The Trust Of The People (Conspiracy Trilogy Book 2)

by Christopher Read

  One difference to before was the decision to move the command-and-control centre to the target country: for Russia, they had been dealing with a spread of agents and data feeds across a dozen countries and some six thousand miles; this time, the main focus was generally never more than fifty miles from Washington, and with limited human resources it had seemed sensible to be much closer to the capital.

  The small community was isolated enough to be secure, yet still with good access to major highways, Washington roughly an hour away by road. The farm buildings had been extended and modernised from their original function and were hidden from casual view by a line of trees, McDowell presently more concerned by the prying eyes of the curious and the unwary than the FBI. So far, the façade of an agricultural research centre had worked well, local concerns allayed once Lee Preston had joined the local Agricultural Committee. And with a meeting every three months it was hardly an onerous challenge to Preston’s newly-acquired agricultural skills.

  Behind McDowell was the more low-tech area of coffee-machine, chairs and whiteboard; it also served as Jonathan’s Carter’s favourite place to explain his latest brainwave to a generally sceptical McDowell. Their business partnership had now lasted almost three years, their success based on a combination of Carter’s computer skills and McDowell’s ambition.

  Carter’s hacking skills were legendary but the last few years had seen a dramatic improvement in cyber security. The hack of Sony Pictures in 2014 had caught the public’s imagination, proving to everyone the true power of cyber warfare, the White House shocked into treating it a National Security issue. Russia’s cyber-attack on Estonia in 2007 had better shown what was actually possible: the websites of parliament, government agencies, banks, newspapers and broadcasters disabled, the internet effectively shut down.

  For two decades now China, Russia and the U.S. had attempted to hack into each other’s systems almost on a daily basis, cyber-warfare cheaper in terms of hardware and human lives than other forms. Army, Navy, Air Force – the cyber domain had become a fourth element in a country’s military forces, proving a potent sphere for potential conflict. August 14 had tried to repeat the Estonian model with Moscow as its target, but their success had been sporadic and the days of being able to hack into major computer networks without difficulty had passed. Even small companies had grown fearful of the possibility of a denial-of-service attack or their database being hijacked and cyber-security firms had consequently made a killing, offering a package of measures designed to protect even a modest network – anything from deliberately trying to outwit a company’s cyber defence and so identify problems, to an automated threat analysis providing a real-time warning of an attack. U.S. Government systems were safeguarded by various layers of protection, any unusual activity instantly grabbing the attention of the National Security Agency’s massive cyber-security centre at Bluffdale in Utah.

  Nowadays, when systems crashed, it was more usually due to a software glitch, often because of some update, rather than a specific cyber-attack. Carter and his team of three were thus having to be ever more subtle, searching out the vulnerable networks to then find some way through to the more secure areas. Mostly they failed, and success relied upon a high-level of skill, backed up by a significant amount of persistence and luck.

  So far, the research centre and its operatives had done all that had been asked of them; the team supplemented when necessary by other experts. The initial drop in the Dow had been brought about through rumour and complex manipulation of various stocks – the ability to access funds of up to $600 million had doubtless helped, with hearsay working its own nervous miracle. Yang’s expert broker had even managed to restrict the cabal’s own losses to just over $18 million. Such a sum was peanuts to Yang and his friends, Carter idly working out that it would take them just six days to recoup the sum from interest payments, and they’d probably be in profit once the stock market bounced back. Further dabbling in specific shares had kept the Dow Index in restless mode, fear of a serious crash spreading its own insidious message.

  There was far more to come, the ground prepared weeks earlier, the usual techniques of bribery and intimidation ensuring inside help was always available when needed. Some attacks would fail simply because the systems had been updated or security improved; others because the information received was intrinsically wrong; in certain cases, Carter might even have met his match. That was all to be expected. Yet some cyber-attacks would still be successful, and a paltry one-quarter success-rate was McDowell’s working target, Carter willing to guarantee it would be more like a third.

