The Codex File (2012)

by Miles Etherton

  “David Langley at ACE Solutions was also his company’s project lead for the bid.”

  Michael nodded slowly.

  “Did you ever ask yourself why the previous thriving internet was banned in this country? Why a supremely strong international network, allowing unprecedented freedom of speech and information sharing, should be replaced by a national state network?”

  Michael thought back to when the government had banned internet access two years previously, trying to remember Dr Marcus McCoy’s parliamentary rhetoric.

  “They said they wanted to reward UK enterprise and that the internet was riddled with illegal web sites. And broadband was too slow and companies providing it were fixing the price or something.”

  The man scoffed.

  “UK enterprise? What bollocks. Do you want to know the real reason that web technology companies and ISPs were put out of business in this country? Because essentially the internet was unregulated. They couldn’t control it. So what did they do? They tell everyone that the internet is illegal, unreliable and slow. That it’s got to go. How do they get away with this? Easy, they go in for a bit of patriotic yank bashing by slagging off US browsers, social media websites, online applications, search engines, you name it. Soon this spreads and before you know it the computer industries in North America, Asia and the rest of Europe are Satan-incarnate. And we all just love to believe that British is best, don’t we? It goes without saying then that a wholly British-run replacement, the ‘people’s network’, is the computing messiah this country’s been waiting for.”

  “But what has this got to do with my wife and daughter?” Michael pleaded.

  The man ignored Michael’s question and continued.

  “The one message UKCitizensNet loves to preach is the greater freedom the people’s network gives the country. The intranet has linked the country like never before, providing us with more information than we’ve ever had. It’s empowered us. Or so they would have us believe. UKCitizensNet is a sham and fundamentally undemocratic with no genuine or complete freedom of speech or expression. Did you know that if you want to have your own blog or website on UKCitizensNet that your submission, which is by the way more complicated than completing an online self-assessment tax form, goes through three UKCitizensNet advisory committees before being approved? And that’s if you get approved. Eighty per cent of personal web site applications are now refused on the most tenuous of grounds. On the old internet any ISP would offer you web space to publish anything you wanted. Social media sites allowed genuine freedom of expression and online communities exist. All with pretty much no questions asked. But you can’t do that today. Did you know that?”

  Michael didn’t know that.

  “And what about the fucking sham they call the UKCitizensNet social networks? Every single network on UKCitizensNet is moderated, and do you know how many networks there are on UKCitizensNet? Tens, if not hundreds of thousands. Every message that is created or shared within a group is meticulously vetted by sophisticated software that is continually scanning content looking for flagged terms or strings of related words that might be somehow subversive. We’re talking intelligence service-level of vetting of online chatter, just to scan the banality of people’s lives. And all of this monitoring and surveillance is overseen by nameless analysts working for SemComNet. And like personal web site submissions seventy per cent of social network messaging is vetoed and removed from UKCitizensNet within minutes of creation. And guess what? No-one can do a thing about it. How can they? They voted McCoy and his puritan manifesto of online change into power, and now there’s no alternative. Just goes to show that people should be careful what they wish for!”

  The man paused for breath, wiping away a bead of sweat that had begun running down the left of his temple.

  “Does that sound like democracy to you? Is that your definition of online privacy? Do you still feel empowered?”

  “You said you knew something about my wife and daughter?” Michael said finally, attempting to absorb and rationalise what the anonymous man had told him and what it had to do with his family’s murders.

  The man nodded, anxiously looking about him as if he expected to be arrested any moment.

  “Ask yourself this then. Do you think that a mere computer company like SemComNet, no matter how big, could impose such control over the information we are fed everyday without help from somewhere else?”

  Michael looked back blankly at the man, not sure whether he was really expecting a reply.

  “SemComNet, and therefore UKCitizensNet, are in the government’s pocket. Maybe not openly in the corridors of power. But somewhere, from within the government, maybe even McCoy himself, this whole fucking state network project is being controlled.”

  Michael looked incredulous.

  “By the government? You can’t be serious.”

  “It’s the only organisation big enough and powerful enough to run it. That’s why your wife and David Langley were killed. To remove any competition to SemComNet’s tender bid and to steal the project plans rival companies were developing.”

  A thousand thoughts bombarded Michael’s troubled mind.

  “But why not just commission SemComNet to develop the network? Or just have a nationalised intranet?”

  The nervy man’s expression became more sorrowful as his face sagged a little.

  “The whole ‘people’s network’ tender was a sham as well. If they’d just commissioned SemComNet then the rest of the industry would have protested, UKCitizensNet would have got bad publicity and the project would ultimately have been doomed to failure. If McCoy nationalised a state network he loses the opportunity to be jingoistic and stir up patriotism. Remember, this is what happened while the supposed tenders were being prepared. By creating the illusion of a tender the government ensures the other companies involved develop their web and IT R&D pipelines. Neither SemComNet nor the government had all the answers for this online technology. So what do they do? They kill the project leads and indulge in corporate espionage by stealing the rival companies’ information. Any other competitor is rendered impotent and SemComNet is the only company who can meet the state network tender requirements. Quite a technological coup d’etat, wouldn’t you say?”

