One Life Remaining (Portal Book 2)

by Mark J Maxwell

‘Our known clan members.’ Drew Carter sidled up to her. Apart from Spencer Harrow they were all young. More boys than men. Fresh faced.

  ‘Their whereabouts are still unknown?’ Louisa asked.

  Drew nodded. A smaller screen appeared in the air before them. ‘This is a timeline we’ve constructed from clan activity since its inception.’

  Louisa waved her hand. The timeline shifted. There was little of note at the beginning. The clan had been created four months ago. Anti-Portal sentiment grew in line with the clan’s membership according to selectors tripped during in-game chatter. Louisa halted the timeline on a date two months ago. She selected an entry, which caught her eye. The Portal server farm break-in.

  ‘Do you know what they were after?’ she asked.

  ‘I have a team working on it now.’ Drew hesitated. ‘It was only brought to my attention yesterday.’

  She glanced at Drew. The last part had been for her benefit. His avatar may only have been relaying a subset of interpreted emotions, but she could tell he wasn’t impressed at being kept in the dark. She shifted the timeline forward. She saw Ben’s name pop up occasionally. The timeline proved granular enough to detail individual entries from his history graph, including geo-location tags discerned from interactions with public transport and purchases made in shops, bars and coffee houses. She selected an icon and filtered out everyone except for Harrow. ‘Why do the entries stop here?’ She pointed at a date three and a half months ago.

  ‘Harrow’s entries ceased soon after he joined the clan.’

  ‘He joined the clan? You mean he didn’t create it?’

  Drew shook his head. ‘There were at least two other members already in place before him. We checked with Multiverse. Their record of the clan’s creation appears to have been corrupted. They’re checking their servers to figure out why.’

  ‘There’s no mention he was under investigation for conducting illegal trials. Portal’s disclosure should have made it into his graph.’

  ‘I was told the case file had been mislaid. A clerical error. CADET missed the connection.’

  ‘Mislaid?’ Louisa couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘Who was the SIO?’

  ‘The case file didn’t get placed on the appropriate processing queue, so it wasn’t assigned a Senior Investigating Officer.’

  Louisa shook her head. The NCA Director had recalled the case file easily enough at the COBRA meeting. It hadn’t slipped through the cracks. MI6 had buried it. She altered the filter to include all the clan members and scrolled forward. Her own SCD7 operation appeared, linked in from Fletcher’s case file. ‘The Wansey Street flats.’ Louisa paused at its entry. ‘Do we know if Harrow was there with the other clan members?’

  ‘We established a sense perimeter around the flats and ID’d five of the clan crossing it. Harrow wasn’t one of them.’

  Louisa swallowed. ‘Was Ben present at the flats when Worrell died?’

  ‘No. He left with Henry Booth earlier that day.’

  She exhaled slowly. The thought of Ben being present for Worrell’s torture would have been hard to bear. ‘Why are there no more entries after the flats?’

  ‘The clan went underground. I think they made a decision at this point to solidify their membership and move forward to the next stage of their plan. Hence the need to stay off the grid.’

  ‘The Portal bombing?’

  Drew nodded.

  ‘Even if the clan are using falsefaces, they’re still trackable using sense strips,’ Louisa said. ‘I followed Ben from his flat to Wansey Street. How did all the clan members vanish? Did they leave London?’

  ‘Some did. We lost track of them past the M25. Others left the flats in ones and twos, each in a different direction. They headed to areas of high pedestrian density like shopping centres, or train stations. Once there they disabled Portal.

  ’Like at Tilbury?’

  ‘Exactly. We had Portal provide us with a network signal map derived from active implants, terminals, consoles, implant feeds and sense strips in the immediate vicinity of one of the disruptions. The map showed a spherical hole within which the Portal network was inactive.’

  ‘This happened for every clan member you followed?’

  Drew nodded. ‘Since then, Henry Booth is the only one who’s revealed his location. He surfaced a block from the Portal offices five minutes before the explosion. Both Portal and GCHQ are trying to identify the cause of the interference. Portal thinks it could be a wide frequency signal jammer.’

  ‘And GCHQ?’

