And I’m losing my understanding of it. This room is full of postgrads with more knowledge of today’s threats than I have after twelve years at the MCU. How can I lead them when I don’t understand what it is they’re doing?
I’m forty-four and already too old for this.
Jessica stood in the centre of the room for what might have been half an hour, so lost in thought that she flinched when an analyst called out to her. “Dr Bennett?”
Jessica turned to face a junior analyst with short blonde hair and purple lipstick. “Yes, Carrie? What do you have?”
“I’ve found something that doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
Jessica peered over Carrie’s shoulder at her monitor. All she saw were lines of white code against a black background, as well as a pair of graphs in a separate window. “What am I looking at?”
“It’s the plane’s firewall. It recorded a possible hacking attempt before the flight crashed. That’s not unusual – planes have been under threat from hacktivists and criminals for several years now – but the worst that usually happens is that the plane’s Wi-Fi or infotainment system gets exploited. A hacker might spy on an influential passenger’s emails or download the pictures from a person’s phone, but little else.”
Jessica nodded, understanding so far. “Okay. So what about the plane’s mechanical systems? Could somebody hack into those?”
“It shouldn’t be possible. At least, not if my understanding is correct. The aircraft’s systems are segmented. The mechanical controls can’t accept remote commands. Only… I found corrupted code in both the plane’s autopilot systems and the altimeter readings. From what I can see, the aircraft thought it was flying straight, but it was actually flying towards the ground. The altered code was less than a hundred characters. That’s all it took.”
Jessica’s stomach churned. She imagined the panic onboard when the plane suddenly turned vertical and started hurtling towards the ground. She heard the passenger’s screams, their desperate pleas. She pictured terrified parents clutching their bewildered children. “You just said an aircraft’s mechanical systems can’t be hacked.”
Carrie nodded but appeared flummoxed. “They can’t. Except that’s what happened. I’ve traced a signature in the firewall recordings to an android device. The connection was made via Bluetooth.”
“Android? You’re telling me the corrupt code came from a mobile phone or a tablet?”
“Yes, ma’am. From inside the plane. Bluetooth has a very limited range, you see, so—”
Jessica groaned and waved a hand. “I get it, Carrie. You’re saying this might have been a suicide bomber?”
Carried nodded, her face growing pale. “One of the passengers crashed the plane.”
Sarah stood, watching a girl no older than six weep into her father’s arms. According to one of the paramedics, they had been waiting in the supermarket car park while the mother had gone inside to grab a chicken for dinner. She never made it out.
If planes were going to start falling out of the sky, then the world was about to change for the worse, like it had after 9/11. Technology was an indiscriminate weapon that developed faster than the people using it, and the fact that it was nearly twenty years since the Twin Towers fell was an eerie coincidence.
Is this an anniversary attack?
Thomas finished his latest phone call and approached Sarah. He offered a grim smile and asked if she was sure she didn’t want to head back to the earthworm with him. She took another look at the young girl and distraught father and declined. “This is where I need to be right now. I need to feel it.”
Thomas frowned but didn’t argue. His cheeks were grey and sagging, tiredness taking its toll. “Call me with any updates, okay? Where’s Mattock?”
“Trying to get some airtime with the crash investigators. Did you learn anything over the phone?”
“Not much. Jessica has the hive working on the flight data, but from what I gather, the plane might have been using new technology. The analysts aren’t fully up to speed on it.”
Sarah groaned. “Let me guess. This new technology is supposed to make a plane safer?”
“I don’t know, but whatever the cause of the crash, it’s going to be a long day.”
“Yeah, no kidding. I’ll call you if anything turns up, okay? Do the same for me?”
“Of course.” He put his hand on her shoulder and smiled wearily. Then he left.
The February afternoon was chilly. The sky had darkened with the promise of night, and by five o’clock the weak sun would be gone. Harsh floodlights would then be brought in to light the scene. Right now, the site was swarming with news vans and yapping journalists, but no helicopters flew overhead, suggesting the local airspace had been closed – or maybe even the national airspace. That was likely Thomas’s doing. Sarah didn’t always agree with him, but she had to admit he was proactive and led from the front. He didn’t wait around for answers to come to him, he went after them himself. She had always liked that about him.
