To Catch a Rat

by S J Grey

  “Sounds fair,” said Emma.

  Mark carried on. “A bonus payload has taken the form of a cyber-attack on the emergency network in England. I’m told that all calls to the emergency number, 999, are going unanswered. That’s why I keep asking about the kill switch.”

  “Shit.” Caleb echoed Emma’s thought.

  Was this true? Or another of Mark’s stories?

  “You’re right about going in circles,” said Caleb, “because there’s no way my programme has been re-engineered. Not only do I obfuscate the source code, but I also use cryptographic keys. Whoever told you that is lying about where the programme came from. Have you considered the possibility the person I sold it to is using it for their own gain?” He paused. “Hang on. My backdoor might still work.”

  “You wrote a backdoor option?” Mark looked at him in the mirror. “How the hell did you get away with that? Don’t tell me—you always do?”

  “Yep. It’s a black box backdoor, written into the compiler I developed. It’s invisible, unless you know what to search for. If you can hook me into the network, I can take a look.”

  “Give you access to a network so confidential there isn’t a classification level high enough for it? That’s not going to happen, Rush.”

  “Take it or leave it.”

  Silence descended again, and Emma stared out of the windows at the scenery flashing past. The next junction was for Peka Peka. An overwhelming sadness swamped her. Would Caleb ever be able to go back home? Would he want to? It would forever be coloured by the knowledge that Joss died there.

  “Here’s my plan,” announced Mark. “We’re about fifteen minutes away from my office. We can try to get access to the network from there and see if your backdoor still opens. We have secure comms to SIA, and we’ll call them to help find Geoff and Sandra.”

  “Just like that?” Emma asked. “Won’t they tell us to go to the police?”

  “He works for them, Emma,” said Caleb before Mark could reply. “Or someone allied with them. Am I right?”

  If Caleb was right, then Mark could be classed as one of the good guys, but that wasn’t justification for the complex web of lies that he’d spun.

  “We have an hour before they’re due to call back,” said Mark, as though she and Caleb hadn’t spoken. “This time, we’ll record the call and be in a position to respond to their demands.”

  “You make it sound easy,” said Emma.

  Mark reached out and squeezed her hand. “I promise you, we’ll get them back safe.”

  They pulled into a reserved parking space in front of Mark’s building. Emma looked at the brass panel screwed onto the wall. Gallagher & Dean Accountancy Services. Was this all fake? An elaborate cover for some other role he refused to talk about?

  Was anything about him real?

  “Do you really work here?” she asked, and he nodded.

  “Yes. I’m not an accountant, though.”

  She stifled her laugh, in case it sounded hysterical. “Believe me, I figured that out.”

  He held out his hand, but she refused to take it. “I’m sorry, but it was necessary,” he said.

  Necessary for what? she wanted to cry, but she kept her mouth shut. If there was the slightest chance he could save her parents, she’d be as quiet as the proverbial mouse.

  “Let me take both phones,” he said.

  Emma handed hers over, and Caleb followed suit.

  “Okay. Let’s go inside.” Mark tugged the keys from the ignition, before climbing out of the car.

  “What about me?” Caleb asked. “Do you finally take these off?”

  “Afraid not. You’re going to be tethered to me.”

  It was odd how detached Emma felt from the scene playing out in front of her. Like through a kaleidoscope, the world looked different now, chopped into a thousand images and reconstructed in a different shape.

  Mark opened the back door and leaned in. “You’re a fugitive, Rush. If the police so much as see you, you’re fucked. Your only chance to get out of this is to trust me. Hand yourself over to my authority, courtesy of SIA, and it buys you some time.” He glanced at his watch. “And time is something we don’t have much of. I’m going to take the other end of these cuffs. Are you going to come willingly?”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “What happens if the police catch him?” Emma was struck with fear. “If the police take Caleb into custody, what will the kidnappers do?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Mark, “but it’s not a risk I want to take.” He looked at Caleb. “Let’s go.” As before, Mark unlocked one end of the cuffs and reconnected it around his wrist.

