‘Like a virus.’ Alan said. ‘How is that possible?’
‘The organic material that allows the chip to attach itself to the brainstem is able to combine certain elements with the technology that the chip contains.’
‘So you’re saying that this chip can be passed on like a computer virus?’
‘In a manner of speaking yes.’
‘I’m sorry but I am having a hard time believing all this. There is no way technology like this could exist in the world.’
‘Take another look at that photograph Mr Manning the evidence speaks for itself. This technology has been in development for decades. It’s only now coming to fruition.’
‘Is this military?’
‘It used to be. Now private enterprise is doing the job of the top secret labs of yesteryear. Everything is out in the open if you know where to look.’
‘Why would Dystopia want to create a zombie apocalypse?’
‘We know enough about this scientist to know that he wants to create a better world.’
‘By killing innocent people. I don’t see how that could create a better world.’
‘For thousands of years war has always been seen as a way to bring change. Now even war is being phased out. Tech genius billionaires are finding ways to bring change by distracting the people. The masses addicted to social media unaware that the world around them is slowly becoming a prison.’
‘You sound a lot like Dystopia.’
‘Perhaps.’ The stranger replied. ‘Have you ever read George Orwell Mr Manning?’
Alan shook his head. ‘I can’t say I have had the time to read his works.’
‘Did you know he coined the phrase cold war?’
‘No I did not know that. I vaguely remember the Berlin Wall falling. I was only a young boy, I didn’t really pay much attention to the news back then.’
‘George Orwell predicted the direction that society was heading. Much of the fiction that makes up his works has yet to happen. But there are elements that have come to pass. Mass surveillance being one of them. Many people who are familiar with the term big brother will only know it from that ridiculous reality TV show.’
‘I am sorry but what’s all this got to do with Dystopia?’ Alan interrupted.
‘The drug this scientist created was supposed to be the next generation in mass surveillance. It was designed to be the wonder drug of the future. A tiny chip capable of linking a person’s brain to technology. There are those who would welcome this kind of technology. We are constantly being bombarded with information. But for some it’s not enough. The project that this scientist worked on had over 2000 trial applicants who signed up to have this chip inside of them. Fortunately, it never happened.’
‘Why?’
‘The project was halted. There were those who thought that we were moving too fast.’
‘I take it this scientist didn’t agree with the project being called to a halt.’
‘No, he argued that the project should be continued. He maintained that the experiment would be a revolutionary breakthrough in medical science.’
‘Do you have a name for this scientist?’
‘James Parker.’
‘I cannot write an article about this, you know that.’
‘I know Mr Manning. You would be putting yourself in the firing line as well as your newspaper.’
‘Why come to me with all this. Why not go to the Guardian. They’re used to dealing in all this secrecy.’
‘Times are changing Mr Manning and we must change with them. The secrets that Edward Snowden revealed to the world aren’t even the tip of the iceberg. If the people knew what our governments are really capable of there would be a revolt the likes of which have never been seen before.’
‘What is it you want me to do about all this?’
‘You are part of something much bigger than just a newspaper story. What if I told you that you were always destined to work for the Examiner and that your entire life has been leading up to this moment.’
‘I’d have to say that you were a little eccentric and perhaps a little superstitious.’
‘Tell me how you came to live in such an exclusive area of London?’
Alan was caught off guard by the question.
‘Smith Street isn’t exactly cheap in the rental market.’
‘The flat belongs to my mother.’
‘Who inherited it from your grandfather, who acquired it from someone else.’
‘Who?’
The stranger smiled. ‘In time Mr Manning you will learn more but until then you must find out all you can about Trojan Horse.’
‘I was planning to visit someone in the morning. A man called Angus Walker. But I am doubtful he’ll be able to help.’
‘Go and see him.’ The stranger coaxed. ‘He will be able to reveal more than you think.’
Alan thought for a moment before speaking again. ‘You mentioned Reece Tyler before. Do you know him?’
‘Mr Tyler has been of interest to our group for a very long time.’
‘Our group?’
The stranger smiled. ‘All in good time Mr Manning. I realise that I am being cryptic and I don’t blame you for being sceptical. I promise you that you will learn more in the coming months.’
‘Coming months?’
‘Great change is coming Mr Manning. Old enemies are clawing for power trying to finish what they started over eighty years ago. Your Prime Minister is slowly discovering this. The question that must be answered is will she fight for freedom or will she fall to darkness.’
‘What is your name?’
The stranger smiled. ‘Names are not important at this time Mr Manning. Visit Angus Walker tomorrow.’
‘And what about Dystopia.’
‘There are other elements at play in the game Mr Manning. They are fighting to save the day so to speak.’
Alan checked his watch.
‘My men will take you back home. I will be in touch soon enough.’
Alan stood and walked back towards the park entrance.
Tony Mirren had been stood out of sight. He approached the man on the bench. ‘So it has begun.’
‘Indeed.’