Sarah intended to search for Mattock, but someone grabbed her from behind, hard enough to make her twist and shrug them off. “What the hell are you—”
The journalist was familiar, a woman in her forties often seen reporting from the doorsteps of Downing Street or outside Parliament. “Hello,” she yapped. “I’m Kate Amy with Cloud News. You’re Ms Stone, senior supervisor with the MCU, correct?”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “I suppose my face gives me away, huh? What are you doing inside the cordon, Amy?”
A microphone prodded at Sarah’s chin. A camera pointed at her from a few feet away. “Early reports suggest this may have been an act of cyberterrorism. Can you confirm or deny this, please?”
How the hell does she know?
“Go away.”
The microphone jabbed at her again, nearly hitting her face. “Please, our viewers want to understand what caused today’s tragedy. They have a right to know.”
“Who did you pay for this little ambush, sweetheart? One of the plods at the cordon, or someone higher up? Either way, you’re intruding on a tragedy and my attempts to make sense of it.”
“Ms Stone, please answer my question. Was Flight CAS8-96 brought down by an act of terrorism?”
How about I bring you down, you meddling bitch?
“I suggest you step away before that microphone ends up somewhere unpleasant.”
“What is the MCU doing about this disaster? Has the agency failed to protect the United Kingdom once again, as it did with Wazir Hesbani and Al Al-Sharir? Or when your father, Major Stone, attacked Parliament?”
Sarah had put in a lot of work controlling her temper in recent years, but she had a special disliking for journalists. Before she knew it, she was lashing out, swinging her leg and planting a boot right on the other woman’s kneecap. Senior reporter Kate Amy dropped like a sack of spuds, squealing in agony. The cameraman gasped, but he didn’t move to help her. Instead, he pointed the camera at her pain-wracked face.
“She assaulted me. She assaulted me. Help.”
Sarah shrugged. “See you in court.”
Damn it, Sarah.
The last thing she needed was to get swallowed up in a load of drama. The nearby police officers might try to arrest her if they got wind of an assault.
Or they can try at least.
The reporter’s screaming was drawing a crowd, so Sarah got moving, heading closer to the smouldering plane crash. She found Mattock at the edge of the supermarket’s car park and positioned herself behind him. He was briefing a pair of field agents, but he dismissed them when he saw her.
“I just assaulted a journalist,” she said.
He chuckled. “You’ve really got to stop doing that, lass.”
“Well, at least my boss won’t fire me. You find out anything?”
Mattock gave a shrug and rubbed at the greying stubble on his chin. He looked older than the last time she’d seen him, which had only been a couple of months ago. “Not a thi
ng,” he admitted. “The crash investigators are a prickly pair. They won’t say a word until their findings are complete. Worried about saying the wrong thing, I suppose. Can’t blame ’em, really. The higher-ups will want to control the narrative.”
“Mattock, if this plane really was hacked, the aerospace industry is finished. We’ll be back to travelling by boat by the end of the week. The investigators didn’t give you any kind of hint?”
“No, but they did let slip that it was unlikely someone on the ground could have done this. There’s a first time for everything, though, aye?” He tilted his head towards the commotion at the edge of the cordon, where Kate Amy was currently feigning near-death. No doubt she was weaving tales of brutality for the two police officers trying to help her. “How did the sodding press get privileges so quickly?”
“Someone got paid, obviously. If I find out who, I’ll—” Her phone buzzed in her thigh pocket. She pulled the Velcro strap and lifted the flap. The ringtone, once again, alerted her to who it was. “Jessica? I’m on the ground. It’s bad. Real bad. Please, tell me you have something.”
“Sarah, that gosh-darned plane was hacked. It’s supposed to be impossible, but Flight CAS8-96 was testing out a new anti-terrorism protocol.”