  McDowell’s various sources indicated that while the FBI and Homeland Security had picked up on certain concerns, no one had yet tied it all together as representing a single co-ordinated strategy with just one very specific aim in mind. That would change soon enough, but by then it should be far too late. Another week without any outside interference was all they needed, enough time to get everything into place and for the South China Sea to fully grab the news headlines.

  Chapter 9 – Saturday, October 29th

  South China Sea – 14:25 Local Time; 06:25 UTC

  It was another beautiful afternoon, with a gentle breeze and not too hot; the forecast was for much of the same over the next few days, and typhoon activity generally decreased rapidly once September had passed.

  Louisa Marcelo glanced back at the assorted armada streaming behind, silently urging them all forward. To call them an armada seemed slightly generous, the eighteen vessels more a flotilla than even a fleet. Ranging from ageing wooden fishing boats and modern dive vessels to a luxury yacht and a twenty-five metre power catamaran, it was a confusing collection of craft, their intent a peaceful if slightly disorganised protest.

  Louisa was also hardly the classic choice for the leader of anything naval: before today the smallest boat she’d ever been on was a large ferry, she was obviously the wrong sex and she couldn’t swim – although even she had to admit her ample proportions might possibly assist in terms of buoyancy. Her flagship was the power catamaran, its owner a good friend and supporter, somewhat foolishly prepared to risk the luxurious vessel and her crew to Louisa’s tender mercies.

  Louisa had even managed to acquire a naval-looking hat, although she felt the overall image was spoilt by a life-jacket adding yet more bulk to her upper body. The one advantage was that no-one could fail to miss her and despite the radio option, she far preferred to pass on her instructions to the rest of the flotilla via lots of arm waving and the occasional shout.

  Not that the Chinese Coastguard seemed keen to let them proceed any further, two patrol boats closing in to block off the way ahead, water cannon ready. With their distinctive red, white and blue striped livery and ‘China Coast Guard’ emblazoned in English across the side, the vessels were an imposing threat. They’d also had plenty of time to plan their response, details of the flotilla headlining the TV news since early that morning.

  Five kilometres to the north-west lay Mischief Reef, one of over 750 rocky outcrops and coral reefs which formed the Spratly Islands. Made up of a ring of jagged rock with a central lagoon roughly six kilometres wide, it was occupied by some two hundred Chinese marines, part of the creeping invasion which had seen underwater reefs turned into military bases, the massive Tian Jing Hao dredger sucking up tonnes of rock and sand to create a legitimate island, enclosed soon after by a concrete sea wall. Mischief Reef was next on China’s transformation list, a ten-year billion-dollar commitment to create a military base in Manila’s backyard.

  The nearest land mass was the Philippine island province of Palawan, 240 kilometres – 130 nautical miles – to the east. Many of the reefs were thus well inside the 200 nautical mile Exclusive Economic Zone guaranteed under the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea; China was a thousand kilometres to the north-west, a two day journey away by boat. However, the Philippines’ claim over the islands was based on far more than just a single premise, the complex arguments go
ing back and forth to the United Nations for some seventy years.

  To date, the number of fatalities due to the ongoing feud had been relatively low, the region more used to hearing the sound of fishing boats clashing than the rattle of gunfire. Attempts to resolve the various disputes had invariably met with failure, an agreed Code of Conduct quickly ignored. In 2012, despite a deal brokered by the United States, the Chinese had simply annexed the Scarborough Shoal west of Manila. America’s weakness in allowing Russia to steal large chunks of Ukraine had merely acted as a spur to further Chinese ambition, its stranglehold on the South China Sea growing year on year.

  Soon it would be too late, China’s control impossible to subvert. Louisa’s hope of provoking the Chinese into something foolish was a dangerous strategy, but like many in the Philippines she was desperate. If she had to risk getting soaked or sustaining the odd bruise, then so be it, and what better place than the aptly named Mischief Reef, even if it was named after a German sailor.

