Cut to the Bone

by Alex Caan

  Zain felt sick. Images floated through his head. Anger followed. He wanted to hurt the people that did this.

  ‘Have you got these documents?’ he said.

  ‘No, only what I could print out. Cain’s computers are all local area networked. Only an encrypted USB stick can be used on it, otherwise the system crashes. He has no internet connection to it.’

  ‘How did his machine get hit, then?’

  ‘The DOS attacked the network, like a domino effect. It hit the LAN eventually.’

  ‘What about the emails?’

  ‘They were sent to another computer, possibly his phone or a laptop. He must have uploaded them. Or his PA did.’

  ‘So you couldn’t send anything to yourself? Or save anything onto a memory stick?’

  ‘No. I know from the documents that I saw that for three days in particular, KNG were driving those fucking bastards from village to village and supporting them as they tore that place apart. Sese’s men and what they did . . .’

  ‘How do you know for sure?’

  ‘I tied it together. The emails, the contract. The reports. You know KNG sold some of the coltan mines back to the DRC government in Kinshasa? They sold them at a profit of twenty-three times what they paid for them. Robbery under the African sun, like fucking colonialism. The DRC government bought them back because, years ago, KNG were logistically helping the current government in their war, when they were militias. It’s like a poisonous cycle, militias rising up, slaughtering everyone in their way, getting into power. And when in power, they help the men that backed them on their way up. And KNG? Companies like that hedge their bets, support every side. They buy their mines cheap, and then sell them back at huge profits. And it’s done legitimately, for everyone to see. And nobody does anything about it.’

  ‘What can an individual do against what you described?’ said Zain.

  ‘It’s funny, isn’t it? Here we are, two grown men. And neither of us can see a way to fight that, to change it. Insurmountable. That’s what it felt like to me. The more I researched, the worse it got, and the more powerless I felt. And then I came across the Joseph Kony video.’

  ‘I remember hearing about the video. Kony 2012, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was made by an American director, Jason Russell. He and two of his fellow college students set up a charity, Invisible Children, Inc. Its main purpose was to expose the war crimes and recruitment of child soldiers by the Ugandan warlord Joseph Kony. That’s what the Kony 2012 video did; it got their message heard, started a momentum.’

  ‘And you thought . . .’

  ‘Yes. I thought of Ruby. And she had enough guts for a million men.’

  Zain started to see it all then, as everything fell into place for him. He understood what had happened. How the anguished Richard Brown, too scared to go to the police, worried about getting directly embroiled in a situation that might put his kids in jeopardy, had instead turned to Ruby Day. And how that young girl, barely out of her teens, was ready to stand up in a way that had put her directly in the path of whatever had taken her. The people that had killed her. The same people that were going to kill Richard.

  PART FIVE

  THE DIRTY GAME

  Chapter Ninety-four

  Zain had driven through the rain, which started as a drizzle and soon became heavy. Car lights blurred around him, as though he was seeing them through refracted glass. It was midnight before he got to Regus House. The office was empty, the automated lights all off. They flickered into life as he walked to his desk, grabbed what he needed and headed back out.

  DCI Raymond Cross, his old boss from SO15, was waiting for Zain outside Westminster Cathedral on Victoria Street.

  Traffic was still flowing, and a crowd made their way to the all-night bus station on Terminus Place. This road would never see peace, or an hour when no one was wandering along its pavements. Imagine living with a neighbour that played loud music or banged on the walls 24/7.

  DCI Cross and Zain sat on the steps leading up to the cathedral doors. Its red and white brickwork reflected shades of orange from the street lamps. Zain was wearing jeans, boots, a burgundy shirt and his short black jacket.

  Cross was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, tie done up neatly. Flasher coat. At least he wasn’t wearing his trademark ‘man from Del Monte’ hat, his silver hair neatly combed. Strangers could never mistake him for being anything but a cop.

  ‘How are you?’ he said.