“You’re telling me this new anti-terrorism protocol allowed the plane to get hijacked remotely?”
“That’s about the colour of it, Sarah. They outfitted the pilot with a prototype app on his phone, allowing him to transfer the aircraft’s flight controls over to the tower in the event of a hijacking. From how it’s been explained to me, it means that if the pilot gets locked out of the cockpit or kept from the controls, one button press on his mobile phone can take control of the airplane away from the hijackers and pass it to ground control, who can land it safely via a future assisted-landing system.”
“And this new safety measure allowed someone to hack into the plane?”
“Yes and no.”
Sarah sighed. “What does that mean, Jess?”
“It means that hacking directly into the plane still wasn’t possible. The only device capable of remote access was the pilot’s phone. It was synced with the plane before take-off.”
“So the pilot brought down the plane? Jesus.”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying, Sarah. Someone hacked into the pilot’s phone and used it to transfer the control protocol to themselves.”
“That sounds… complicated.” Sarah swallowed a lump in her throat, trying to understand what she was hearing. Mattock was staring at her, looking even more confused.
Jessica took a breath and continued. “Sometimes, I think this latest bunch of analysts are speaking a different language, but as I understand it, this was a hack on top of a hack. The pilot’s phone was a backdoor into the plane’s flight controls and someone took advantage of that. Whoever designed the new security protocol spent far too long worrying about someone trying to seize the plane directly and not enough time thinking about someone seizing the one device that could actually take control.”
Sarah clawed at the tight blonde ponytail at the back of her head, wanting to tear out her hair. “So, the hacker downloaded the pilot’s dick pics, made a few prank calls, then crashed the plane into the ground? We need to catch this psycho before he does it again. It’s been twenty years since 9/11, Jess. This could be the start of something.”
“Don’t you think I know that? I lost family in New York. Twenty years might sound like a long time, but it’s not.”
Sarah sighed. “You lost a cousin, right?”
“Sweet little Veronica. Hair the colour of fresh straw and a smile that could light up a coal mine. Anyway, I have an address for you. You want it?”
“What? You have a lead on a suspect?”
“As good as the hacker was, the hive got an IP address. Fancy paying a house call?”
Sarah looked towards the cordon, at the distraught father and his motherless little girl. “I’m already on my way.”
Chapter Four
Cosmo was a reliable soldier, but sometimes he struggled to get to the point. That was a problem for Maxim because time was money. He growled and prodded a thick, gold-ringed index finger in Cosmo’s face. “Get to the point, Cousin. What interest is this plane crash to me?”
Cosmo was a hardened killer from Novokuznetsk, but he flinched at Maxim’s rising anger. He took off his blue baseball cap and clutched it by his waist. “I am telling you that our good friend, Ivan Zakharov, is dead. He was aboard plane that crash in Watford this afternoon. I am sorry to bring such news.”
Maxim’s eyes widened. Although he had never shed a tear for anyone, he felt the merest pang of sadness in his heart. “Ivan is dead? He was like brother to me. We serve as police officers in Orsk. The times we have – ha! – would have made Devil himself blush.” He placed a hand over his breast. “Ivan, you were a true Cossack. Rest in peace, my friend.”
Cosmo did the sign of the cross. He didn’t leave, which meant he obviously had more to say. Maxim told him to spit it out. “Yes, boss. It is strange thing. Our asset in Metropolitan Police say it might be hacker who bring down plane.”
Maxim wasn’t sure he heard correctly. “Say that again, Cousin.”
“Details come through. They say hacker take control of plane and crash. From ground.”
Maxim folded his arms and leant back against the wall. They were standing inside the office at the back of the garage, so they were alone. His Colt Python knocked against his ribs beneath his coat. “Such a thing would take a great deal of skill, no? Any idea who might have been behind such a thing? Our friends in Moscow, perhaps?”
“I do not know this, but MCU is leading criminal side of investigation.” Cosmo smirked, knowing what that meant. “It is good thing we have friends in high places, no?”
