The Codex File (2012)

by Miles Etherton

  “It’s worth it, believe me. But you don’t understand the significance of what we now posses and what we can do with it. It’s far beyond the comfortable confines of your previous, mundane urban lives. You should have stayed in your quiet, boring existences and left this to people who are really changing the world, not associating with losers trying to maintain some antiquated, unregulated old network. If you’d left it alone, you wouldn’t be here now.”

  Michael could feel his rage erupting up from within.

  “But you brought me into this. You killed my wife and daughter. Did you think I’d just let that lie?”

  “Yes, but we gave you the killer. There was no need to pursue this any further. But you forced our hand when you came to see me, telling me your wife had further information. We couldn’t let that lie I’m afraid.”

  “Davey Wilkes was innocent,” Michael said flatly.

  Trevellion gestured dismissively, waving the handgun in front of him.

  “A Green road protester who lives up trees and in tunnels. Hardly a loss to society, is he?”

  “That’s a matter of perspective, Vincent,” Simon interrupted.

  Trevellion turned angrily to face his brother.

  “Spare me your patronising intellectual reasoning. This is a ruthless business and he was expendable.”

  “But the question remains: what is this business? This clearly goes beyond just computers. We’ve all seen the code and what it does. This is warfare by any other name.”

  Trevellion smiled knowingly at his brother, content in the knowledge he was shortly going to end his life.

  “You always were the smarter one, weren’t you Simon? It’s a shame you didn’t use that intellect in a more profitable way, rather than wasting it on academia and the freedom of ideas and information. What a waste of your life.”

  “I’d stand up for that every time against the sham that’s UKCitizensNet. That’s worth dying for.”

  “Well, how ironic that you will die for your beliefs then.”

  Simon watched, surprised at how calm he was feeling in the circumstances. Vincent looked them up and down. His finger poised on the trigger.

  Warfare?

  Suddenly he was struck by what he’d just said. The day before they’d been moved out of the room they were being held in and taken to one of the many R&D computer labs. The purpose had been to check Michael’s confession that his wife had further information about the app stored on a remote server.

  Whilst in the lab, the various screens filling the room had been showing live UKCitizensNet feeds reporting the death of Saudi leader, President Mahmoud Khalefa Al-Haifi on Westminster Bridge in London. The tragedy was being blamed on one of his drivers losing control of his vehicle and ploughing into a petrol tanker, causing a massive explosion, killing the President and leaving the bridge with enormous structural damage. A terrible thought crossed his mind.

  “You used the app to kill the Saudi President, didn’t you?” he said, as he had an epiphany about the possible motives for needing the app to work on a wireless network, his thoughts filling with theories and conspiracies.

  Trevellion lowered his gun, relaxing his finger on the trigger, his eyes widening with mild surprise. A look of satisfaction crossed his face.

  “You see, I told you your brain was wasted in a dusty university library.”

  “But why? This country’s not at war with Saudi Arabia. It never has been.”

  His thoughts trailed off as another idea suddenly struck him.

  “This is about oil, isn’t it?”

  Trevellion seemed to smile again, although his facial expression barely changed. He seemed to be enjoying the intellectual spat with his brother Michael thought as he watched from where he sat.

  “It’s about oil this time. But it won’t be next time. This stealth weapon gives us control. The control to pursue whatever policies this government sees fit, but which would be, let’s say, less palatable to the average voter.”

  Simon closed his eyes, trying to process all of the facts bombarding him.

  “So this is about the Saudi oil tariffs?

  “Go on.”

  “The Saudi President has been touring European countries, who’ve all been trying to negotiate better deals on the oil tariff. Doubtless they’ve been offering concessions to Saudi Arabia elsewhere?”

  “Very good.”

  “But why kill him?”

  Trevellion looked at Simon and Michael, and then to the gun he was holding, deciding how much information he was prepared to share. He had no interest in sharing anything with Michael Robertson - his purpose had been served. They’d squeezed everything they could out of him.

  But with his brother it was different. Academically he’d always been superior to him. Doubtless he would’ve made Professor one day.

  But what he himself lacked in intellect compared to his brother he’d more than compensated with his determination. A ruthless spirit to see anything through to the end. No matter what the cost. The means always justified the end.

  But here they were now. And for one of the few times in their lives he held the upper hand intellectually. He understood the bigger picture. Had all the answers. Held the power. What a fitting personal scenario to end his brother’s worthless pursuit of intellectual freedom and the sharing of ideas. Could their views be further apart?

  “You’ve heard of Oil-NetCom, I presume?” Trevellion continued.

  Simon nodded. Michael, who was grappling with the pain in his eye, didn’t acknowledge the question. But somewhere at the back of his consciousness the name was vaguely familiar.

  “Oil-NetCom is one ofSemComNet’s sister companies and has refineries based in a number of oil producing countries. Its biggest concentration of refineries was, however, formerly in Saudi Arabia. But, as I’m sure you’ll remember, four years ago the former Saudi royal family was ousted in a bloodless coup and exiled from the country. That was when President Al-Haifi and his cabinet came to power.”

  Simon nodded, remembering the international coverage of the momentous event.

