by Sarah Sky
“Er, how, exactly?”
“Don’t you remember? That American reporter, Helen Hamlyn, wore an Ossa Cosway raincoat to the prison when Lee Caplin escaped. The coat I wore to Margaret’s prison was also one of his; Margaret even made a point of admiring it and saying how much she wanted one when she was free. Plus LibertyCrossing has used a computer somewhere in this warehouse, which happens to make Ossa Cosway clothes. It all adds up to an awful lot of coincidences, don’t you think? You need to call it in, Zak. This place needs a thorough going-over by Westwood – I mean, Rodarte.”
Jessica flinched. It still felt odd not to be part of the Westwood team. Unfortunately, it also meant that Zak was ultimately calling the shots, not her, otherwise she’d be on the phone to Nathan ASAP.
“We don’t have enough to go on yet,” Zak countered. “Like you say, it could be an awful lot of coincidences. Open any fashion magazine and you’ll find a star wearing one of Ossa’s designs. That doesn’t mean every A-list actress in Hollywood is embroiled in this hacking conspiracy. Unless that’s a new theory you care to run past me.”
She scowled. Was Zak being deliberately obstructive because he hadn’t been the one to spot a possible link between Ossa Cosway and The Collective himself? He’d shot her down the first time she mentioned the possibility of looking into how Helen Hamlyn had acquired her expensive designer raincoat.
“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Let’s find the computer that Henry traced.”
Zak nodded curtly.
She brushed past him. Why did he have to be so annoying? There was only one way to go – straight down the aisle, in between the sewing machines. The far right-hand corner of the warehouse was sealed off in plastic sheeting. She made a beeline for it. It was probably designed to protect clothes from dust, but still worth a look. She ducked through the opening in the plastic.
Shining her light around, she could make out the table where dressmakers cut out patterns and fabric, together with a rack of different-coloured threads and a large, industrial sewing machine. A jacket with Ossa Cosway’s trademark braiding around the collar hung nearby. A long piece of silver thread trailed down from the lapel, which was half stitched. She shone her torch on the rack of bobbins and pulled out a silver one. This was the thread being used on the unfinished jacket. She picked it up and examined it closer. It looked similar to the one she’d found stuck in the window frame at Henry’s boarding house.
Jessica snipped off a sample with a pair of scissors, along with lengths from three more bobbins with near-identical colours. Had forensics examined the thread left behind at the International High School yet? Sure, MI6 had collected it from her house. But she could hardly ring Nathan to ask what they’d done with it. She slipped the threads into the small plastic bag she’d brought for gathering potential evidence and stuffed it into her back pocket. Carefully, she put each reel back in its place and went to find Zak.
He was in the office next to the toilets, his legs up on the desk as he stretched back in a leather chair. Was he deliberately trying to wind her up by appearing so relaxed in the dark? She ignored him and looked around. This was definitely Ossa Cosway’s office. A three-piece suit covered in plastic hung from the coat stand, along with one of his hats. It was nothing like his stylish, minimalistic office at Ossa Cosway HQ in central London; this one was purely functional, with a scratched desk, a computer and a large grey filing cabinet. Her torch picked out a date planner taped to the wall, plastered with yellow Post-it notes. Paint peeled from the walls.
“Before you ask, I’ve flicked through the filing cabinet,” Zak said. “It contains invoices, bills, spreadsheets and the sort of business stuff you’d expect to find. No trace of LibertyCrossing or The Collective, nothing worth reporting to Rodarte.”
“What about the computer?”
“Yeah, right,” he drawled. “It shouldn’t be a problem hacking into it, if it belongs to the leader of The Collective, as you seem to think it does. I expect LibertyCrossing – I mean, superhacker Ossa Cosway – left the password on one of these Post-it notes.” Zak flicked on the switch and the computer whirred to life. “Now which one is it?” He glanced at the wall and drew his finger along the yellow notes.