Maxim put a hand on the back of Cosmo’s neck and bumped their heads together. “Za uspekh, my cousin.”
Cosmo left the office and got inside an old orange BMW M3 parked over the mechanic’s pit. Its boot was full of guns, but its registration belonged to an eighty-year-old woman in a coma, courtesy of a friend working in the country’s palliative care services.
Cosmo had been a teenager dealing drugs for a local kingpin when Maxim had found him. He tried to steal Maxim’s Mercedes SL350 while he was getting coffee, but surrendered when Maxim tapped a Makarov against the driver’s side window. After breaking the boy’s arm, Maxim decided to help Cosmo by taking care of the local kingpin. The short skirmish with a thirty-year-old Iranian with gold teeth and tattoos ended quickly via a shotgun blast to the face. Maxim had carved an inked image of the Virgin Mary from his dead enemy’s shoulder and kept it as a memento. It was still preserved inside a lockbox he kept, full of various reminders of his glorious and bloody history.
Maxim sat down on his office chair and crossed one leg over the other, causing his trousers to ride up to the top of his argyle socks. After a moment’s thought, he pulled out his phone and made a call. “Thomas? You must be very busy, but what is this I hear about hacker with magical power to bring down planes?”
Thomas sighed down the phone. “Nothing’s been confirmed yet. It’s only speculation.”
“Speculation is prelude to truth, no? If hacker bring down plane, I want to meet this man. You will make sure I get chance, before anyone does something silly like try to arrest.”
“There’s no way,” said Thomas forcefully. “If an individual caused what happened today, they’ll be the most wanted criminal on the planet. I won’t let you get involved in this. This is bigger than you.”
“Thomas, I am asking for simple favour. If you find this genius, you tell me moment you find out, yes? All I need is name and address. I take care of rest. You and me, Thomas, we help one another, no? Why change what has worked so well? I would hate to see our friendship dissolve like limbs in barrel full of acid.”
Thomas grunted, probably sneering down the phone at Maxim. He clearly understood the threat, for he was no i
diot, but he had grown insolent lately. Maxim could ruin Thomas Gellar in a thousand different ways, but the cleanest option would be to make him disappear. “If I learn anything, I’ll let you know, but don’t bank on it.”
Maxim chuckled, but it was a deadly sound, perfected by years of menacing proud men. “I will not be disappointed, Thomas. You can bank on that.”
Maxim ended the call, knowing his message would be received. Like all Americans, Thomas detested being subservient, but he lacked the spine to disobey. Only men with principles disobeyed, and the head of the MCU had none besides self-preservation.
A man with power to crash planes would be very useful to my enterprise. My enemies travel by air. My allies too.
I have new job opening.
Oliver had arrived at work twenty minutes ago. He’d been sitting alone for the last ten. His boss, Mr Stewart, liked to leave early on a Saturday, and today he had been in a particular hurry. There must have been a big match on at the pub.
The computer repair shop got busier over the weekends, but never so much that one person couldn’t handle things by themselves. Being alone was fine with Ollie because he needed to think. He needed to think about what he’d done, and about what might happen next. If he’d covered his tracks as well as he’d hoped, things might be okay, but if he’d left even the slightest of breadcrumbs, then law enforcement would track him down. In that case, his biggest hope was that it would take them a while. Maybe he would have time to flee the country and go into hiding.
I’m seventeen years old and have a part-time job at a computer repair shop. How am I going to flee the country? I’m screwed. It doesn’t matter if it was an accident.
I killed people.
Oliver had been avoiding it for the last twenty minutes, but he finally gathered his courage enough to move the mouse attached to the computer at the front desk. With the operating system installed on an SSD, the screen fizzed to life immediately. The checkout software started, but Oliver minimised it and double-clicked the browser icon. As was probably the case for two-thirds of the globe, Google loaded. Oliver didn’t know what to search, so after a moment’s hesitation, he simply settled on the word ‘News’.
Terminal (Major Crimes Unit Book 4) Page 4