  “No, it doesn’t make sense,” Michael said slowly. “I don’t believe the government killed my wife. Besides, Vincent Trevellion identified the man who attacked him, the man who killed my wife and daughter. His name is Wilkes, Davey Wilkes, an anti-net campaigner.”

  The man scoffed again, looking all around him.

  “What? Those fucking illiterates? I don’t think so. What the fuck do they care about the internet? They’re just Green anti-road protesters. They were made scapegoats for the killings.”

  A terrible thought began to form in Michael’s head. The nervy man sensed what he was thinking.

  “Who was it who identified Davey Wilkes? It was Vincent Trevellion. Who does Vincent Trevellion work for? SemComNet. Who benefited the most out of the deaths of your wife and David Langley? SemComNet.”

  The man paused as Michael held his head in his hands.

  “SemComNet, Vincent Trevellion, or someone working for him, unquestionably murdered your wife and daughter.”

  “But why Clare? What did she have to do with the tender bid? She was only a child.”

  The man looked down and shook his head slowly, for once not having an answer.

  “I don’t know why they killed your daughter. Maybe the death of a child was intended to totally condemn Davey Wilkes and the supposed anti-net campaigners in the eyes of the public.”

  Michael looked up, suddenly aware one of bit of information was missing.

  “How do you know all this? And who the hell are you?”

  The nervy man instantly became more anxious as Michael raised his voice, afraid that the arresting hordes were about to descend upon him.

  “Keep your voice down,” he hissed, sitting down on a nearby bench. “Me and some of
my colleagues are what you might call internet patriots. We strive to keep the old internet alive in whatever way possible, even though the government has banned it. Across the country we’ve been re-establishing a communications structure for the old internet by starting up servers again, repairing routers, hubs and old broadband connections. We’re an online splinter group trying to reconnect to the old principles of an online network. The only problem is the government knows about us and our activities. To start with we just got arrested, roughed up a bit, had our hardware and kit stolen, and given a caution. But when they realised we were probing into the very workings of UKCitizensNet and all its clandestine advisory committees, things got nasty. Our houses were ransacked. Friends and family were threatened. Our bank accounts were frozen. We had to go into hiding. And for two years we’ve been in hiding, secretly communicating with a handful of opponents to UKCitizensNet, or Fuck-the-Citizens-Net as we like to call it. We’re always having to move the kit that connects us together and to the rest of the world to avoid detection from the authorities. Unfortunately, they’ve managed to seize a lot of our hardware. It’s put our plans of exposing them back by months.”

  “Why haven’t you gone to the police or the press?”

  The man laughed dismissively.

  “We’d be picked up in a matter of hours. This is the government and intelligence services we’re talking about. They’re always looking for us, watching us. They could be watching us right now. They’re almost certainly watching you. If they think you know something about UKCitizensNet and its development, they’ll be watching you. Why do you think I was so careful about where we met?”

  Michael didn’t hear the last sentence as an image of Colette’s folder of files and the meeting minutes Vera had given him flashed through his mind.

  “Can you prove who killed my wife and daughter?” Michael finally asked firmly.

  “Proof,” the man sneered. “There isn’t any concrete proof. They’re too clever for that. We only know what we know through hours of testing and probing UKCitizensNet, of being harassed by the police, of knowing that others like us are being sought by them for what they know.”

  As the man’s disdain echoed in the cold air, Michael felt his anger begin to rise.

  “You’ve made me listen to this conspiracy theory rubbish, have made me relive the horror of discovering my wife’s mutilated body and having to identify my daughter’s corpse. All because of paranoid delusions that you can’t even prove? Delusions that are so preposterous I should have seen through them straight away.”

  “Michael, believe me, they’re not delusions. This is all real. Do I look like I’m fucking joking? Would I have been on the run for two years if this wasn’t happening?”

  Michael rose from the bench, his face contorted in anger.

  “Do you want to know what I think? I think you’re some sort of sick voyeur who gets off on death and misery. I think you created this whole conspiracy in the hope I would reveal one detail about my wife and daughter’s death that wasn’t in the papers or on UKCitizensNet. A detail you could get off on. That’s what I think.”

  The man shook his head fervently, agitated by the attention Michael was bringing to them both.

  “No, you must listen to me, it’s all…”

  But he never completed the sentence as Michael angrily pushed past him and headed back in the direction of the steps leading onto Kingston Bridge.

  Shaking his head he sighed and thought about what he would say to the others. He’d tried, but perhaps not surprisingly, Michael hadn’t wanted to hear his message.

  But then he wouldn’t be the first.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  5th June 2009

  “Access to the internet will be banned.”

  No matter how many times Dr Marcus McCoy read it aloud, or recited the words in his head, the same inescapable truth always rang true. These words, this carefully prepared speech to parliament, would be the defining moment of his premiership.

