You complete, fucking, bastard.
‘Yes, sir,’ Louisa finally managed to say. She had to get out of the room before she reached across the desk and wrapped her hands around the DI’s neck. ‘Is that all, sir?’
‘Yes, Detective,’ the DI said, clearly more relaxed now the highly unpleasant business had been concluded. ‘Oh, you’ll find a written report of this conversation attached to your profile. Purely to ensure everyone is cognisant proper procedure has been followed, yes?’
Louisa got up and left the room. It took a supreme effort of will on her part not to slam the door on her way out. However it did take a few moments for her to prise her fingers from the door handle.
It was only once she back at her desk she realised the DI hadn’t bothered to ask if she knew anything about the data Portal had wiped from her profile. He’d caught a whiff of something rotten and made damn sure he wouldn’t be caught up in it. It was an ass-covering exercise. He doesn’t want to risk the fat pension he’s got waiting for him.
It impressed on her the need to tread carefully when pursuing any line of inquiry in Claire’s case that touched on Portal. If Portal did decide to lodge an official complaint against her, she’d be on her own.
*
After she’d calmed down Louisa checked in with Ed but he’d nothing new to report. Since the evidence of intrusion was now gone from her profile he didn’t hold out much hope of gleaning anything more from the little data he managed to study.
Claire’s case file was static. She was acutely aware she had no conclusive proof Simon or Portal was involved. A suspicion alone wouldn’t allow her to formally interview any Portal staff or obtain a search warrant for any of their offices. No new evidence meant CADET would remain dormant.
Rick had drawn a blank on London’s private medical clinics. None of them had a Claire Harris registered as a previous patient. Louisa made the decision to shift him onto a new homicide case logged overnight—a drunken brawl outside a nightclub that had led to a stabbing. She reviewed the case file and it appeared fairly routine. There were witnesses and even sense footage of the incident so she was confident Rick could handle it on his own.
If any new homicides were assigned to her team she’d have to apply for assistance from another MIT or freeze Claire’s file. She already knew what the DI’s response would be to either request. He’d aim to shunt the case out of SCD1 the first opportunity he got.
Claire’s case was slipping away. Despondent, Louisa decided to call it a day.
*
Jess was in the living room watching a screencast when Louisa got home. It was one of those teenager-marketed dramas where beautiful young men and women became embroiled in torrid relationships, invariably in a tropical setting where the actors hadn’t the need to wear much clothing. Jess’ terminal was resting on her lap and was she was chatting away, oblivious to Louisa entering the apartment. The lack of responses from the terminal indicated she was listening via an ear bud. Her exclamations drummed a staccato rhythm, each more high pitched than the last. ‘Yeah…I know…I don’t believe it…she did not!’
Jess’ terminal screen was split in two along the vertical. On the left half was her profile and on the right a rotating star field indicated available screencasts. Jess had the screencast extension on peaking mode, which allowed her to see which ones were popular amongst her friends and other Portal users. Individual screencasts would grow to take up a bigger proportion of the window as more people chose to view them. It led to a large amount of channel surfing as certain casts peaked and fell in popularity. Jess had already changed shows three times in the time it took for Louisa to hang up her coat.
Viewers’ interactions afforded Portal with yet another revenue stream. Portal provided free access to screencasts and in turn everyone’s viewing habits became their property to do with as they chose. Portal analysed the data and sold it as a product tailored to the specific needs of the networks. They paid out huge sums to determine things like, in the case of Jess and her friends, how many fourteen-year-old girls were watching their shows at a specific point in time, how long they watched them for and at what point they switched to a competitor.
The networks took Portal’s insights into Londoners’ viewing preferences and altered their schedules accordingly to try and make them more attractive. It allowed them to build on and expand popular screencasts and react to those dipping in popularity by introducing rewrites before the next episode aired or by cancelling the show outright. Only screencasts adapting to viewers’ needs and wishes survived. Adam Walsh had called it Darwin Screencast Programming. Critics argued it led to very similar programming across all the networks. Once a certain cast was identified as peaking the other networks reacted quickly to produce something extremely similar, often within a matter of hours or even minutes.
For the networks willing to shell out even more money Portal could provide extras such as viewer focal tracking, where Portal could relay in real time the exact points on the screen the viewers were staring at. This was useful for the live soap screencasts where actors could get yanked off-screen if they weren’t getting enough focus-time. The constant turnover of actors resulted in rapid script-rewriting and a largely improvised show. Louisa considered the quality of the acting in the live casts to be shockingly bad. They were worse than the shoddiest Christmas pantomime—overacted and with mind-numbing pauses in the dialog where the actors frantically tried to absorb new lines the writers were relaying into their ear buds.
Other live casts tried to involve the viewer by allowing them to influence the on-screen action. They flashed up different story arcs on the users’ terminals and the most popular option would then be enacted. Portal made no secret of the fact they believed the future belonged to screencasts individually tailored, like the advert breaks, to a user’s profile. Some Londoners couldn’t wait for that to happen, ecstatic at the thought of having a screencast schedule comprised purely of the shows they loved. Louisa thought it more likely you’d just end up with subtle variations of the same show again and again, stuck in a programming loop with no way of ever watching anything new or original.