  “One of the first things Al-Haifi did was to nationalise the oil industry in Saudi Arabia. The result was all foreign oil companies being forced out of the country and the Saudi government claiming the wells for themselves. One of these companies was Oil-NetCom. Of course, there was outrage in the Western world at this move, which only got worse when the Saudi government introduced the now infamous ‘oil tariff’. Military action wasn’t an option. It would have united the entire Arab world against the West. And that was too high a price to risk. Instead, the cost of a barrel of oil immediately topped $100 and has been rising ever since. Before long it will be over $200 a barrel. Oil-NetCom, as with all of the other companies forced to leave Saudi Arabia, incurred billions in loses. Some of this was cushioned by national governments. But not all. However, not everyone in the Saudi cabinet supported the move to nationalisation. But Al-Haifi forced it through. Needless to say, this move to nationalisation was deliriously greeted in Riyadh and the rest of the country. A nice little ‘fuck you’ to the Western world.”

  “So this is all about financial revenge because UK companies were forced out of the region and the price of oil went up?”

  Trevellion smiled smugly at Simon’s miscomprehension.

  “If only it were that simplistic.”

  Simon scowled at his brother’s clear enjoyment at holding the upper hand.

  “Oil-NetCom, and a number of other UK companies affected, either directly or indirectly, by the oil tariff all invested heavily into this country’s defence R&D programme. Unsurprisingly, faced with billions of pounds worth of debt and lost revenue they were somewhat reluctant to commit to such expenditure in the future. But, with President Al-Haifi out of the way, his natural successor, Aymen Al-Hassany will come to power. And let’s just say we’re confident he will re-privatise the oil industry, restoring the former status quo.”

  “You mean he’s in this government’s poc
ket?”

  “Let’s just say this government will make sufficient inducements to make it worth his while. Al-Haifi wasn’t interested in the offer put to him on his recent trip to London. But that’s immaterial now, isn’t it.”

  “So that’s it, is it? All these people killed, their lives ruined in pursuit for a better deal on the price of oil?”

  “Please Simon, don’t be so naive. You know how important oil is. Countries will always go to war over it. But with the app we don’t need to publicly go to war over anything any more or risk voters protesting about conflicts. But more importantly, the use of the app runs far deeper than just getting a better deal over the oil tariff. Oil-NetCom will be back in the region.”

  Simon watched as he saw a hint of excitement glint in Vincent’s eyes, the realisation of what his brother had just said slapping him in the face. Michael looked bemused as his narrow gaze moved between the brothers, periodically stopping on the muzzle of the gun.

  “Of course. You want access to the oil infrastructure’s computer network. The wireless capability of the app could access any remote IP address within the oil system.”

  Trevellion nodded knowingly, a thin smile crossing his serious expression.

  “You see, I knew you’d be able to work out eventually. Even if it did take more than a little help from me.”

  “I grant you that’s brilliant. But are you telling me the real motives amount to nothing more than simple theft?”

  “As you said before, that really depends on your perspective, doesn’t it. You’ve seen the code and what it can do. We have the leading network security protocols our end through UKCitizensNet, with the most advanced means to hack other system’s security via the app. Once Aymen Al-Hassany takes over as the new President and Oil-NetCom and the other companies return to the region, each company’s own network will reintegrate into the computer network that already exists in the region between this oil cartel. Once we’re connected to this again we can deploy the app right across the oil network.”

  “So you can then steal or siphon off oil production from one area or refinery into Oil-NetCom’s reserves?”

  “Exactly,” Trevellion said triumphantly. “But more than that. The app’s configuration will also be able to infiltrate the regions’ banks, diverting money out of some of the less reputable business accounts stored there into our own secure Swiss bank accounts.”

  “Divert? You’re no more than common thieves,” Michael spat in disgust at Trevellion’s explanation.

  “As I said, you can’t see the bigger picture. The removal of the oil tariff and the appropriation of extra funds will allow this government to fund new national initiatives without having to raise taxes and incur the disappointment of the voters.”

  “And the fact that these companies will begin reinvesting in defence R&D again has nothing to do with it either?” Simon added sarcastically.

  “A fortunate by-product of the wider strategy. As I said, context is everything.”

  “But you do realise what the underlying irony of this whole ‘strategy’ is, don’t you?” Simon said flatly. “When Marcus McCoy banned connection to the old internet in this country they forced the big multi-national IT and web technology companies out of this country, all in the name of promoting ‘UK enterprise’. As I recall, the Saudi President was supporting the ‘Saudi oil interest’ when he nationalised the oil industry. There’s no distinction between the two, surely?”

  Trevellion half-smiled, growing tired of the conversation and his brother’s continual intellectual rationalising.

  “Politics is a dirty game. Despite treaties, alliances and diplomatic protocols, each national government is only out for one thing - itself. We’ve simply been proactive in trying to reverse a situation that is neither good for this country or the longevity of this government. If you don’t act first, someone will either do it to you, or beat you to the punch. It’s dog eat dog in my world. That’s the reality. Your academic values will never be able to reconcile that.”