  ‘They’ve had no luck. Portal has also tried pinging the clans’ implants to attempt a location fix, but their terminals are unresponsive.’

  Cruise had used the same signal jammer on her outside Scotland Yard. He as much as admitted it. Most of MI5’s and MI6’s toys originated from research carried out by GCHQ. It stood to reason Harrow would have had access to the same technology if he worked there.

  ‘What about their activity further back in the sense logs?’ Louisa asked.

  ‘We traced the majority of them right back to when they joined the clan. They had no physical contact with other clan members before congregating at the flats. Tracing Baker and Harrow proved less successful. They made regular use of the network jamming tech.’

  Louisa held up her hand and closed it into a fist. The timeline window vanished. ‘What are your active lines of investigation?’

  ‘We have twenty teams divided between the Wansey Street flats and the Portal offices, each examining the crime scenes. At the flats we picked up hundreds of DNA, fingerprint, and fibre samples. All they’ve proved so far is the clans’ presence. The bombing team has identified the explosive used as Semtex, a general purpose commercial blasting explosive. We followed up with every UK company that possesses an explosives licence. They’ve all checked their supplies and none are missing. We’re operating under the assumption the clan smuggled it into the country. Perhaps in an earlier shipment from Worrell.’ Drew swept his hand across the room. ‘Everyone else you see is monitoring the sense logs for matches on the clans’ biometrics and normal Portal channels like audio and video feeds. We have audio samples of the suspects, so if they talk on Portal or near a sense strip we’ll ID them. Selectors are proving to be of limited use. The bombing has introduced terrorism-related terms into normal conversation. We’re getting millions of hits every minute.’

  ‘What about the statements the clan has been releasing? Have you determined their origin?’

  ‘Right after the bombing the clan uploaded a hacked profile extension to a file sharing network within the Global Web. The extension polls a server in China for updates. Every time the clan releases a new statement the extension broadcasts it on the public feed of every user who’s installed the extension, and hundreds of thousands of users have installed it so far.’

  ‘Why would so many people install the clan’s extension?’

  ‘The clan appears to have struck a chord with kids throughout the UK. News feeds are saying their anti-establishment propaganda is acting as a rallying call for the disenchanted youth. Sons of Babel hoodies are selling out across London and falseface use is rising. We’re instigating random stop and search patrols and checkpoints. The MET will aid us in that endeavour.’

  ‘You’re going to ask people to remove their falsefaces?’

  Drew nodded.

  ‘I hope you’re prepared for the consequences.’ It wouldn’t take much for a stop and search to turn ugly. More riots were the last thing they needed. ‘Why don’t you get Portal to restrict access to the server in China?’

  ‘GCHQ thinks it would be a mistake, and I’m inclined to agree. It’s the only line of communication we have with the clan. If we cut it off, they’ll go dark. And there’s a chance the messages might give us advance warning of their next attack.’

  ‘Is GCHQ working with you directly now?’

  ‘Up to a point. Most of the people you see in this room are NCA officers, but there are also represe
ntatives from GCHQ, MI6, and MI5. If I need something from one of their agencies I have to go through them.’

  ‘When I was at the COBRA meeting, their chiefs promised full cooperation with your investigation. This doesn’t seem like full cooperation to me.’

  ‘Believe me this is much more access than I would normally have. There’s an official line of communication between the NCA and the agencies, but requests end up mired in so much red tape it’s nigh on useless. It’s forced individual NCA officers to form their own contacts within the agencies, and those links are jealously guarded.’

  Internal power plays were part and parcel of every large organisation. Any half decent boss would have shielded Drew from the politics. As it stood, Drew’s investigation was in danger of becoming mired in the details. Just before jacking in, Louisa had checked the case file’s hierarchy. For such a big operation, a MET SIO would normally hold the rank of Detective Superintendent. These officers received specific training for large-scale incident management. Drew was SG3 in the NCA, which equated to the same rank as Louisa. And Drew’s role had been MET Liaison. When was the last time he’d run his own case file?

