle. Finding the exact latitude and longitude of the cyberwarfare lab would take time, so I didn’t focus on that. Brad would need that before he launched an attack. I’d get to that later. Jamie was starting to stir. She’d have a lot of questions I’d have to answer.
Jamie raised her head, looked around, and then laid back down on the bed. That medicine had really wiped her out. Which bought me some more time.
An Iranian man looked like he was in charge. Revolutionary Guard was my guess. He had that hardened look of a fighter who’d seen many battles. He was probably coordinating the attacks. Right now, he was sitting back in a chair drinking a beverage. Probably a cup of coffee.
Pok had a whiteboard behind him with writing on it. The words weren’t clear. I strained to see what they were. Pok was standing in front of it. Staring it at. When he stepped aside, I could see that the words were out of focus anyway. I took a screenshot of it.
Then I zoomed into the words.
My heart started beating faster.
The grogginess from my lack of sleep was overrun by adrenaline. The words were chilling.
Day One: Knife attacks.
Day Two: Acid attacks.
Day Three: Suicide Vest bombings.
Day Four: Car bombings.
Day Five: Dirty Bomb at Royal Wedding.
Today was day three! Vest bombings.
They intended to send suicide bombers into my path today.
I had to go back to the drawing board. My plan wouldn’t work. A vest bomber could kill dozens of people. Maybe hundreds.
What should I do?
Should I tell Weaver?
I should call Brad.
“Hi. Honey. How long have I been asleep? What time is it?”
The voice I’d been dying to hear.
Jamie was awake.
19
Day Three
Vauxhall Cross
MI6 Headquarters
Agent Mick Weaver walked into the MI6 headquarters looking for answers. He was certain he had a CIA officer operating in his midst and was armed with videos to prove it. While he often worked closely with his counterparts in the foreign intelligence services, he could count on one hand how many times he’d actually been inside the main building. The feeling of awe felt the same as the first time.
“Legoland” as the iconic building was often referred to, fit its name. It looked like it had been put together by a resourceful kid with a large amount of Legos at his disposal. He seemed to remember the architect had won a number of awards. Once inside, it looked like any other office building except for the mystery and intrigue which no doubt happened between the walls in secret.
Weaver felt a little out of place. He dealt with local crimes. Important, but nothing like the international ramifications of the things that were investigated inside MI6.
He looked down at his watch. As was his strict custom, he was fifteen minutes early. Now the time was fifteen minutes after the scheduled appointment, and he was fuming. His time was as important as the foreign intelligence officers’, even if they didn’t think so. He checked in at the front security counter, and they told him to wait. Thirty minutes ago.
Waiting caused his blood
pressure to rise and made him antsy. That and he expected more attacks today which also had him on edge. He expected his phone to ring at any time with his assistant conveying another deadly attack in downtown London. One in which Alex Steele was somehow connected. He really wanted to be in front of the security cameras to see it as it happened.
But he needed to talk to an officer at MI6 and get his take on the problem. While he was convinced Alex Steele was on a CIA mission, it didn’t make sense to him. That’s what he hoped his appointment, foreign intelligence service officer Bond Digby, could shed some light on. The man’s name brought a smile to his face, releasing the tension somewhat. How ironic to be a spy with the name of Bond, even if it was his first name.
Digby finally arrived. “There’s always a fire to put out somewhere in the world,” he said.
There’s a fire right here in London, Weaver wanted to quip but held his tongue. No use starting the meeting off on the wrong foot.
Digby led Weaver into his office. It had a conference table in the corner and Weaver had video to show him and suggested the table would be better suited for both of them to be able to view his footage.
“Let me get right to the point,” Weaver said. “A man named Alex Steele arrived in London on Wednesday morning from the States. With a woman. He claims they’re on their honeymoon. As soon as they got off the Tube, they witnessed a knife attack on a woman also getting off the train. Unfortunately, the woman was killed, and the terrorist got away. Steele chased the man up the subway stairs but lost him. He came back and performed CPR on the woman. But as I said, she didn’t survive.”
Weaver was a fact freak. He intended to lay out all his information in a methodical manner. Digby seemed bored already. So, Weaver jumped over his memorized presentation and got right to the purpose of the meeting.
“I think Alex Steele is working with the CIA.”
“I called them, and they said he wasn’t.” Digby leaned back in his chair.
“Do you believe them?” Weaver asked.
“I don’t have any reason not to.”
Rather than argue the point, Weaver moved on to the next set of compelling facts. “Later that day, another attack occurred. Outside Kensington Palace. Steele and his so-called wife were present for that attack as well. This time they disarmed the attacker who had a knife.”
“Sounds like the man did you a favor. What’s the problem?”
“The next day, there was an acid attack at the Tower of London. Steele was there. So was his wife.”
“I heard about that attack. Such a tragedy. The woman was a beautiful model. I hope she makes it. Either way, her life will never be the same again. You say Steele was there?”
“Yes,” Weaver said with incredulity. “That’s my point. Why is he always present at these attacks? There was another acid attack in Trafalgar Square later that afternoon. Again, Steele was there. Actually, the attack never happened. I sent a SWAT team in and they took the terrorist into custody before he could launch his attack. I have Steele on video stalking the guy. He was about to take him down, but my men arrived first. Steele got away.”
“How does Steele know when the attacks are about to take place?”
“I don’t know. That’s what has me baffled. Is he conducting a CIA intelligence gathering mission on British soil?”