  Caleb had little choice but to go with him.

  Emma followed them into the building and up a single flight of stairs. She couldn’t help noticing Mark was limping badly. His leg must be hurting. She saw again the blood all over her bathroom floor, and wanted to gag. If Mark was right, the people who stabbed him were the same people that held her parents. She paused in her steps and clung to the narrow handrail. They had to get Mum and Dad back safely. They just had to.

  “Come on, love.” Mark’s voice was gentle from the top of the stairs. “We can do this.”

  “I want to believe you,” she said.

  “Like you told me,” said Caleb, “he’s our best chance.”

  She trailed after them into a small reception office. It was filled with people, and they applauded when Mark entered, Rush hanging off his wrist.

  “Nice one, boss,” said a young, suited guy, clapping Mark around the shoulder. “I never doubted you for a minute.”

  Sweet baby Jesus, what did Emma and Caleb just walk into? Was she seeing this right? Mark, leading Caleb in like some trophy he’d won?

  Meanwhile, Caleb recoiled from the attention. “What the fuck?”

  Mark raised his voice over the noise. “Inappropriate. All of you.” He ran his free hand over his face and sighed. “We have our work cut out, to get the Blackthornes back. Lin, get the Wellington team on a conference call in five minutes. Devin, we need coffee. Lots of coffee.” He turned to the suited guy. “Jonathan, is there any activity from their phones?”

  Emma gazed afresh at Mark. She tried to see him as a stranger would. Authority oozed from every pore, and he issued commands with ease. Maybe they wouldn’t notice the lines of tiredness cutting across his forehead or the way he tried to stand with the weight off his right leg. She noticed, though.

  She forced herself to think. Whatever Mark said to the contrary, he’d been planning to catch Caleb, and these people knew. How long had it been going on? She felt sick at the deception. If she didn’t need this man—this stranger—to somehow get her parents back, she’d be out of here, never to see him again.

  The group moved into a connected office, and Emma followed. Caleb was guided to a wheeled chair, and the cuffs fastened to that. He protested, but he was ignored.

  Emma had seen enough.

  She shoved past two men, uncaring whom she elbowed, and reached Caleb’s side. “This stops here,” she told Mark, gesturing to the handcuffs. “What the hell do you think he’s going to do? He’s unarmed, and he’s promised to help you with a problem completely unrelated to my parents. If you want a guarantee that he won’t leave, you can take my word. And if that’s not enough, you damned well restrain me too. Okay?”

  Nobody said anything. All eyes were on her.

  “Okay?” She repeated it, more loudly.

  “No, Em.” Mark folded his arms, his scowl clear. “That’s not happening. You know why—”

  “No, I don’t, and I really don’t care. Let him go. Now.”

  Mark gave a slight nod, and one of his team leapt forward, to release the cuff around Caleb’s wrist.

  “Thank you,” Caleb murmured and stood. He walked up to Mark and got right in his face. “You have my word. You can do what the hell you like to me, but you promise to find Joss’s killer.”

  “Deal,” said Mark. He held out his hand, a
nd Caleb took it.

  Behind Emma, someone cleared their throat. “I have Wellington on the line, when you’re ready.”

  “Let’s sit down for this.” Mark nudged a chair closer to Emma.

  She didn’t move. “Who in Wellington are you talking to?”

  “SIA. The Security Intelligence Agency. That’s who these guys work for.”

  “Not you, though?”

  “Indirectly. Are you going to sit?”

  His stupid, bloody, English manners. Mark wouldn’t take a seat until she did, and he was in pain—she could tell. She dropped into the chair, and with a little huffed sigh, Mark followed suit.

  He leaned forward and pressed a button on the conference phone that sat on the table top. A red light blinked, and the console gave a high ping.