‘What happens next?’
‘Mr Manning will find his own path eventually.’
‘He will come asking about his grandfather George Rayman. What do I tell him?’
‘You must keep George Rayman a closely guarded secret for now. In the meantime Dystopia is the least of our worries.’
‘Lebensborn.’ Mirren said.
‘Yes.’ The stranger replied before standing. ‘I must leave for Prague. We must prepare for the future. Project Avalon needs to be initiated.’ The stranger walked off.
MI6 Headquarters – Albert Embankment – 11:13pm
‘Robert thank you for meeting me at this late hour.’
‘Your call sounded urgent.’
‘Indeed it is.’ Mayflower said. ‘I need you to look into something for me. Or rather someone.’
‘Who?’
‘His name is Albert Spearman. I encountered him earlier today in Brussels.’
‘Of course Prime Minister I will have a team look into his background first thing tomorrow morning.’
‘No.’ Mayflower shook his head. ‘I need you to personally look into this.’
‘Can I ask why?’
‘To be blunt Robert, I am not sure if I can trust anyone at this moment. This is why I chose to meet you here.’
‘I see.’ Parsons leant back in his chair.
‘It has been a difficult day for me. I need to surround myself with people I can trust. We have a long history Robert. I can think of no other person to undertake this task.’
‘Can I ask why you sacked Edwin Fuller?’
’It was only a matter of time Robert. Edwin was never going to be a team player. I have always suspected an alternative motive. Turns out I was right.’
‘I’ll start making the necessary calls. What can you
tell me about this Albert Spearman?’
‘That’s the thing there is nothing to tell. I did a quick search for him earlier this evening but could find nothing. I need to know what we are dealing with here.’
Parsons nodded. ‘That was a rather bold move you made earlier with the press conference.’
‘After the fiasco in Brussels I didn’t have a choice. It seems as if the whole world is plotting against me. I don’t know who to trust anymore Robert.’
‘These are dark times Prime Minister. I’m afraid we are nowhere regarding Dystopia. The Americans have been pouring a lot of effort into tracking them down but have had no luck.’
Mayflower stood. ‘I won’t keep you any longer Robert, it’s late. I think we could both use a good night’s sleep.’ As she turned, Mayflower noticed a black and white photograph on Parsons’ desk. She picked it up. ‘A family member?’
‘Actually he’s one of my predecessors, Morris Stanford. He was head of MI6 during the fifties and early sixties. A bit of a legend around here.’
Mayflower placed the portrait back on the desk. ‘We could certainly use a few of them at the moment.’ She turned and headed for the door.
Chapter 44
Afghanistan – 20th September – 2007 – 9:32pm
Sam shivered as she stared out across the barren landscape. The star filled sky seemed to glisten overhead. The full moon made visibility tolerable as she navigated a narrow path. She yawned as her thoughts turned towards home. She was looking forward to seeing her sister who was about to start Oxford university. For Sam university wasn’t an option. She had always wanted to join the army. The day she left school Sam headed down to the Army careers centre. Her parents didn’t want her going into the army. Like her sister Abbey they wanted Sam to follow an academic path. However, despite her academic achievements Sam chose the army. When she was deployed to Afghanistan her mother broke down begging her to finish and pursue a more fitting career. Sam however was determined to further her career and dreamt of climbing all the way to the top. To become the highest ranking female officer in the British Army.
Sam clutched her SA80 assault rifle as a cold breeze enveloped her. Despite the desert heat during the day the temperature could drop rapidly during the night. She had spent over an hour patrolling the perimeter of the camp occupied by over thirty nomadic tribesmen. The clan was well armed with dated American weaponry given to them during the Soviet occupation. Sam had passed what appeared to be a medium sized tin shack several times. Every time she walked by the makeshift building she could hear whispering inside. As she began another sweep curiosity got the better of her. As she approached the building Sam became aware of voices of women inside. Since they had arrived at the camp Sam had wondered if there were any women.
Cautiously Sam approached the shack. The voices inside died down. With her SA80 pointing the way Sam reached out and pushed the door. The shack was lit by an old oil lamp hanging from the ceiling. Sam could make out several figures huddled together on the floor. Against her better judgement Sam turned on her torch.
A group of women clung to each other. Their terrified expressions told a thousand stories. The women were of varying age, from a young adolescent girl to a woman who appeared to be in her late forties. Sam pushed the door shut and lowered her weapon.
‘Salaam.’ She greeted as loudly as she dared.
One of the woman stood up and approached. Her face etched with fear. ‘British army?’ She whispered.
Sam nodded smiling at the woman. ‘Yes I am.’
‘You should go, you cannot be here.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Please you must leave us. It is too dangerous for you to be here.’
‘Why?’
‘If they find you here they will kill you, they will kill all of us.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Sam remarked. ‘Why are you hiding in here?’
‘We cannot be seen, we are to be sold.’ The woman answered.
