by Will Jordan
That was enough to cut through whatever reservations Yorke might have had. ‘Show me the user ID,’ he said, leaning in closer to view the monitor.
‘The ID’s locked down.’ Turning around, Santiago brought up the ID, which displayed as nothing more than an 8-digit code number. ‘This is all I’ve got.’
Straight away Yorke’s eyes went wide.
‘Shit.’ Straightening up, he raised his voice to address the rest of the room. ‘All right, everyone, I want you to drop whatever you’re doing and listen up. We’ve got a high-level disavowed ID that’s just gone active. Santiago’s running a trace right now, and I want him backed up to the fullest extent. All other tasks are to be placed on hold until further notice. From now until I say otherwise, finding whoever’s trying to use this ID is the first, last and only priority for everyone in this room. Get on it.’
As the tempo of work in the room increased, Yorke turned his attention back to Santiago. ‘How are you doing, son?’
‘Trace program’s active,’ the young man said, too absorbed in his work to look away from the screen now. ‘It’s coming from an unmasked IP address. United Kingdom, south of England...’ He paused as a dialogue box popped up, informing him the trace had completed. ‘Yes. Looks like it’s coming from an internet cafe in central London.’
‘Can you get me the identity of the user?’
Santiago shook his head. ‘There are eight sub-terminals on that network. Could be any one of them.’
Yorke thought about that for a moment. ‘Okay, contact British security services and have them vector local police units to the scene. Tell them to lock down the entire cafe if they have to.’
Santiago stared at him in shock. ‘Sir?’
‘Just get on it. If they give you any shit, tell them it’s on our authority,’ Yorke said over his shoulder, as he fished a cell phone from his pocket and quickly dialled a number. It was answered with typical brisk efficiency.
‘This is section leader Brad Yorke in network security,’ he began. ‘Put me through to Deputy Director Cain’s office immediately.’
*
So absorbed was he in the mysterious computer program, Alex almost jumped with fright at the sound of a voice from behind.
‘Oi, mate.’
Reaching down, Alex yanked the memory stick out of the port and spun around to find himself looking up at a fleshy middle-aged face that he’d never seen before. The man, whoever he was, was wearing a heavy leather jacket spotted with raindrops from outside, his buzz-cut greying hair sticking up like the bristles of a paintbrush. He was looking down at Alex with a mixture of curiosity and faint suspicion, particularly in light of his sudden removal of the memory stick.
‘Not interrupting somethin’, am I?’ he asked, speaking in a thick cockney accent that even Alex had to strain to understand. ‘You havin’ a butchers at the ladies, eh?’
Alex blinked, struggling to bring his mind up to speed with this bizarre turn of events. ‘No, nothing like that. I was just looking at… Sorry, what can I do for you?’
‘You can take this off me hands.’ With that, he reached into his pocket and held out a cell phone to Alex. It was a cheap prepaid burner; the kind of thing available everywhere from supermarkets to convenience stores for £20 or less. ‘Consider it a gift.’
Alex frowned. ‘From who? You?’
The man’s broad mouth split into a nicotine-stained grin. ‘No offence, my young friend, but you ain’t exactly my type. Know what I mean? Some bird outside asked me to give you this.’
‘A woman?’ Alex repeated. ‘Who was she?’
‘Secret admirer, maybe? I dunno, mate. And to be honest, I couldn’t give a monkey’s toss. But she paid me a tenner for the privilege, so here’s your phone.’ He nodded to the session timer at the top right of Alex’s computer monitor, which had by now counted down to zero. ‘Looks like you’re out of time.’
Saying nothing more, he turned away and ambled back out of the cafe, returning to his normal life as if nothing had happened. Within a couple of days he’d have forgotten the encounter even took place.
For Alex however, it was about to change his life forever.
*
The room was a hive of activity now as technicians and analysts hurried from terminal to terminal, shouting instructions and requests for more information across the office. Their voices mingled with the click of computer keys and the bleep of phones as work was hastily rerouted to other areas, tasks reprioritized and attention focussed on their new mission. They were in crisis mode now, all of the formidable resources that this room commanded being brought to bear against a single objective.
Yorke surveyed the organized chaos around him, his pulse racing as he pondered whether or not it would be enough to get the job done. As senior department head, their hunt for the mysterious perpetrator trying to use a disavowed Agency identity was his responsibility. Failure would likely have dire consequences for his career.
‘Where are we on British security?’ he called out. ‘Are they moving yet?’
‘They’re scrambling their field teams now, but it’ll take a few minutes to get them moving,’ one of his subordinates reported, covering her phone with one hand so she could speak. ‘Local police have been informed and are converging on the scene. They’ll form a perimeter before security service agents move in.’