  ‘Just fine, sir. Thank you,’ said Zain.

  ‘How are you getting on with Riley?’

  ‘Everything’s great, sir.’

  ‘She’s quite something. You slept with her yet?’

  ‘No, sir. Not yet.’

  ‘Working on it?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘She knock you back?’

  Zain didn’t like to think it was him saying no. Objectively, Kate Riley was stunning. Not model beautiful, but the sort of beauty that was more about her attitude, the way she carried herself. The steel in her blue eyes. The respect she engendered in her team. There was something about women like that, women in control of their own destinies.

  She was his type, completely.

  ‘I have a lot of respect for her, sir.’

  Cross laughed. He took out a cigar. Cuban, expensive. Zain remembered, as the familiar smoke surrounded him. He knew in daylight it would be blue-grey. It smelled like the old pub he had met Richard Brown in.

  ‘What made you call me tonight, then?’ said Cross.

  ‘I need your help. I need experts, and I need them to do something quickly. I need SO15, and I need their . . . friends.’

  ‘What have you got?’ said Cross.

  ‘Ruby Day’s hard drives,’ said Zain.

  Cross enjoyed his cigar for a minute, the silence between them filled with the traffic and shouting voices.

  ‘Harry Cain is involved,’ said Zain.

  Zain thought he heard the cogs in Cross’s head turn. You didn’t have to explain to a man like DCI Raymond Cross; he would put the pieces into place in his head.

  It had been the same when he had recruited Zain.

  Zain had been a radicalised, lonely teenager. He had been friendless, mixed-up and lacking identity, and gone to find one. Back then, 9/11 had just happened, and he was the first cohort to be brainwashed online. His mother had a choice between thousands of Hindu gods and the Muslim one, and chose none. His father was lapsed from his own Christianity. They believed in love and humanism.

  Zain, the multicultural conundrum, was an easy target for men who knew how to prey on the vulnerable. Luckily for him, Cross had called. Zain had helped Special Branch, as they were. And in the process had saved himself, and let Cross rescue him.

  He looked at Cross now, both men bonded by something deeper than they could ever articulate.

  ‘You ever wonder what we do this for?’ Cross said.

  ‘Always,’ said Zain.

  ‘Look at that. That man is barely able to walk in a straight line and, look, there you go.’

  Zain watched as the drunken man Cross referred to walked to a tree on the edge of the cathedral courtyard and pissed against it.

  ‘Like a fucking dog,’ said Cross.

  The man started shouting to his friends, running after them before he had finished or zipped up.

  ‘He had the freedom to do that, sir,’ said Zain. ‘That’s worth something.’

  ‘You still think we are free?’ said Cross.

  ‘In a way, yes. We are part of a system that suspends actual freedom, I am aware of that. On a daily basis, in the little parts of life, people have the sense they are free at least.’

  ‘And you think it’s a fair price?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t take you back,’ said Cross.

  Zain froze, the reference to his captivity and its aftermath like ice. ‘I understand, sir. You fixed my occupational health report. Gave Hope glowing references. Tha
t was enough.’

  ‘You’re a good officer. You proved yourself. I just couldn’t put you at risk again, not until you’re ready.’

  Don’t feel it, he told himself. But it was too late. Cross had pulled the scab, and the fresh blood of hope was trickling out.

  ‘It’s fine. This team is a good place to be.’

  ‘And Hope?’

  ‘He knows. About the doctored OH report,’ said Zain.

  ‘Not from me,’ said Cross quickly.

  ‘He wanted a favour in return. I did some things for him, during this investigation.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I changed a despatch call. And I gave him updates on Riley when he wanted.’

  The cogs were turning again.

  ‘You see, Zain, on one side of that coin, you have betrayed Riley. On the other, you now have something on Hope.’

  Zain didn’t reply. Instead, he reached for the plastic bags next to him. They were clear packets, containing metal boxes.

