The Lost Years

by Colin Wade

“What the hell?” Rob was startled. “What is wrong?”

  “Sorry, another nightmare. I am fine. Go back to sleep.”

  He stared at her with real concern. Real fear.

  “We need to talk about this. Twice in a week. Something is wrong. What are you not telling me?”

  “Not now. Please. Leave me alone.”

  Anya rolled over. Her back to Rob. Trying to stifle the sobs.

  He looked at her back. Went to touch her. Stopped. He would have to be patient.

  *

  Breakfast the next morning was awkward. Again.

  “Rob. I am sorry about last night. I don’t know why I keep having these nightmares. I am sure it is only temporary. My crazy mind playing up. Would you mind if I didn’t come into the gallery today? I am a bit washed out.”

  “Please don’t shut me out Anya. I am always here for you. I love you.”

  “I know. I am sorry. I love you too.”

  Rob gave her that smile. The one that always melted her heart.

  “Have a day off. No problem. See you later.”

  Rob left for work and Anya got straight onto the internet.

  She had to confront this. That place was invading her dreams. The Loughborough Clinic. The letters ‘LEX’.

  She found the website of the Loughborough Clinic and searched for anything on their website with the letters LEX. Nothing.

  She searched the wider world. She found references to car leasing, the Financial Times, the baddy in Superman and someone selling computer software, but nothing that would tell her what LEX was.

  She logged out. She had to get some air. She went for a walk. She had to think. For the first time in a very long while, she was craving a hit.

  She walked along the towpath by the river and found a seat. The air was a bit cooler but she didn’t notice. Her mind was racing. Her body was lurching. Her mind wandered to where it all began. The tragedy. University. Bradley.

  *

  She couldn’t focus on the words. Her parents – dead. No, this was a dream, a joke. The Dean of her college was talking to her in that voice. The hushed one you always hear people using on the TV when bad news is being delivered.

  She didn’t know how she had got from that room to the college bar but she was now sitting there. Crying. Dazed.

  “Are you OK?”

  A tall, rather handsome fair-haired man was standing in front of Anya. She had seen him around but didn’t know his name.

  “No. I… I… I have had some bad news.”

  He sat down beside her.

  “Tell me.”

  “My parents are… dead. Killed in a car accident.”

  “Oh my God, I am so sorry.”

  He placed his arm round her. She buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.

  She had no idea how long he had held her. She was all cried out. For now. She looked into his eyes. God they were nice eyes.

  “Do you want some company tonight?”

  What the fuck. Was he hitting on her? At a time like this.

  “What do you mean?”

  He held his hands up.

  “Oh God. I didn’t mean that. Did you want someone to stay with you in your room? ‘On the couch’, so to speak.”

  “Oh, I see. That would be nice. My name is Anya by the way.”

  “Bradley. Bradley Williams.”

  From that first meeting she was hooked. Her heart was broken, her motivation for life lost. The deep profound grief and uncharacteristic loneliness led her in the wrong direction. Bradley consumed her. She relied on him more and more. The university tried to do the right things but the spiral of decay was irreversible. He exploited it.

  She couldn’t really remember when it started. The images were there. The rolled-up £5 note. The mirror. The white lines. The rest was a blur.

  She didn’t live her life any more. Uni was a distant memory. She lived for the next fix. Bradley pushed her further and further. He got nasty.

  “Come on Anya, you know you want to snort all that lovely inheritance up your nose, don’t you? Now give me the fucking money.”

  There was violence. Sexual assault.

  Then, the clinic. Had he put her there? He wasn’t there when she got out. She never saw him again.

  *

  “Anya. Anya. Are you OK?”

  Anya jumped. She had been staring into space. Playing over that horrible period of her life. She forgot where she was.

  “Oh, hi Mrs Strawman. Sorry, I was miles away. I’m fine thank you. Just enjoying the fresh air.”

  “OK, dear. As long as you are all right.”

  She wasn’t all right. She was scared and she was pushing Rob away. She got up and walked back home.

  5

  The three of them met in the usual place. A pub in the middle of the Berkshire countryside, on a road which only led to the little hamlet where the pub dominated local life. It was not a place that many people found by chance. The landlord knew them and was always discreet.

  They sat in a quiet corner all nursing pints of the local beer. One would be fine even though they were all driving. At least they hoped so. It would be a bit of a bother if they had to get the boss to get them off another drink-drive charge. Their police contacts could always be bribed for the right amount. They all sunk half of it in one drag and got on with the business in hand.

  “So, Doctor, the boss has agreed to two more transactions.”

  “Why isn’t he here to do his own dirty work?” the doctor replied with thinly veiled contempt.

  “He is a bit busy at the moment.”

  “Yes,” said the doctor, “he and his family have a lot more to lose now, don’t they?”

  “I hope you are not threatening us?”

  “Oh no,” said the doctor, “but I think this means my price should go up.”