  “So how many other people are going to have to die in pursuit of this government’s less palatable policies?” Michael sneered, rising to his feet before sitting down on the chair next to Simon, Trevellion’s gun pointed squarely at his chest.

  “That’s not really for me to say, now is it? Suffices to say SemComNet has developed the stealth technology allowing this government to publicly keep their noses clean whilst putting the app to use in whatever way is politically expedient. Although, I would like to thank you both for your input into the technical design and delivery of the app. And also to your lovely wife too. She truly did play a pivotal part in the success of this project.”

  Without thinking Michael lunged himself at Trevellion from his chair, his rage boiling up at the mention of Colette. Seeing the danger immediately Trevellion moved gracefully to his right, swinging the muzzle of the gun in Michael’s direction. The weapon cracked noisily on the side of his head as he fell to the floor at Trevellion’s feet. Stepping back he kicked Michael savagely in the ribs as he lay face down, prostrated on the clinical white floor.

  “Get the fuck over there,” Trevellion snarled as Michael groaned from the blow, before hauling himself to his feet and slumping back in the chair.

  “The talking is over. All of you fucking R.I.G scum have been wasting my time for months. Thanks to the information you gave us, and from what we retrieved from your remote servers, we’re going to hunt down every last one of you. The Real Internet Guardians, and that pathetic old relic of an internet you’re trying so desperately to preserve, will soon be finally gone.”

  Raising the gun to head level, Michael and Simon braced themselves for the end. An image of Colette and Clare from happier times, on his wife’s last birthday as they opened presents together, laughing endlessly as this did so, raced through Michael’s mind as Trevellion’s left index finger moved over the gun’s trigger.

  In another part of the building the sound of an explosion echoed round the confined room, making it shake slightly. Trevellion quickly glanced to the door before returning his gaze to Michael and Simon. He listened intently, expecting the sound of running feet from the soldier’s deployed at SemComNet. No sound came except that of a second explosion. And this time the lights in the room flickered on and off for a split second.

  Michael and Simon sensed their chance. As the lights flickered for a second time the two men dived at where Trevellion stood in front of the metal table. As the lights came back on the three men grappled over the table. Michael had gone for Trevellion’s left hand and forearm which was holding the gun. Simon’s right hand was pushed into his brother’s face slamming the back of his head into the metal table with a sickening thud. Pulling his head up by the hair he slammed it down again.

  Trevellion snarled as he tried to fight off the two men. As Michael tried to dislodge the gun from his hand, his shoulder throbbing from where the Doberman had bitten him, infection making the wound worse, the gun went off, puncturing a hole in the wall behind. Moments later Trevellion dropped the gun as Michael bent his hand back, almost breaking his wrist.

  A third explosion rocked the building and the room shook again before the three men rolled off the table in a tangle of bodies. Free from Simon’s grip Trevellion hauled himself up, viciously kicking his brother in the right kidney before swinging a fist at Michael’s jaw.

  Falling to the floor Michael watched Trevellion clawing at the door handle before it flew open. Escaping up the corridor, his Armani suit jacket flapped behind him as he ran, disappearing out of sight.

  Helping Simon to his feet, and picking up Trevellion’s gun from the floor, the two men quickly exited the room and into the stark white corridor. Trevellion had disappeared through the double doors at the end of the corridor and into the maze that was the SemComNet building.

  As the sound of another minor explosion somewhere behind them echoed through the corridor the building’s sprinklers kicked into life. Simon turned to where Michael was
nursing his swollen jaw.

  “We need to get out of here. Now.”

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  Lukewarm water jetting from the sprinklers filled the air as Michael and Simon made their way up the corridor to the set of the double doors Trevellion had escaped through. Listening at the exit it was clear pandemonium had ensued in the centre of the building. The sound of people running and yelling was barely concealed, although the flurry of explosions seemed to have stopped. And in the chaos that had erupted they hoped no-one would pay them that much attention.

  Michael looked down at the gun he’d tucked in the top of his trousers. That should be very persuasive if anyone did take an interest in them he thought, gently pushing through the double doors.

  The doors opened up onto an expansive marbled balcony, revealing they were on the top floor of the building, in the heart of its atrium. The balcony ran all the way round in one enormous square. Four large corridors, 90 degrees apart, lead into each section of the building. Michael wasn’t sure which wing they were in as he approached the edge of the balcony. Looking over the top they could see people running throughout the building, desperately attempting to escape whatever incident had taken place.

  On all sides he could see the images of worried staff reflected in the vast glass windows surrounding the atrium, running from floor to ceiling. It had looked impressive enough when he’d visited Trevellion in his office previously. But from this elevated position it was truly breathtaking.

  Mingled in amongst the startled workers were both armed soldiers and SemComNet’s own security personnel. Withdrawing slightly from the balcony the two men stood, watching the commotion for a few seconds.

  “I still want one more shot at dealing with Trevellion,” Michael said finally.

  “Are you mad? In all this chaos we’ll easily be able to slip out of here and disappear into the woods. We might not get another chance once they’ve sorted out whatever the fuck is going on.”

  “I’m not leaving until I find him,” Michael said defiantly, wiping away the sticky streak on his right cheek where his blistered eye was still weeping.