“Ha ha, very funny. You’re right. The computer could be massively protected if it’s the one LibertyCrossing’s been using. Alternatively, he could have plugged a laptop in over there to coordinate the hacks.” She nodded at the modem. “Don’t you think?”
He rolled his eyes. “You really think that Ossa Cosway could be the leader of The Collective?”
“I don’t know what I think exactly. But I’ve a hunch that something’s not right here.”
“Well, I’ll come straight out with it. I don’t buy it. Why would Ossa Cosway give two hoots about a teenage hacker like Lee Caplin? I’ve met loads of designers and they only care about one thing – fashion. You’re hard-pressed to get them to talk about anything else. World events? What’s that? I bet Ossa Cosway’s no different. He’s probably never even heard of Lee.”
“Maybe. Or fashion could be a good front. I did a shoot for him this week and he was big into the latest digital technology. He’d created a hashtag dress that you could text with messages, which was beyond cool. If he can do that, what else can he do with computers? After all, who’d suspect a fashion designer of being a superhacker? Maybe he feels protective towards a teenage hacker who’s landed himself in big trouble.”
“That’s a lot of maybes.”
Wow. She’d love to wipe that supercilious smirk off his annoying face by proving him wrong. She swiped his feet off the desk as she strode over to the filing cabinets.
Zak glared at her. “What are you doing now? I told you I’ve checked them.”
Ignoring him, she put her torch down and went through the drawers until she found the files containing lists of freebies that Ossa’s PR department had given away to various celebrities. Her name was one of the few under “C”. Her eyes widened. The document stated she’d received £257,000 worth of clothes as part of her contract with Ossa Cosway Ltd. She flicked through the documents until she got to “H” for Hamlyn.
“Aha. Explain this.” She pointed her torch at a white piece of paper. “Why was Helen Hamlyn, the American reporter, given a free size fourteen raincoat from Ossa’s latest collection? She’s not exactly going to be featured wearing it in Hello! magazine, is she?”
“Let me see that.” Zak jumped up and snatched the paper off her. He studied it for a few seconds before finally speaking. “It’s odd. I’ll give you that. Helen’s a total nobody in celeb land.”
She stared at him as an idea started to dawn. “Do you still have the names of the wealthy people in the US who were targeted by The Collective?”
“Why?” Zak tapped at his iPhone.
“Cut me some slack, why don’t you?” She looked at his phone and read out details under the first name on the list. “Victoria Alton, a wealthy, married Hollywood actress, blackmailed for ten million dollars last August. She was trying to prevent details of her affair with an entertainment lawyer being made public.” She leafed through the data and pulled out two pieces of paper, itemizing outfits ranging from trousers to cocktail dresses. “Victoria’s a regular customer of Ossa’s and buys from each collection he launches. She was also given a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of couture gowns to wear on the red carpet at the worldwide launches of her latest movie. Two months later, she was hacked.”
Zak’s eyes widened. “Let’s try another.” He stared at his phone. “How about this one? Tyler Harper, a dot-com millionaire whose bank account was raided. He lost twenty million.”
Jessica’s fingers lingered on the document. A shiver of excitement passed down her spine. Her intuition was right. There was some kind of connection between Ossa Cosway and The Collective.
“Tyler Harper’s here.” She showed him the itemized list.
“His wife, Jo, is also a regular Ossa Cosway customer. She received a gift of free dresses to wear at dot-com conferences four months before her husband’s bank account was drained.”
The pair methodically made their way down the list, mentally ticking off the names one by one. Within minutes, they’d discovered every single person on the hacked list was a customer of Ossa Cosway Ltd who’d received a free gift.
“You’re right,” Zak said finally. “It’s way too much of a coincidence that everyone who gets free Ossa Cosway clothes ends up being hacked, but what’s the connection?”
“Ossa could be LibertyCrossing, hacking wealthy people on his customer database. Alternatively, he’s working with the leader of The Collective and identifying targets for him to hack through the clothes deliveries.”