  Louisa and her allies had encouraged, cajoled and pleaded, hoping to get half-a-dozen boats to join her, maybe even the bonus of a TV crew. Thanks mainly to China’s recent taunts, over thirty vessels had turned up, several of dubious seaworthiness, Louisa able to pick and choose, eventually opting for the robust and the agile. Aboard were close to a hundred and fifty civilians, including the world’s media and a heady mix of Filipino politicians and celebrities. As they had set off from Manila on the Friday, she had again been close to tears, proud of all those that had volunteered to help, proud of herself.

  The fact that it hadn’t actually been the Chinese who had planted the flag on Lankiam Cay was something Louisa was very happy to ignore. She had always had concerns as to that part of the overall strategy, and had insisted that an alternative be put in place just in case. In retrospect, perhaps she should have had more faith in McDowell’s judgement, and Ram and his son had fully deserved their reward, the five thousand dollars in cash awaiting them when they next visited Manila.

  Louisa’s musings were cut short as one of the Chinese boats sounded its fog horn, stirring her into activity. She started to wave both arms, the flotilla beginning to spread out, forming a haphazard line almost two hundred metres wide, the catamaran at its centre.

  From the second Chinese boat, a loudspeaker blared, a man’s voice ordering them from the area. The demand was repeated, the two Coastguard boats sweeping around, no more than a hundred metres distant. Alongside them cruised three RHIBs (Rigid-Hulled Inflatable Boats), which to Louisa’s eyes looked a good bit larger than the more common Zodiacs.

  The Philippine line edged forward, overwhelming superiority in numbers their sole advantage. Virtually every allied boat had someone with a camera, every action of the Chinese recorded. Although it could be argued that the flotilla was asking for trouble, the Chinese faced a publicity nightmare, better able to cope with a terrorist attack than a protest by unarmed civilians.

  With a throaty whoosh, a stream of high-pressure sea water raced out towards the leading vessels. Instantly the Philippine line split apart, each boat increasing speed and turning aside in a pre-arranged pattern.

  The Chinese RHIBs merely tried brute force, picking out the smaller allied boats and ramming them from the side. The patrol boats attempted to stop the larger vessels but they had set themselves an impossible task, the numbers just too great. The RHIBs had minimal success, too light to be effective.

  Each patrol boat was now trying to stop a handful of smaller and often more agile vessels. Crews were soaked and battered, some boats forced aside with at least two people knocked overboard, their screams and cries piercing through the sounds of water cannon and engines.

  However several of the Philippine vessels made it through unscathed. The catamaran was twenty-five metres of elegant power but not ideal for battling a water cannon, Louisa soaked, eyes stinging. One of the large yachts was struggling, its captain just about managing to keep the vessel under control, the spinnaker ripped and torn.

  It was fifteen minutes of complete chaos, the Chinese Coastguard eventually having to accept defeat and turning to head back at speed towards Mischief Reef. A ragged cheer sounded out from the flotilla, horns and klaxons joining in the celebration, Louisa even managing to raise a smile.

  Louisa slowly took stock, checking with each captain as to how they had fared. There were a couple of broken bones, many more minor injuries, and four boats were damaged enough to be sent home with a nursemaid. The remainder were unanimous in their desire to continue.

  Five vessels down – Louisa was angered by the brutal tactics of the Chinese but delighted with her flotilla’s resilience. Round two might yet be a little trickier.

  The Philippine line reformed, moving once more towards the reef. This time the Chinese looked to be more determined, the twin machine guns on both patrol boats manned, the marines aboard the RHIBs also now openly showing their weapons. From away to the north, a helicopter raced towards them, flying low.

  Louisa had no intention of stopping now. Everyone had been told to turn back whenever they wanted, no judgement made, but she and the crew of the catamaran were determined to push as hard as they could. The Philippine military had few aircraft, fewer warships and only two submarines – a fair fight just wasn’t possible. However, there was more than one way to stand up to the Chinese, the media more than willing to play their part.