“Not supposed to be. He would’ve checked in with us first. And that would be very reckless. A beautiful woman was disfigured for life. If he knew that attack was about to happen and didn’t notify us, I’d have a huge problem with that.”
“Apparently, he feels the need to stop these attacks on his own. I don’t know why. I hoped you could shed some light on it.”
Digby shrugged his shoulders then pointed to the laptop which was opened on the table.
“I assume you have something you want me to see?” he said, in the form of a question.
“I have video footage of the attacks. I thought if you saw the man, you might recognize him or at least confirm from his actions that he is an operative.”
The video of the subway attack came up first. Digby leaned in to get a close look at the screen.
“Rewind that,” he said before it even got to the attack.
Weaver hit a key on the computer and went back to the beginning, which started when the woman exited the subway car with her child.
“Stop it right there.” Digby said.
Steele had not yet gotten off the subway car. The video was frozen on his wife.
“I know that girl,” Digby said. “Her name’s Emily. I don’t remember her last name.”
“Steele says that’s his wife, Jamie Steele.”
“I don’t know if she’s his wife, but she’s definitely with the CIA. I worked with her a couple years ago on a case. She’s with the sex-trafficking division. It’s not uncommon for them to use fake names.”
Weaver’s heart did a somersault in his chest. If the wife was with the CIA, so was the man. His suspicions were confirmed.
“What do you know about her?” Weaver asked.
“That she’s the best damn field officer I’ve ever worked with. She saved my life.”
“How so?”
“A long story but here’s the short version. She uncovered a sex trafficking ring at local massage parlors in Soho. No shocker there. Everybody knows they exist, but she was determined to bring them down. She followed protocol and brought us in before she acted. Obviously, being a woman, she couldn’t just walk into the place, but I could. So, I went in, got into one of the back rooms on the guise that I was a john. The prostitute gave me her price. I paid her and then told her that I just wanted to talk. My purpose for being there was intelligence gathering. I wanted to know how many women were employed there and if they were free to leave.”
Digby took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling.
“Anyway, the woman was uncooperative at first. She kept insisting that she didn’t know anything. I got the sense that she was afraid to talk. All of a sudden, she said she had to go to the bathroom, and she left the room. I sensed something wasn’t right and told Emily through the radio. Next thing I knew, some Asian guys were in the room with guns pointed at my head. I thought they were going to kill me. Anyway, Emily barged in with her guns drawn. She took on three men, and disarmed them. They were writhing on the floor faster than I could blink an eye. I didn’t even have time to help her.”
“Sounds like you were lucky.”
“I owe her one. If she hadn’t come along, I’d be a dead man.”
“That confirms what I saw. Steele and his wife are obviously professionals.”
Weaver showed him the footage of the second knife attack. It showed the woman and Alex disarming the terrorist. “Look at what they did to the attacker,” Weaver said, pointing at the screen.
Digby winced when he saw it.
“The man lost both his arms,” Weaver added.
Digby nodded. “That’s what I mean. Her skills are off the charts. Those two were definitely trained by Curly.”
“Curly?”
“He’s a trainer at the Farm. That’s where the CIA trains their officers. Our people go there sometimes for joint training. Curly’s the best there is. I saw him not that long ago. He told me that Emily, or whatever her name is, was the best he’d ever trained.”
Weaver showed him the acid attack. Digby studied it closely.
“Looks to me like Emily, the wife, heads straight for the attacker.”
“She would’ve taken him out, but the guards shot him down first.”
Digby clearly saw Alex running right behind her.
“That’s strange,” Digby said. “That they’d be at all three attacks. It’s like they knew they were going to happen ahead of time.”
“There was a fourth one. Later that day. Like I said, Steele was at that one.”
“Steele is definitely former CIA. I can tell by his actions. I don’t think he’s currently with them, though, or they would’ve told me.”
<
br /> “Here’s something strange. Steele bought a painting at the National Gallery for more than three million pounds. Where does a CIA man get that kind of money?”
Digby leaned back in his chair again and clasped his hands behind his head.
“The CIA wouldn’t authorize that kind of money for a cover. That’s for sure. Steele had to do that on his own. But where did he get that much money?”
“That’s why I’m here. I have a theory, but it’s just that, a theory.”
“Did you bring Steele in for questioning?” Digby asked.
“I’ve talked to him three times.”
“And what does he say?”
“That’s he not with the CIA. He and the girl are on their honeymoon. The fact they are at the attacks is purely a coincidence.”
“I don’t buy that.”
“Me either.”
“The money also has me baffled. Steele is right. He’s not with the CIA anymore. But what happened?”
“Any ideas?” Weaver asked.
“He could’ve stolen the money. That might be why he was cut loose. A guy this good wouldn’t be let go for no reason.”
“Wouldn’t he have been arrested?”
“Only if they could prove it. Which is hard to do. Guys in the field only make a drop in the bucket compared to the risk taken. The temptation is strong. Steele could’ve come across a drug dealer, or arms dealer, took the money and justified it by convincing himself he did the world a favor. The money was better off in his hands than some terrorists. I’m not justifying it. I’m just saying that might’ve been what he was thinking.”
“Why the attacks though?” Weaver said. “If Steele knew about them, why didn’t he try to stop them?”
“Apparently, he did try. But on two occasions, he wasn’t able to. The man with the acid threw it on the girl before Steele could stop him. It’s almost like Steele knows about the attacks in advance, wants to stop them, but isn’t always successful. Or maybe he doesn’t want to be successful all the time so it doesn’t draw suspicion on him. Very strange. Why would he risk people getting hurt?”