“The clothes could be a ruse to get into people’s houses,” he admitted. “Ossa or an accomplice could hand-deliver them to a target and then hack the computers once they’re inside.”
Jessica rubbed her forehead, trying to make sense of what was unravelling. “When I got all my deliveries, it was just a bloke in a van. He made me sign for the clothes and left them on a rack in the hallway. He wasn’t out of my sight for the few minutes he was there and didn’t go into the study where my dad’s computer’s kept.”
“We should still check the transportation angle. It’s the only thing that makes any sense – a delivery that coincides with a hack. I didn’t notice anything in the filing cabinets about how the clothes were shipped.” Zak sat down at the desk again, staring at the security box that had flashed up on the computer. “You’re Ossa’s muse. Can you think of the password he’d use?”
“Try Sunflower. It was the name of his first couture collection.”
Zak tapped the word in and pressed return. He made the sound of a game-show buzzer. “Next.”
“Shogun. It’s the name of his pet cocker spaniel.”
“Seriously?”
“Trust me. I’m not kidding. He’s nuts about that dog.”
He tried again and shook his head.
She racked her brain. “Belinda. It’s his late mum’s name. They were really close.”
The computer remained locked. “Wrong again.” Zak pushed himself back in the chair. “Think, Jessica.”
Suddenly, a timer appeared on the screen.
Ten, nine, eight…
“Whooaaa. That isn’t good.”
“We must have activated an alarm by getting the passwords wrong,” she said quickly. “It could destroy everything on the computer’s hard drive. Close it down.”
Zak tried, but the computer wouldn’t turn off.
They watched helplessly as the numbers counted down. Five, four, three, two, one.
Nothing happened.
“Maybe it’s still OK?” Zak said.
Suddenly, a massive explosion racked the warehouse, followed by another and another and another.
Zak flung open the door and they stumbled out into the dressmaking section. They watched in horror as a chain reaction of small explosions grew closer and closer, throwing out balls of fire across the warehouse. Within seconds, a wall of flames, fanned by rolls of fabric, had blocked their escape route. Heat smothered Jessica’s face, making her lungs constrict and eyes sting. Why hadn’t she figured out that it was dangerous to mess with the computer? LibertyCrossing had booby-trapped the warehouse to blow if someone attempted to gain unauthorized access online.
“This way.” Zak ran back towards the emergency exit door, next to the office. He rattled the handle but it remained shut.
“It’s jammed on the outside,” he breathed. “But I can take out the hinges.” He fumbled with his laser pen.
“No!” She dragged him back.
“What?”
“Down there!” She pointed her torch at a small air vent next to the door. It was ill-fitting and a wire poked out. It could be the site of another hidden explosive, ready to detonate if the door opened. The only way to go was forward, into the furnace. They fell to their knees in between the sewing benches; there was more oxygen closest to the floor. Frantically, they looked about for another exit with their torches, but couldn’t find one. Jessica gazed at the nearest wall.
“We’ll have to blast our way out,” she said, coughing. “I’ve got a device on my bracelet, which should blow a big enough hole.”
“It’s too risky,” Zak spluttered. “It could fan the flames even more.”
“We don’t have a choice.” Crawling along the floor, Jessica could barely see through the smoke. She checked the wall and couldn’t find any booby traps. Pulling a hedgehog charm from her bracelet, she stabbed the pin into the plaster. Quickly, she wriggled back to Zak. Had she done the right thing? This would be a far more powerful explosive than the ones LibertyCrossing had used to rig the building. Those had been directed inwards to destroy evidence inside the warehouse.
Ten, nine, eight, seven...
She counted down in her head.
BANG!
The blast hurled them both backwards. Jessica felt a rush of cold air as she staggered to her feet. Grabbing Zak’s hand, she blindly lunged towards the wall. The smoke was too dense to see anything, but the hole had to be big enough to squeeze out. Flames crackled dangerously close as they made it to the jagged gap. Clambering through, they fell, panting, on to the cold, wet ground.