  ‘These are Ruby’s hard drives. From her laptop and her desktop. I need them analysed. There’s evidence of someone hiding deleted files by overwriting them. I need them located, but don’t have the right tools. And Forensics will take weeks, if they can do it at all.’

  ‘What are we looking for?’

  ‘A video or files. Anything relating to KNG and the Democratic Republic of Congo. Specifically coltan mining and Pierre Sese.’

  ‘The warlord?’

  ‘The warlord.’

  Cross whistled. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I need evidence to be sure,’ said Zain.

  ‘What are you mixed up in?’

  ‘That’s what I’m hoping you’ll find out for me. Before I can proceed against KNG, I need some hard evidence.’

  The hard drives disappeared into inside pockets within Cross’s coat. ‘I’ll get someone on it, see what we can find.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. And another thing. The KNG whistle-blower, he needs protection.’

  ‘My sort of protection?’

  ‘Yes. Can you get him into a safe house?’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘He’s gone home to collect some things.’

  ‘Let me know where you want him picked up.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Come round for dinner sometime. Julia asks after you, occasionally.’

  ‘I will, give her my regards.’

  They shook hands, and walked off in separate directions.

  Chapter Ninety-five

  It was 3 a.m. Kate was still awake. Harris had told her he would Skype her later. He needed to explain where he had been earlier. She knew his lack of communication meant it was somehow connected to Cain and Byrne.

  Her mother was asleep upstairs. The alarm was set, protecting the doors and windows. Kate had found her Glock, loaded it with bullets she kept in her safe. The gun rested on the computer unit next to her. Easy to reach. She hadn’t used it for a while.

  A friend in the US embassy had helped her acquire it. She loved those diplomatic pouches.

  Harris’s face filled her computer screen, his voice in her ears through the headset she wore.

  ‘Are you certain it was the same man from MINDNET?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, of course. I didn’t look at him for long, but it’s him.’

  Yes, because most people didn’t have face blindness.

  ‘What did he say?’

  Kate listened as Zain told her about DCR, Pierre Sese, coltan mining and the logistical support KNG had provided for a massacre.

  ‘Is there any evidence for this?’ said Kate.

  ‘Richard printed out emails and documents, but he had limited time to do it. He said he gave them to Ruby, didn’t keep copies himself. He claims she scanned it all in, shredded and destroyed the originals.’

  ‘Convenient,’ said Kate. ‘So we have the word of a man who won’t even tell you his real name? We need more.’

  ‘I’m working on it. It will be on Ruby’s hard drives.’

  ‘We’ve looked,’ she said.

  ‘Not deep enough. I met my old boss tonight. DCI Raymond Cross. Gave them to him. He’s going to get someone to examine them for me.’

  Another independent action, she thought. A mix between resentment at being left out of his working methodology, and admiration for his initiative.

  ‘Why didn’t your source go to the police? Or the press?’

  ‘He said he was worried about his kids. They don’t live with him; he hardly sees them. Loves them, though. He also knows about Harry Cain and his links with the PM. Newton is on his payroll, and that means Hope is.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘I’ve arranged a safe house for him.’

  ‘Who signed off on it?’ Zain couldn’t meet her eyes. ‘I see; DCI Cross.’

  ‘Richard didn’t see any other way to do this,’ said Zain.

  ‘There’s always a way,’ she said.

  ‘His was to use Ruby. Do you remember the Kony 2012 video?’

  Kate said she didn’t.

  ‘It was a video made and posted online about the Ugandan warlord Joseph Kony. He was involved in recruiting child soldiers, mass atrocities. Anyway, the video has had a hundred million views on YouTube, and started a mass global campaign. Teens that had been obsessed with make-up and porn suddenly developed a conscience. Wanted Kony found and brought to justice. They say he’s hiding out in DCR now.’

  ‘I’m beginning to fear the power of open-platform video sharing,’ said Kate.

  ‘Everyone in the system is afraid, trying to control it behind the scenes.’