At the same time Jess was changing screencasts she was constantly tapping away on her profile, sharing a feed on what she was watching, adding comments, reading feedback from her Portal connections and browsing feeds she was subscribed to. She managed to absorb, collate, and digest all the various visual and audio inputs with a casual flair that made it look like the most natural thing in the world. After a few seconds trying to follow her Louisa had to look away, unable to process the sensory overload.
Distracted as Jess was, Louisa knew better than to try and engage her daughter in conversation. She checked in on Charlie in his room to make sure he was doing his homework and then made a start on dinner.
*
‘Foreign screencasts are so boring,’ Charlie said.
They were sitting around the small table in the living room and Louisa had restricted the wall screen content to shows from outside of Portal. Normally she had a deal with the kids where they all used an extension to vote for what to watch, but she’d begun to suspect they had rigged the voting. Night after night Jess and Charlie got to see the exact shows they wanted. So she’d overruled the evening’s choice and switched to an American-based news programme. She had to pay extra for international channels but it was worth it for the kids to have the opportunity to experience viewpoints outside of Portal’s control.
‘They’re called TV shows,’ Jess said.
‘What’s a TV?’ Charlie asked.
‘It’s like a Portal screen but way more lame.’
Charlie took out his terminal. He tapped the screen and then frowned. ‘Where’s the profile interaction?’
‘There is none.’
‘So, you have to watch the stories with no say in what happens?’ Charlie was aghast. ‘School isn’t even this boring. I can’t even tell them how much I think their show sucks.’
‘Well sinc
e you’re not allowed your terminal at the table it shouldn’t matter.’ Louisa reached over and deactivated Charlie’s. ‘Don’t you want to see what’s going on in the rest of the world?’
‘No,’ Jess and Charlie said in chorus.
The news programme was covering a child abduction case in Maryland. A ten-year-old girl had gone missing and the local PD was holding a press conference. They showed a recent picture of the girl and explained the last reported sighting of her was from after she left school and got into an old beat-up blue station wagon. From her global web history they believed the girl had established an online friendship with her kidnapper whom she believed was a fourteen-year-old boy called Kevin.
‘That wouldn’t happen here,’ Jess said.
‘There are bad people everywhere, sweetie,’ Louisa said. ‘Even in London.’
‘No, I mean mistaking her kidnapper for a boy. That can’t happen on Portal, right? I mean, you can’t pretend to be someone else.’
‘It’s not impossible Jess, just difficult.’ Louisa’s answer might have been different only a few years previously, back when identity had been an inviolable cornerstone of Portal and intrinsically linked to every network activity, but profile forging had put paid to the notion. Even the stiff legal penalty didn’t seem to dissuade people from taking the risk of getting caught. Baz Waters was proof enough.
Thankfully forged profiles were a rarity, otherwise the MET wouldn’t be able to trust anything the history graphs reported. Claire’s case was different, though. There was no indication of a forged profile. Instead the girl didn’t appear to exist on Portal at all. There was no trace of her in a system designed to record the whereabouts and every public act of London’s residents.
Then there was Ben. He was sure he knew Claire, but the girl in the sense footage definitely wasn’t her. Could the footage have been manipulated in some way? Louisa resolved to follow up on the girl talking to Ben outside the restaurant. She’d get Ed to bring up the sense logs and track the girl’s movements, street by street if she had to.
‘Mum?’ Jess asked, distracting Louisa from her thoughts.
‘Hmm?’ Louisa said.
Jess was holding her terminal in her lap. ‘There’s some sort of problem with Portal.’
Louisa was just about to tell her off for using her terminal when she noted the look of concern on her daughter’s face. Louisa glanced at Jess’ screen and saw she was looking at a newscast extension showing peaking news feeds by topic. When there was something particularly newsworthy, like when the Brixton riots had kicked off, or for a general election, the number of topics might shrink to double figures, but it was a rarity. There were normally thousands available. Goosebumps prickled on the back of her arms as she realised there were only four distinct topics. One in particular took up most of the screen. Then gradually the other three shrunk and winked out, leaving a singular topic being actively discussed across the entire Portal network. Louisa brought up the same extension on the wall screen and selected an official Portal newscast from the topic.
Below a headline of ‘Minor Portal Data Breach Confirmed’, a female news anchor was grim-faced.
‘The composition of the data stolen from the Portal network is uncertain,’ the news anchor was saying. ‘The company has yet to release an official statement, however it appears a very small timeframe of Portal data has been leaked onto the global web, originating from a server within the People’s Republic of China. Access to this server has consequently been restricted.’
The woman continued to talk reassuringly about how the volume of data was very small, relatively speaking, and Portal was doing everything they could to investigate the source of the breach. It sounded like damage mitigation spin to Louisa. All the Portal-managed feeds would likely be toeing the same line. She switched to the non-Portal channels and selected an English news programme local to Birmingham. They were covering the same story. The male anchor was interviewing an older man with a long black beard who, according to the name displayed, was Professor Joseph Tanner, a networks expert from Cambridge University.