  “This is Mark Penney.” He spoke clearly, his voice precise and business-like. “I have the Paraparaumu team in the room, with Jonathan, Ashley, and Graham. I also have Caleb Rush and Emma Blackthorne here.”

  A crisp female voice answered. “This is Clare Currall-Jones. I’m pleased to finally meet you, Mr. Rush.”

  Caleb looked surprised, and then suspicious. He didn’t say anything.

  Mark spoke next. “Are there any updates? We have around thirty minutes before the next call is due.”

  “We have a rough position for Geoff Blackthorne’s phone when it made the first call, based on cell tower locations,” said Jonathan. “It came from the outskirts of Otaki, close to the grass airstrip.” He glanced down at the tablet in his hand. “This is a public airstrip, used mainly by weekend private pilots. There’s no control tower or on-the-ground staff. It’s possible that the hostages may have been flown from there to an alternate location, assuming they were in proximity to the phone at the time. We don’t know if they were.”

  “Thank you,” said Mark. “Do we have anything yet on the cameras in the Rush house?”

  “Yes,” answered Clare. “Soviet manufacture, and the controlling IP address is located in Kharavek. This tiny state sits between Ukraine and Russia and is fiercely contested by both. It’s the same place believed to have initiated the GoldRush cyber-attack. There’s no doubt now. These events are linked.”

  There was a brief pause before Mark spoke. “Are we ready for the next call?”

  “That’s why I’m here,” said a young woman at the back of the room. She smiled at Emma. “I’m a trained negotiator. The plan is for me to take the call instead of you, Ms. Blackthorne.”

  “Hang on,” said Emma. “Won’t they realise they’re talking to someone else?”

  “It’s unlikely, unless they know your voice well. It’s going to sound as though you’re in a car, with background noises to distract them and muffle your voice.”

  Emma looked at Mark. She searched his face for signs of concern, but he nodded, calm and reassuring.

  “It should work fine,” he said. “And Maxine will be right beside you, so you can give her any information she needs.”

  “We have eyes on the airstrip in Otaki,” said Jonathan, “but there’s no activity at the moment. If that changes, I’ll let you know.”

  “Mr. Rush,” said Clare. “Do you know why the kidnappers are so interested in you?”

  “Uh, yeah. They want a programme I’ve written.”

  “If they put pressure on you, are you going to hand it over?”

  “I can’t. It’s been lost or stolen. The source code, that is. I’d have to rewrite it, and that would take months.”

  “I see. Do they know that?”

  “I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure.”

  “So,” continued Clare, “could we supply you with a dummy programme?”

  “No,” said Caleb. “If they discover I’ve reneged on the code, what will they do to Geoff and Sandra?”

  “Perhaps we send an agent, in your place?”

  “Same argument,” countered Caleb. “They realise you’re trying to fool them. Not gonna happen. They want me, so that’s what you give them.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Emma didn’t want Caleb going within miles of the kidnappers. Who knew what they’d do to him? What pressure they’d apply, to make him rewrite his programme? But at the same time, she was consumed with worry over her parents. They never asked to be caught up in this. Nausea churned in her stomach, and she couldn’t listen to any more of the discussions.

  She stood and snagged the attention of the guy sitting next to her. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  “Emma. What’s the matter?” Mark interrupted whoever was speaking.

  “Back in a minute,” she said, and hurried to find the toilet. Was she going to be sick? Maybe.

  She closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Deep breaths. In through her nose, and out through her mouth. She had to stay strong. Falling apart could come later, much later, when Mum and Dad were back home. She had to focus on the best outcome. Thinking about all the alternatives would drive her insane.

  Emma walked on shaky legs to the washbasin and ran the cold tap, before splashing water on her face. That helped. Her head ached, probably due to lack of sleep, and the gnawing emptiness in her stomach might be because she hadn’t eaten since last night. She couldn’t face food, though. A playlist of kidnap movies scrolled through her head, the hostages all in terrible situations.