‘Sold to who?’
‘Please you must go, it is dangerous for you and the others.’
‘Please tell me what is going on. I can help you.’
The woman shook her head. ‘You cannot help us.’ She looked towards the door.
Before Sam could turn around the door burst open and a tribesman entered. He glared at Sam shouting in Afghan.
Woodhouse Farm – Burneside - Lake District – 11:35pm
Sam jolted awake.
‘Sounded like you were having a wild dream?’ Teller commented.
Sam stretched. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You were shouting.’
‘I said I’m fine.’ Sam replied assertively.
The car drove up a long drive towards a large converted barn. Security lights flooded the area as the car approached. Four men armed with baseball bats appeared surrounding the car.
‘What’s going on?’ Sam asked.
‘Relax they are just security that’s all. I like to be prepared.’
‘Prepared for what, the second coming?’
Teller opened the car door. ‘Come on, there is much to do and much to see.’
Sam gazed around at the room she stood in. She couldn’t help feeling a little impressed at the converted barn which resembled the latest incident room at Scotland Yard. At least twenty people occupied the room working away on laptops and desktop computers. Several large flat screen TVs occupied the large space. Sam looked at Teller. ‘You’ve been busy.’
‘Very busy.’ Teller replied. ‘This is something I have been planning for the past several years. I finally got it up and running last month.’
‘What are you doing with all this equipment?’
Teller frowned at Sam. ‘Don’t worry I wasn’t planning to shut down the NHS or anything like that.’
‘This is to prevent the cyber armageddon I warned you about.’
Sam turned as the hacker she had interviewed appeared. Unlike in the interview Mark Nichols was dressed in a clean shirt and trousers.
‘You scrub up well Mr Nichols.’
‘A diversion, to keep you off our backs while we were putting our plan into action.’
‘It was Mark who suggested that I make contact with you.’ Teller revealed. ‘He was impressed with you when he was brought in for questioning.’
Nichols handed Teller a tablet. ‘Here’s the latest at what’s been happening around the globe. Every hacker on the planet has been targeting the UK. We are also missing three members of our group. I have tried calling them but they are not answering. They were picked up by you lot this morning.’ He said looking at Sam.
‘We released all the hackers by lunch time.’
‘We haven’t got time to worry about missing team members.’ Teller said tapping away on the tablet.
Sam looked over Teller’s shoulder. ‘What is this?’
Teller stepped towards a 90-inch TV and swiped the tablet. A display appeared on the large screen. ‘This is a representation of what’s happening in our digital world.’
Sam stared at the screen. ‘It looks like a scene from Wargames, when the computer tries to launch all the nuclear missiles.’
‘That is a brilliant film and a good interpretation detective.’ Teller remarked. ‘What you are looking at is a real time war.’
‘War?’
‘A cyber war.’ Teller said. ‘It looks as if every hacker on the planet is targeting the UK. Confirming that Dystopia is operating from somewhere in this country.’
‘Can you pinpoint a location?’
‘No and that’s the troubling aspect about this whole thing. When they released their first statement Dystopia said that they are everywhere. It looks as if they are, which makes it impossible to pin point their location.’
‘So even with all this fancy equipment you still can’t find them.’ Sam said.
‘I didn’t say that.’ Teller said. ‘This hack is so sophisticated that every computer with an IP address in the UK is lit up like a Christmas tree. Meanin
g that every person who owns a computer is a potential suspect. This is next generation stuff.’
‘An IP address is like a postcode linked to your internet connection. It’s what you lot use to catch paedophiles and other criminals.’ Nichols explained.
‘I know what an IP address is.’ Sam pointed out. ‘I have worked with the cybercrimes division.’
‘Most people don’t know what an IP address is Detective Drake. This is why people get caught online looking at stuff their not supposed to be looking at. Which includes people who use Kodi to watch Game of Thrones.’
‘Even with all this fancy equipment it will take some time to get within one hundred miles of a possible location.’ Teller said. ‘We have a series of tracker programs running using algorithms that are analysing the video messages that Dystopia are using. It should take several hours to come up with a rough location.’
‘Within several hours this country will slip deeper into an abyss.’
‘This country is always teetering on the edge. That’s the trouble with most people, they think they live in a happy peaceful country. But if you take one simple element away the country goes into meltdown. Closing down all the petrol stations in the UK is just one of many ways Dystopia could cause total chaos. We are lucky they haven’t shut down all the nuclear power plants. Just shutting down the ordinary power grids would do enough damage.’
‘But instead they have targeted the premier league and the petrol stations.’ Sam pointed out.
‘That’s why I know this is James’ work.’ Teller said. ‘There are two things he hated in this world. Football and our reliance on fossil fuels. He hates soccer players and the obscene amounts of money they are payed. He has a point though; paying someone three hundred thousand a week is a bit much. Do you know how long it would take your average factory worker to earn that much?’
Dystopia Page 24