  All of the details he was about to reveal to his elected colleagues, and share with the nation, had been pored over for months. All building up to this one moment. It had been the centrepiece of his party’s manifesto pledges, helping to sweep him to the biggest electoral landslide in a generation. A majority in the house of 196 ensured there wasn’t going to be much he couldn’t push through in terms of change. The only unanswered questions were the exact details of his proposed reforms.

  Moving away from the window over-looking the Thames, Westminster Bridge and the London Eye, McCoy returned to the desk in the large, comfortable office. It was one of the many rooms always made available for ministers and shadow ministers to use when parliament was in session.

  On the desk was a large computer screen, logged into the parliamentary network, a glass of water, and his pile of papers. Before any major speech to the house he liked to have a few moments to himself, whilst the chamber filled, just to gather his thoughts, before the ensuing scrum of the debate.

  Sitting in front of his papers he quickly read the opening paragraph of his speech once more before moving it to one side. Underneath, in a clear plastic wallet, was a further document, a report that Miles Winston, the Secretary of State for Defence, had given him in confidence at his own request, just days after the election victory.

  His narrow, hawk-like blue eyes scanned the title, its meanings rumbling noisily in his thoughts: CODEX file OP09/ST - UKCitizensNet implementation and development. Pulling the report from the plastic wallet he turned the first page and began to read. He’d read it before, more than once, and he knew all of the meanings, all of the implications. His speech today would lay the groundwork for a government project that would never be known beyond a chosen few, but which would forever changes the lives of every person living in the country. A move that would give him the means to pursue whatever political imperative he felt was necessary.

  Skimming through the first few pages his gaze stopped on a list of names. Three people who, all in very different ways, were critical to the success of Phase I. Without them the project would not be able to succeed, whatever input his own people had.

  The first name on the list was Vincent Trevellion. McCoy read the brief biography on the page before him. Trevellion was an ambitious regional director of a large software provider to the defence industry. He was qualified, familiar with the market and, most importantly, driven by a thirst for advancement. An ideal candidate he reflected, running his fingers through his greying hair, neatly swept into a tidy side-parting.

  Before he could read the biography for the second name on the list his concentration was disturbed by a gentle knock on the door. Looking up from the report the door to the office opened. Nigel Braithwaite, his Private Secretary, stood in the doorway, bolt upright as always, efficient as ever with his timekeeping.

  “They’re ready for you Prime Minister,” he said with a firm authoritative tone. “The house is very full today.”

  McCoy nodded, gathering up his papers, taking one final sip from the glass of cool water on the desk.

  “And so it should be,” he replied confidently, exiting the office to where two security personnel were waiting to escort him. “My speech is going to change this country beyond all recognition.”

  Braithwaite nodded knowingly, aware of the contents of the speech, although unaware of the existence of the CODEX report accompanying the Prime Minister’s papers. As the hour for McCoy’s speech had approached he’d prowled around the parliament building monitoring everything that was going on. Conversations had taken place with the chief whips, ensuring all party members were in attendance. Although on a day like this it would have been a job to keep them away.

  Then there had been the press. Ordinarily the journalists would have been bustling around the lobby at Westminster, trying to grab a word with a minister or senior backbencher. But in all his time he’d never seen so many journalists or political commentators congregated. Not only were the national media decked out in f
orce, but reporters from what seemed like every newsdesk on the planet were assembled.

  It was hardly surprising. The ramifications of Dr McCoy’s address to parliament certainly would be far-reaching, impacting on international markets and economies. All the major stock exchanges had been jittery since McCoy’s ascent to power in the recent election. The previously buoyant international IT market, and in particular the shares of semantic web technology companies and the growing social media giants had been riding the crest of a financial wave for the last few years. But from the point the party’s manifesto had been issued, and McCoy started fleshing out some of his ambitions, the share prices of US, Asian and European software companies had begun to fall. And after today they were likely to go through the floor.

  The press was hotly pursuing the story. The phones in the Number 10 press office hadn’t stopped ringing and email boxes were forever full as media outlets, political journalists, IT journalists, and social and cultural commentators kept bombarding his office with yet more requests for information, clarifications or interviews.

  But until the speech was delivered, and the details known, there was no comment to be had apart from ‘no comment’. McCoy had been quite clear about that. And he wasn’t a man to be crossed as many political opponents had discovered as his career had developed.

  “After this session, tell Miles I want to see him,” McCoy said firmly as they reached the doors to the chamber, the hum of chattering inside seeping out through the closed door.

  Braithwaite nodded as McCoy strode confidently through the doors and into the expectant political arena.

  Emerging into the House of Commons an excited murmur began to filter round the chamber. McCoy’s own party, many of them newly elected members of parliament, filling row upon row of the benches, broke into a rapturous applause as he approached his seat close to the Speaker of the House.

  The size of his victory and the parliamentary majority had even taken him by surprise, despite over 20 years in politics. That time had first been spent in local politics, running an inner city council beset by social deprivation and racial tension. From there his elevation as an MP had been solely in parliamentary opposition, climbing the ranks of his party, being a spokesperson for online developments and defence, before becoming the Shadow Defence Secretary.