  He grabbed the doctor by his collar and pulled him so close that their faces were almost touching. “Look you pervert, you do not have any negotiating room here.” He let go quite quickly as the other punters in the pub starting looking over, wondering whether there was going to be a dust-up.

  “You can keep playing that card but at the end of the day, you need me. No one else knows how to do these procedures. I won’t betray you but just want a bit of recognition for the risks I am taking.”

  They were both surprised by his bravado, considering they could ruin him by exposing his secret, but they did need him.

  “I’ll talk to the boss. How much more do you want?”

  “I think 25k per transaction should do it,” the doctor replied.

  He told the doctor to wait in the pub while he stepped outside to make the call to the boss. “He wants £25k extra per transaction,” he said when the boss answered.

  “Really. Did you remind him of our leverage?” the boss replied.

  “Of course, but this time he seemed less frightened by the prospect of being exposed.”

  “Well well, maybe our doctor is getting some balls. Pay him what he wants, after all he will be dealt with as a loose end once these last two are done.”

  He returned to the pub and told the doctor what had been agreed.

  The doctor’s heart was pumping at an alarming rate but the bravado had worked and he tried to show a cool expression. He had decided he would disappear after these last two deals and the extra £50k would set him up nicely, somewhere exotic and far away from this place and all his demons.

  “The girls will be ready to be admitted in a few days,” the other one said. “I will bring them to you on Friday.”

  “OK,” said the doctor. “I will get things ready.”

  6

  Clark sat eating his favourite takeout pizza. The barbeque chicken one from Giovanni’s. That name always made him laugh because ‘Giovanni’ had the broadest West Midlan
ds accent he had ever heard.

  The sustenance set him up for another night in his man cave. Alone, but happy with his own company.

  As he pondered what to do next in his search for a juicy conspiracy, he watched the news streams that he had flashing up over his numerous terminals. One caught his eye.

  ‘MP for Battersea, George Walker, tops league table of greedy politicians in the latest expenses scandal,’ the scrolling headline read.

  ‘£53,000 in dodgy expenses claims by Battersea MP puts party to shame,’ another one exclaimed.

  Another greedy bell-end MP. What a surprise, Clark mused to himself. OK, Mr Walker, maybe you will be my little project tonight. Let’s see what other dirty little secrets you have.

  Clark navigated to George Walker’s local constituency website to get his parliamentary email address. Once he had this it would be a ‘hop, skip and a jump’ through the dark web to hack the government email server. Their security was so lame it was like taking candy from a baby.

  Clark opened up TOR, the hacker’s tool of choice for navigating the dark web and for keeping all your ‘dark surfing’ nice and anonymous.

  He quickly found the perimeter firewall of the government website. A quick test of the usual vulnerable network ports soon found his favourite back door. TCP Port 21. Open and willing, like a baby bird waiting to be fed.

  Clark scoffed at the screen. God, these government IT people are such amateurs. They might as well just leave all their doors open, physically and virtually.

  He quickly hacked through to the exchange server and found George Walker’s email history.

  Right, let’s see whether you have any more skeletons in your closet.

  Clark started scrolling through his received emails. Nothing of any great interest. He looked through his sent items. He stopped. One caught his eye.

  ‘Consultancy Services’, the email title read.

  He clicked on the email and read it out loud.

  To Dr Felix Normandy,

  Please find attached my invoice for non-executive consultancy services at Fairport Medical.

  Regards, George Walker

  Clark opened up the attachment. The invoice was for £10,000.

  He set up a separate browsing session and logged onto the public website of Fairport Medical.

  A company specialising in private psychological and addiction recovery services. Hmm, private healthcare. A cash cow if ever I saw one. Just the type of thing to attract this greedy bugger.

  He navigated around the site. Dr Felix Normandy was the CEO but there was no mention of a board. No mention of George Walker being a non-executive director. It seemed like Dr Normandy ran this as an autocracy, so where did George Walker fit in?

  Clark changed his focus and logged onto the public list of parliamentary interests that should provide the vehicle for all MPs to declare these types of private arrangements.

  He was not surprised in what he didn’t find. Nothing to declare about Fairport Medical, Mr Walker?

  Clark had the bit between his teeth. Right, Fairport Medical. Time for your examination. He laughed at his own joke. God, I am hilarious.

  TOR helped Clark get through similar network vulnerabilities on the Fairport Medical servers and he was soon on their email exchange server. He found an email alias for Dr Normandy and one for George Walker.

  Interesting. So, you do have a role in this little venture.

  But, as Clark went to navigate to their email history, something bizarre happened. There was nothing there. He tapped away, searching for answers.

  Hold on. It is there but encrypted. Why only their history? Shit, this looks like asymmetrical encryption. Jesus, what are you trying to hide?

  This had suddenly become a challenge. Sniff, sniff, sniff. Clark had a scent.

  Clark looked at the picture that always sat prominently on his desk. Reminding him. Driving him.