  If the investigation went sour Drew would take the fall. As she eyed the NCA officers crunching away at the Portal data, Louisa wondered if that was the plan all along. If MI6 wanted Harrow dead, would they let GCHQ provide Drew with possible locations for the clan? GCHQ wasn’t helping the investigation; they were distracting Drew and his team. And I’m here to keep an eye on Drew in case he does somehow manage to find Harrow before MI6.

  ‘What about Multiverse?’ Louisa asked. ‘Have they been forthcoming?’

  Drew nodded. ‘More than helpful. They’re bricking it, to be honest. Large swathes of the media are calling for their game network to be shut down. They’ll be lucky to survive after this is over, and if they do remain intact GCHQ will demand a back door into their servers.’

  ‘And is GCHQ monitoring clan’s activity within Multiverse?’

  Drew nodded. ‘It’s still keeping an eye on the in-game messages, but the clan appears to be communicating using a multiple layer encryption system within their Multiverse realm. So far GCHQ’s had little luck cracking it.’

  It was now or never. She’d decided to tell Drew about Ed’s discovery as soon as she realised how much his investigation was struggling. During their conversation she’d been reading through each of the profiles. None of the clan members were listed as working for Multiverse, and the corrupted clan creation record convinced her Ed was right. Someone working for Multiverse was covering the clan’s tracks. Either the clans’ Portal profiles had been modified, or more likely, there was another member unaccounted for.

  ‘Drew, I had someone check out the clan’s realm for me.’

  His eyes widened. ‘What―’

  ‘I know, I know, just hear me out. He obtained the Multiverse ID of someone who recently accessed the clan’s realm. This player then jumped to a Multiverse administration realm. There’s a chance he works for the company. I think we should check it out.’

  Drew turned away from her. He gripped the railing and stared out across the room. Louisa silently cursed the avatars. She hadn’t a clue what he was thinking.

  ‘Fine,’ he said at last. A pause. ‘Well?’

  ‘Well, what?’

  ‘I’m heading down to the Multiverse office to find out what they know. I assume you want to come along?’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Dietrich Frey and Adam Walsh both knew Portal’s infrastructure and free terminals alone wouldn’t guarantee user uptake. Establishing Portal’s pedigree as a gaming platform was a crucial part of their adoption strategy. When Portal employed the services of Multiverse, a respected British game development studio, the media predicted a range of launch titles were in the works. Instead Portal set them a more ambitious target, to create an entire gaming framework. The tools Multiverse delivered opened up Portal game development to anyone with a modicum of programming ability. Games created with the framework, or mods, instantly become available to millions of Londoners. Portal’s unique licensing agreement ensured the games stayed free, with the developers paid a small fee every time a user played one of their titles. Indie studios flocked to Multiverse, and Portal, in their droves.

  Multiverse’s London base took up eight floors of a cylindrical high-rise in the north east of the city. The building’s location in the middle of a busy roundabout meant Louisa and Drew had to park several streets away and approach on foot.

  ‘Who’s your point of contact?’ Louisa asked Drew, after they cleared security.

  ‘The CEO, Tom Shrewsbury. He’s been very forthcoming with Multiverse’s data.’

  ‘Is that unusual?’

  ‘Yes, in my experience. Private corporations tend to hide behind the CSCA and we end up talking to a bunch of lawyers, especially for a company Multiverse’s size. We’ve been dealing with Shrewsbury without a single lawyer in the mix.’

  Louisa suspected Drew had his own doubts about Multiverse’s transparency. He could have contacted Shrewsbury from the NCA headquarters and checked the player’s ID Ed gave her. Instead they’d turned up unannounced. And they hadn’t come alone. Drew stationed eight NCA officers around the building before they entered.

  On the fifth floor Multiverse operated a private reception. Drew identified himself and asked to speak to the Multiverse CEO. They were waiting less than a minute before Tom Shrewsbury arrived.

  ‘Officer Carter,’ Tom said, ‘I wasn’t expecting you. Is there a problem?’

  ‘No problem, Mr Shrewsbury.’ Drew shook his hand. ‘This is Detective Inspector Louisa Bennett of the Metropolitan Police. Can we talk in private?’