  The two Chinese patrol boats were now no more than a hundred metres away, Mischief Reef barely two kilometres further on. Above the wind came the unmistakable sound of the helicopter, Louisa following it as it flew over the Chinese boats to hover above the catamaran, a pair of soldiers armed with automatic weapons staring down at them from the open cabin door.

  The patrol boat’s loudspeaker repeated its warning, the posturing of helicopter and patrol boats sending a more forceful message than previously.

  Louisa spoke quickly to the catamaran’s captain, asking what he wanted to do. The man shrugged, letting Louisa make the final decision.

  A nod of affirmation and the catamaran surged forward, leading the gaggle of ships closer towards the reef. The throbbing from the helicopter increased in intensity, then suddenly there was the rattle of gunfire, the water’s surface ahead of the catamaran shattered by a leaping dance of splashes.

  Louisa closed her eyes, trusting that the cameras were still recording, trusting to God to see her through the next minutes. The catamaran stayed on course.

  There was more gunfire from the helicopter, creeping ever closer. One of the patrol boats also opened fire, looking to be aiming high. Louisa glanced left and right, the line of craft now thinned out to less than half, five brave or foolish captains following her lead.

  The gunfire seemed to intensify, Louisa almost sensing the air around her buzzing with danger. Away to her left, the wheelhouse of a fishing trawler seemed to explode, the boat giving a momentous upward lurch before plunging back down. Above the tumult, she could hear someone screaming and the tortured shriek of wood on metal.

  Abruptly a line of splinters were chipped from the catamaran’s deck and with a deafening crack the bridge window shattered. Louisa cowered down; a shouted warning from the captain and the catamaran started to turn, more bullets smashing into the bulkhead behind her.

  The explosion of noise suddenly ceased. Louisa waited a few seconds, and then slowly raised her head, terrified as to what would be revealed.

  The sea was still a churning swirl of ships, the protest line now a confused mess as the vessels turned back as best they could. The fishing trawler looked to be crippled, another boat alongside and trying to help. At least two more vessels had sustained damage, Louisa fearful of looking too close, knowing that people had died that day.

  If she had pushed too hard, then that was on her conscience – but it was the Chinese that had pulled the trigger. However long it took, whatever the personal cost, she would not let them forget.

  Yaroslavl Oblast, Russia – 15:33 Local Time; 12:33 UTC />
  Markova might not quite have the breakthrough she needed, but she felt it was close, with some sixteen million voice calls and texts filtered down to just over four hundred.

  For Sukhov’s two visits to London, the phone checks of the cell towers surrounding Bray had in turn highlighted thirty-four non-UK locations worthy of further investigation. They weren’t quite hotspots of activity, more like a series of clusters, Markova artificially setting a minimum of five calls per cluster – 374 calls in total. Outside of the clusters, there were just 43 other calls made to various locations within the Russian Federation.

  All of these 417 calls were then analysed in detail, where possible each caller and recipient identified with a name, address and profession. While some might relate to a husband sexting his mistress or a director in search of a business deal, there looked to be several which had potential. In a few cases, the pairings could be instantly discarded, the mundane nature of the calls obvious from the data. However, the majority had to be assessed more rigorously, the backgrounds of those concerned examined in detail.

  It all took time: a name and an address by itself meant very little, and Markova was keen to search out any falsified details or the phone that was registered to a ghost company. There were several ways to hide personal information but not the basic phone data, even if it was just a SIM-card reference and a financial transaction which led absolutely nowhere. Whatever tricks were tried, the GRU had long-since found a solution, Russia determined to keep a close eye on its many enemies.

  In the end, the team’s painstaking trawl of data proved to be a frustrating and often fruitless exercise, with every one of the cluster calls eventually discounted. The calls specific to the Russian Federation proved to be more intriguing, all but two duly checked and discarded. The final pair were to the same number, the timings matching Sukhov’s presence in Bray; of equal importance was the fact that the caller’s phone account was in the name of a ghost company supposedly based in Warsaw, the recipient similarly using false details.