‘What we’re looking at here is a leak comprising several thousand petabytes of Portal data,’ the professor said. ‘It’s mind boggling how Portal could have left a back door open long enough for someone to extract this data. Since Portal throttles the speed of data entering and leaving their network that volume could take up to five days to transfer.’
‘Portal are referring to this as a minor leak,’ the news anchor said. ‘How can it be minor if the amount of information is as big as you say, Professor?’
‘Well it just goes to show how much data Portal is collecting. Measured in real time you could be talking about quite a small snapshot of user activity. Perhaps only a few seconds. It all depends on the data itself.’
‘And that’s what everyone wants to know, isn’t it? What exactly have Portal let slip here? Is it corporate secrets, or what their users had for breakfast?’
‘Only time will tell, but I don’t think we’ll have to wait too long to find out. From what little of the data I’ve seen I believe it was entirely encrypted using a single key. Something which, according to Portal, shouldn’t even be possible. If someone cracks that key, the entire contents of the data set will be exposed.’
‘Thank you, Professor.’ The anchor turned to face the camera. ‘As soon as any information becomes available on what exactly Portal have lost, you’ll hear it here first. After some short messages we’ll be examining the implications of this disastrous turn of events for Portal on the eve of their UK expansion. Share prices on the NASDAQ where Portal maintains a secondary listing dipped alarmingly before the NASDAQ stopped trading them at Portal’s request. When the London exchange opens in the morning it seems likely they’ll tumble there too. Are we looking at the beginning of the end for one of the world’s biggest technology firms?’
The programme cut to an advert break and Louisa muted the sound. She’d been looking for an unbiased viewpoint but she wouldn’t find it amongst the global TV networks either. In London they had become largely obsolete, people preferring the dynamic content only Portal could provide. The other networks were terrified at the thought of Portal’s model spreading to other countries, especially the TV cash-cow that was America.
Could this breach be related to the one that occurred prior to her receiving Claire’s feed? Did the perpetrator make off with all the data at the same time? It seemed unlikely given what the Professor said about the time needed to extract it from Portal’s servers.
Two breaches in one week. Simon must be getting it in the neck. Portal would be looking for a scapegoat for the breach to assuage shareholders’ nerves and their head of corporate security could very well be the one required to fall on his sword. She didn’t imagine Benoit Walsh would accept any share of the blame. The guy is too slippery by half.
‘Okay, kids,’ Louisa said, ‘time for bed. Put the terminals away.’
‘Aw, Mum!’ Charlie said. ‘I want to see what’s been leaked. Everyone at school is talking about it. Jimmy thinks you’ll be able to see everyone’s private profile stuff and their perception feeds. Even if they aren’t shared.’
Jess looked at Louisa in alarm. ‘That’s not right, is it. Mum?’
Louisa shook her head. ‘I’m sure it’s not, sweetie. It’s probably just a load of Traffic Subnet data. Nothing interesting at all. I’m sure it will all be sorted out by the morning.’
But Louisa couldn’t help thinking back to Ed’s demonstration of the biological data the terminals were harvesting from their owners. The leaking of profile feeds might be the least of their worries.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Louisa was jolted from a sound sleep as a loud wailing siren reverberated around the room. She groaned, prised open sleep-filled eyes and squinted at the terminal on the bedside table. She regretted it instantly as a bright strobing light shot shards of pain through her skull.
‘Alarm off,’ she mumbled. It had no effect.
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Louisa muttered an expletive under her breath and clawed the terminal off its stand. She rubbed away the grit from her eyes and peered blearily at the device.
An alert was emblazoned across the screen in a large font: ‘All off-duty MET officers. Report to your assigned emergency response stations immediately.’
Louisa thumbed the acknowledgement icon and the noise mercifully ceased. The implications of the message drove all the remaining grogginess from her mind. It was an emergency recall for police officers in the case of a terrorist attack or national disaster.
Louisa opened a news extension. The feeds were dominated by reports of overnight violence and looting throughout the capital following the news of the Portal leak. Five people were reported dead so far and over fifty admitted to hospital with serious injuries.
She checked the time—it was three in the morning. So much for everything calming down overnight. She sprang out of bed and headed for the shower.
*
It was eerily quiet as Louisa drove east along Chelsea Embankment. Even in the middle of the night it would normally have taken half an hour at least to drive from her apartment in Chelsea Harbour to Scotland Yard. The Traffic Subnet had greatly alleviated central London’s seemingly permanent state of gridlock, but it couldn’t perform miracles and the large volume of vehicles in the capital often still clogged the streets. But right now they were practically deserted. She reckoned she might make the journey in ten minutes—definitely a new record.
Before setting off Louisa checked the Traffic Subnet to make sure her route wasn’t taking her near any of the rioting hotspots. The David Gallagher riots had been largely restricted to Brixton but this time the trouble was much more widespread. South of the river Brixton, Clapham and Battersea were highlighted on the map as areas to avoid. On the north side of the Thames the riots had spread from Hackney to Walthamstow to Ealing. The hotspots formed a donut-shaped ring around central London Louisa was lucky enough to be in the centre of, with a clear route east to Scotland Yard.
The London Project (Portal Book 1) Page 13