  ‘Of course.’ Tom ushered them into a meeting room. ‘I allocated a team to aid your officers with their investigation.’ His forehead wrinkled. ‘I hope they’re performing their duties adequately?’

  ‘I’ve received no complaints,’ Drew said. ‘However we think a clan member may have been left off the list you supplied.’

  ‘Oh?’ Tom’s eyebrows shot up.

  ‘I have a Multiverse ID I’d like you to check for us.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Tom relaxed a fraction. ‘If you have the player ID we can extract any profile information you need. I’ll take you to our lead programmer. He can query our production database directly.’

  The Multiverse CEO led them through to their office space, a sea of cubicles grouped into fours. Strangely, most were vacant. For such a busy company she’d expected the office to be thriving. ‘Are you moving office?’ Louisa asked.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Tom said. ‘Most of our developers work from home. We maintain an immersive office space that mimics this building’s layout. Our London employees can come here to work and everyone else jacks in remotely. If your AR extension were active you’d see all the remote developers at their desks. In fact, you’ve narrowly missed walking into a few of them. There’s no harm done. They’re used to it with visitors.’

  ‘Is your lead programmer a remote worker?’

  ‘No, Jamie’s physically present. He’s over there.’ The CEO pointed toward a quad of cubicles at the far end of the floor. A freckle-faced red head popped up over a partition and stared in their direction, then ducked back down when he made eye contact with Louisa.

  A tingle spread from base of Louisa’s spine up to her neck. She knew him from somewhere. ‘What’s Jamie’s full name?’

  ‘Jamie Godfrey,’ Tom said.

  That surname. Godfrey. It wasn’t Jamie she recognised. It was his father. A domestic. The father killed his wife before hanging himself. She’d discussed the case file with Rick Drachman the night of the Portal riots. Jamie bore an uncanny resemblance to his dead father.

  ‘Drew,’ Louisa kept her eyes on Jamie, ‘I know him.’

  Jamie stood and slipped out a door at the rear of the office.

  ‘It’s him, Drew.’ Louisa picked up her pace.

  ‘I’m sure Jamie’s jus
t gone for a coffee,’ the CEO said. ‘I’ll send him a message to come back.’

  ‘You do that,’ Drew called over his shoulder.

  The door opened into a small kitchen. Two young men playing table football glanced up as they entered. Brightly coloured sofas faced the building’s curved glass exterior, offering a view across the city.

  ‘Jamie Godfrey,’ Louisa said, ‘where did he go?’

  Both men pointed at a set of lifts. One was descending. The other had stopped on the seventh floor. Louisa tapped the call button.

  Tom Shrewsbury caught up with them. ‘He’s not answering.’

  ‘He got off at LG1,’ Drew said. ‘What’s down there?’

  ‘A connecting tunnel to the building across the street.’

  The lift pinged open. ‘Thank you, Mr Shrewsbury,’ Drew said as he and Louisa entered. ‘We’ll take it from here. If Mr Godfrey gets in touch, call me straight away.’

  Tom Shrewsbury nodded as the doors slid shut, his brow furrowed once more.

  ‘Taylor,’ Drew said, ‘did you get all that?’ He paused. ‘Good. Secure the connected building. The suspect’s name is Jamie Godfrey. He doesn’t appear to be armed, but proceed with caution.’

  ‘You have an audio link with the rest of the officers?’ Louisa asked.

  Drew nodded. ‘I’ll patch you in now.’

  He sent her an NCA Subnet link. Louisa shared out her implants when prompted.

  ‘Have you located him?’ Drew asked.

  ‘Nothing yet.’ It was Adrian Taylor, the NCA officer Drew had left running the case file back in the incident room.

  ‘Expand the search perimeter to a half-mile diameter. The suspect is dressed in jeans with a black Multiverse hooded top. It’s likely he’ll have activated his falseface so I want partials for height and build.’

  The lift doors opened and warm air flowed in from the tunnel, a smooth sprayscreen coated bore fifteen feet in diameter. Its screen simulated an underwater environment, with shoals of brightly coloured tropical fish gliding alongside sea snakes, turtles, and octopi. Further along the tunnel a group of teenage girls squealed as a shark glided sinuously over their heads.