  ‘It’s the absence of a filter,’ said Kate. ‘What happens when somebody posts false allegations on there? We already had someone falsely accused of being a paedophile; they ended up dead at the hand of vigilantes.’

  ‘Everything has its risks,’ said Zain.

  ‘So this Richard was trying to recreate Kony 2012, aimed at Sese and exposing KANGlobal?’

  ‘Exactly. He contacted Ruby, told her what we know, gave her the files he had printed. He said she had already made the video talking about the issues. It would have been a nightmare. More so after what Michelle found. Richard confirmed it, too, said the IPO for KNG is two billion dollars.’

  The initial public offering on the biggest stock exchanges in the world.

  ‘And if Ruby had gone public?’

  ‘The price would have plummeted and KNG would have lost hundreds of millions off their value. No one likes touching conflict mining, not openly. It’s done behind closed doors, like coke snorting by celebs.’

  That made sense. Conflict minerals and diamonds were still being sold and bought; the trade didn’t stop because of moral or ethical issues. It just happened where nobody looked, and those involved had too much to lose by exposing their transactions.

  ‘That’s not all, though,’ said Zain.

  ‘Isn’t that enough? If we can find evidence pointing to this, we can go after KNG and MINDNET.’

  ‘I think we may have another option, even if we don’t find the paperwork,’ said Harris.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Have you ever heard of the ten-minute rule?’ said Zain.

  Chapter Ninety-six

  The morning was fresh, but filled with the sweet decay of leaves and the smoky gunpowder from fireworks that people continued to let off even days after Bonfire Night. Kate breathed in the fall smells, closed her eyes. For a moment, she let herself remember. Life before her mother was attacked, before she’d had to run away.

  ‘They kicked us out,’ her mother used to say.

  ‘No, Mother, we left of our own choice. They made it hard for us, sure, but we made the decision to go.’

  Kate tried to hold on to that, because the idea of what had been done to both herself and her mother turned her blood into lava.

  ‘You OK?’ said Zain, setting his car alarm, startling her.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Is she expecting us?’
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br />   ‘I said nine-thirty; she said to meet her here.’

  The house was on St George’s Road, a quiet street of white-washed houses near Elephant and Castle. Westminster was a brisk walk in the opposite direction.

  At the front door, Kate heard a dog bark inside the house. The woman who opened the door was in her late forties, possibly early fifties. She had auburn hair, tinged with red, dark eyes and a friendly manner. She was holding on to the biggest dog Kate had seen in a while; it came to the woman’s thigh in height. Like so many dogs that size, it had a smile on its face.

  ‘Don’t mind Benjy,’ the woman said. ‘Or I’ll put him out in the garden if he bothers you.’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ Kate said.

  Zain was already rubbing the dog’s head, speaking to it in baby language.

  They followed the woman into a spacious lounge. A real fire was lit in the grate. Benjy settled himself on a rug in front of it.

  ‘He’s beautiful,’ said Zain.

  ‘Yes, he is, isn’t he? I needed something to fill the children-shaped holes in the house. My husband works away a lot; he’s a consultant for the oil industry.’

  Kate was surprised by this. Margaret Walsh was an MP who they were here to question about KANGlobal’s mining. The link with oil production seemed ominous.

  ‘He works on developing greener technologies for oil extraction and refinement,’ Margaret explained. ‘It’s how we can afford to live so close to Westminster.’

  ‘It’s you we’ve come to speak to, Mrs Walsh,’ said Kate.

  ‘I only mention that because people always wonder, after the expenses scandal. I was one of the few untouched by it, but I stand by the others. I am lucky, damned fortunate. Without those expenses, others not in my fortunate position may struggle to enter politics. And if I hadn’t married Gregg, I would have struggled. I was born in a terrace house in Bury, just above the poverty line. Getting out, moving up, it’s never easy from those beginnings.’

  ‘You live here during the week?’ said Kate.