  Could she trust Mark to help them? There were plenty of other people here, who all seemed focused on finding her parents. She had to believe in him.

  A light tap at the door made her freeze. “Yes?”

  “It’s me.” Mark. “May I come in?”

  Absolutely the last person she wanted to talk to. “If you must.”

  He came in and leaned against the counter, close enough to touch. With his hands in his pockets, his body language was relaxed, but the lines cutting across his brow told another story. “You okay, Em?”

  She dried her hands on a paper towel, while she considered how to reply. “Okay? You’re asking if I’m okay? How can I possibly be okay?” To her frustration, tears sprang to her eyes. She scrubbed them away with her fingertips. “Mum and Dad are God knows where. I’m scared I might never see them again. Joss is dead. Caleb is being threatened. My house is trashed. And before I forget, you lied to me. About everything. Now think about all that, and then ask me a different question. Or turn around and walk out of here. On balance, I think I’d prefer that.”

  “We’ll fix this, love.”

  She spun on her toes to face him. “And don’t call me that. You no longer have any right.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what, out of the dozens of things you should be apologizing for?”

  He blew out a breath. “For having to lie to you. It wasn’t easy.”

  Her rage, previously simmering, ignited. “Having to lie to me? Like you had no choice?”

  “That’s—”

  “I’m calling bullshit.”

  “What do you need me to do, Em? Anything.”

  “Tell me the truth, for once. An absolute truth.”

  He opened his mouth, but she shot him down again. “And don’t you dare say you love me. That is not an option.”

  He stayed silent, and she choked a laugh, before turning back to the basin. She clung to it with both hands and gazed at herself in the mirror. Wild, red-rimmed eyes, her hair a tangled mess—she looked half-crazed.

  “When we met.” She watched his reflection in the mirror. “Tell me any of that was true or if you set it up?”

  His gaze skittered away, but then locked back onto hers. Was another lie about to come tumbling from his mouth?

  Mark swallowed hard. Perhaps the truth didn’t taste nice. “It was planned. I stole your wallet from your pocket, so I had an excuse to buy you coffee.”

  She felt strangely calm. “I’d seen you in there before. Smiled at you a few times and wondered if you noticed me. That was all to make it feel more natural, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And tha
t was you with Joss, right?”

  He nodded.

  “You tried to strike up a relationship with her, but she blew you off, and that’s when you changed tack and came to me.”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t know she was gay. I read Joss’s notes about meeting you. You planned what to say, to the most minute detail. A lost cat that belonged to your dead wife. No friends in the area. A lonely man, grieving the love of his life. The perfect story to make Joss feel sorry for you.”

  Mark pressed his lips together into a tight line, but he held her gaze in the mirror. And nodded again.

  “I knew in my heart it was too good. That you were almost too perfect for me.” She had to look away. “I believed in you. I loved you. But it was all a sham.”

  “Emma.”

  “No. Don’t say anything. Just get out.”

  “Em, please…”

  “Get out.” She launched at him, slapping at his face, wanting to hurt him the same as he did her. “Get out. Get the fuck away from me.” Her vision blurred, and suddenly she was crying. Great, uncontrolled sobs broke free, shaking her from head to toe. Everything hurt. She was a stupid fool. And even now, she couldn’t hate him. She still loved her Mark. Not the man that stood beside her—the stranger who caught her hands, gentle on her sprained wrist, and held her against his chest.

  “I’m sorry. So very sorry,” he said. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “I want to hate you.”

  “I know.”

  He cupped one hand around the back of her neck, while the other rubbed soothing circles on her back. “I promise you,” he whispered against her ear, “I’m going to fix this.”

  She sucked in a shuddering breath. “Is Mark your real name? Or is it Alec?”

  “Neither, but everyone here knows me as Mark. It’s safer that way.”

  “I don’t know anything about you, do I?”

  “You know the important things. That I will do anything to keep you safe. That I value and honour your parents, and will not rest until they come home to you.” He gathered her closer.