“We need to keep moving,” Zak urged. “Come on.” He pulled her up. They ducked down and ran, but a terrific explosion threw them to the ground again. The roof collapsed into the blazing warehouse, sending orange sparks flying. More explosions boomed and fire spurted through the windows, smashing the glass.
They scrambled up and sprinted, not stopping until they reached the neighbouring warehouse. Slumping down, they watched black smoke and flames billowing from the building. Neither needed to say it – if they’d been stuck inside a few seconds longer, they’d both have been killed.
“You were amazing back there,” Zak panted. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.” He hesitated. “There’s something I need to tell you, Jessica.”
“Not now,” she said quickly. “Call it in.”
Things moved fast over the next few hours. Henry Murray was picked up from Becky’s house and taken into protective custody, where he received medical treatment; an arrest warrant was issued for Ossa Cosway and his London offices were raided. The agents debriefing Jessica at the American Embassy in London’s Grosvenor Square popped in and out of the sparsely decorated room, as their phones vibrated frequently. The constant interruptions were a relief. Whenever Hal, the taller agent, spoke, she got a whiff of old, stale cigarettes that he’d failed to mask beneath his overpowering aftershave. Was Zak holding up any better? She hadn’t seen him since they’d arrived. He was being grilled in a room further down the hall. What was he saying about tonight?
She sipped a lukewarm cup of sweet, milky coffee as Hal and Robert scuttled off again. They were desperately trying to build their case against Ossa. It didn’t seem to be going well, judging from what she’d managed to glean from eavesdropping on the agents’ conversations outside the door. They hadn’t managed to locate Ossa yet; he wasn’t at his exclusive Knightsbridge flat. The raid on his offices was proving problematic too. Something was up with the computers.
Jessica darted back to her chair as a third, louder voice rang out. It sounded like her interrogators were getting a dose of their own medicine from someone more senior. The door banged open again. She stared hard into her drink, willing them all to go away. Surely that was it? She couldn’t think of anything else to say. Apart from leave me alone and let me go home.
“Jessica!”
She glanced up, shocked. Rising to her feet, she clutched the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Nathan!”
This was bad, really bad. She was in for the tongue-lashing of her life or eve
n worse. Had he come to arrest her for alleged involvement in Margaret’s prison breakout?
Nathan crossed the room in a few paces with a determined look on his face. Holy smoke. Was he actually going to hit her? To her surprise, he enveloped her in a tight hug.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m OK.” She stared up at his lined, worried face. “What are you doing here?”
“Rodarte called. They finally came clean and explained what’s been happening today.”
Jessica gulped. “Er, they told you everything?”
Nathan’s grey eyes narrowed. “You mean how you and Zak were almost killed in Ossa Cosway’s booby-trapped warehouse? And how hours earlier, you both secretly confronted Margaret in prison – a profoundly reckless action that may have inadvertently resulted in her escaping? Yes, Rodarte filled me in. They had to after we traced a CCTV hack at the prison back to their London unit. Unfortunately for Rodarte, it didn’t have time to fully cover its tracks before The Collective uploaded a virus, disabling all the locks.”
What a disaster. The whole mission had been doomed. The Collective had deliberately left Rodarte exposed.
“I’m sorry, Nathan. I’d never have gone to the prison if I’d known there was a chance it could lead to Margaret’s escape. I wanted to prove she was linked to The Collective.”
“I don’t blame you. I blame myself for not listening to you earlier about Margaret and I blame Rodarte for green-lighting such a foolhardy mission. Our American colleagues are still trying to figure out how The Collective used you and Zak to perform the hacks today. But what bothers me most is their total disregard for your and Zak’s safety. What do you think would have happened if you’d both been trapped inside that prison with inmates on the loose?”
Jessica shook her head. She couldn’t think about that now. There were more important things to worry about. “Have you found Margaret or Lee Caplin yet?”
“You’re still officially suspended, remember?”