  Don’t worry Dad, I won’t stop looking for justice. I will avenge you. I think we have just hooked a live one here.

  7

  It had been a little tense when Rob got home. Their relationship had always been based on a deep love and respect for each other, despite the relatively short time they had been together. The very definition of soulmates.

  The last two nights and mornings had shaken them both. They had not yet experienced the type of kink in their relationship that recent events had brought to the surface. Anya tried to defuse it straight away.

  “I’m sorry Rob. I am just a bit cranky at the moment. I need to clear my head. Thank you for letting me have some alone time today.”

  “You’re shaking. Are you sure you are not coming down with something?”

  Shit. Anya couldn’t believe it. Were the withdrawals coming back? Was she sick? Physically? In her head?

  “I’m OK. Let’s eat and have a quiet night in.”

  Rob’s bullshit radar was now on full alert. Throughout his life, from quite an early age, people always complemented him on his calmness and kindness. Good parenting. But these qualities, that had so attracted Anya, did not mean he was a pushover. He knew when he was being played. When he was being lied to.

  Rob was now convinced that there was something about the time before they met that was haunting Anya. He decided to let it go for now but he was going to keep an eye on this beautiful, fragile creature that had made him so happy.

  They ate, cleared up and settled down for a night in front of the telly. They sat watching the evening news, which was dominated by the announcement that James Hardacre had been appointed the new prime minister, winning the snap leadership contest caused by party disunity about Brexit.

  He was being filmed outside 10 Downing Street with his wife and their two-year-old daughter, looking all smug and doing the full ‘I am a family man and I know what life is like for normal people’ charade, when everyone knew they had an army of servants and nannies looking after their every whim.

  “Ahh, the kid’s really cute,” said Anya.

  “Yes, she is, which is surprising, because her parents are a bit visually challenging,” mocked Rob.

  Anya laughed and gave him a friendly slap for being so mean. This was nice. Laughing together. Easing the tension.

  “Do you think our children will be beautiful?”

  Rob looked at Anya pensively. “We’ve never talked about this.”

  “I know, but what do you think? I have always wanted children and we haven’t exactly been careful these last eighteen months.”

  Rob paused for a bit, which made Anya nervous, but then that cheeky smile came over his face and he said, “I would love to have children with you Anya and yes, they will be beautiful!”

  She playfully slapped him again, grabbed his neck and kissed him passionately. “Oh, we’re starting right now,” quipped Rob.

  Anya smiled and pulled away. “Do you think we should get ourselves checked out, you know, if we are serious about this baby-making lark?”

  “I am sure everything is fine. It can take a while for people to get pregnant but if you would feel better getting checked out we can both go to the GP and talk to her about it.”

  “I think we should. I’ll phone up in the morning and see if we can get an appointment.”

  Rob sat there a bit stunned. Where had that come from? Was she deflecting again? They both shared strong family values and he always thought that marriage and kids was an inevitable part of his life plan, but this all seemed a bit sudden. Was she expecting him to propose as well?

  Anya got up and went to the loo. What a strange few minutes. Admitting she wanted children. Rob’s first reaction was fantastic but…afterwards, his expression had changed. He looked troubled. God, why was life suddenly so complicated?

  8

  Clark had been distracted all day at work. The sophisticated encryption on the two stooges’ email ac
counts had pricked his conspiracy radar. He couldn’t wait to get home to crack it and find out more.

  Asymmetric encryption. I guess I should be vaguely impressed, Mr Fairport Medical IT person. The problem for you though is that, at the end of the day, it is all just based on clever maths, which means it is a job for SnapDevil’s maths worm.

  Clark may not have kept much physical human company but he did have a bunch of ‘mates’ in the virtual world. They called themselves Proton, an online hackers’ community that joked and did things ‘for the bantz’ like any social group, but with no names, no identities, no locations and a code that said they respected each other’s boundaries. No hacking each other. They exchanged hacking stories, tips, tools and anything that would get them where they wanted to be, in the virtual world. Without any irony he called himself Krypto.

  SnapDevil had created a cool programme that constantly bombarded encryption with mathematical formulae to work out the algorithms and crack the access keys. It would sometimes take days for the programme to run and de-code the secrets but it always got there in the end.

  OK, let’s see what this little bad boy can do.

  The length of time the programme would take to get results would really depend on how sophisticated the encryption configuration was.

  So, Fairport Medical. My record is three hours twenty-four minutes with this lovely maths worm. Will you be my new besty?

  The answer came after three hours and twenty-eight minutes.

  Ooh, so close but no cigar.

  He logged into Proton.

  KRYPTO:

  ‘Sup Snap.

  SNAPDEVIL:

  Smoking Krypto. Watcha doin?

  KRYPTO:

  Using your maths worm to crack another dodgy corp. 3 hours 28 minutes.

  SNAPDEVIL:

  Wah, not bad. You still ain’t gonna beat my 2 hours 45 minutes any day soon.