All of which would take time to organise, not to mention the fact that it was virtually impossible to lock down even a single block in a densely packed city like London. ‘What about our own field agents?’
It was the turn of a balding, slender East Asian man to respond. ‘No good, sir. Our nearest ground teams are at the US embassy. It’ll take at least twenty minutes for them to be on the scene.’
‘Fuck,’ Yorke said under his breath. ‘Air assets?’
‘The Brits won’t let us fly drones over their airspace. We’re checking with the National Reconnaissance Office to find out if any of our satellites are over the area, but no word yet.’
As if in response to the growing tension in the office, the secure door leading from the corridor outside beeped once as a card was swiped through its electronic reader, then swung open to reveal a man whose appearance briefly halted all conversation.
Most of the technicians working there had only encountered Marcus Cain, the Deputy Director of the CIA, in passing, perhaps seeing him from a distance entering some high-level briefing or leaving the headquarters building flanked by security personnel. He was aloof and enigmatic, almost a mythical force amongst the Agency’s rank and file staff. Most of the people in that room had never so much as spoken to him, never mind had to go about their jobs with him standing over them. The fact he was here now only reinforced the gravity of the situation.
Taking a breath to calm himself, Yorke took a step forward to greet him. ‘Director Cain, it’s an honour to have you here.’
Cain neglected to shake his hand. ‘Cut to the facts. What do we know so far?’ he asked, his voice as crisp and precise as his tailor-made suit.
‘Yes, sir.’ Yorke cleared his throat, trying to hide his embarrassment. ‘Approximately ten minutes ago we picked up an alert that a disavowed Agency ID had just gone active. We’ve traced the source to an internet cafe in central London.’
‘And what are we doing about it?’
‘British security service is vectoring in ground units, plus local police are sealing off the area.’
‘Police?’ Cain fixed him with a sharp look. ‘You mean, beat cops who talk to each other on unencrypted radios? Who just about anyone with a fifty dollar police scanner could overhear?’
Yorke could practically feel himself wilting under the man’s intense gaze. Only now did he see the folly of his actions. ‘I’m… Sir, I…’
‘You’re relieved of duty,’ Cain said, dismissing him with a single, disdainful look. This done, he raised his voice, addressing the room. ‘Everyone listen up. As of now, I’m in charge of this operation. Now, is there anyone i
n this room who knows what they’re doing?’
Reluctantly Santiago raised his hand. ‘Me, sir. I think I’ve got something.’
Cain was by his side within moments, leaving a stunned Yorke to contemplate what might well have been the end of his career. ‘Talk to me, son.’
‘Just hacked into the cafe’s payment system, sir. According to this, the last guy to log in paid for his session by credit card, right before the alert was triggered. Wasn’t hard to trace him once we had his card details.’ Opening a new window, Santiago brought up a copy of the man’s driving license. ‘Name’s Alex Yates. Used to be a freelance system tester, then he was convicted of computer hacking a few years back. He’s been quiet ever since, according to Scotland Yard.’ He coughed, suddenly very conscious that one of the most powerful men in the Agency was leaning over his workstation. ‘Of course, there’s no guarantee this is our guy. Could just be a coincidence.’
Cain glanced at him, his eyes daunting in their intensity. ‘If I believed in coincidences, I wouldn’t be in this job. Until we know otherwise, we consider young Mr Yates there a high value target. Circulate his details to all workstations and have them get to work. I want to know everything there is to know about him. Politics, education, employment, travel history, the works.’
‘On it, sir,’ Santiago replied.
Cain nodded, apparently satisfied with his performance for now. ‘Find his cell phone number and put a trace on it. And see if you can tie in with any security cameras in the area. London’s the most heavily monitored city in Europe, so let’s use it. I want this locked down.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Santiago resisted the urge to reach up and wipe the sweat from his brow. His head was already spinning at the stream of orders he’d just been issued.
Cain was about to turn away, then thought better of it. ‘Oh, one more thing. Make sure the Brits send in armed response units. Believe me, they’ll need them.’
Santiago said nothing to this, though his gaze lingered on the deputy director a moment longer before he turned around to resume his work.
*
No sooner had his rotund friend departed, leaving Alex alone, than the phone in his hand suddenly started vibrating. Someone was calling, and they were in no mood for waiting around.
Pausing a moment to question the wisdom of taking a call from a phone handed to him in such a clandestine fashion, Alex hit the receive call button.
‘Who is—?’
‘Don’t talk, just listen.’ The voice that spoke was female, strong and commanding, with a hint of an accent that he couldn’t identify. But such questions no longer mattered. All of those details paled into insignificance after what came next.
‘You’ve been compromised,’ she went on. ‘Armed response teams are on their way to arrest you. If you want to live to see tomorrow morning, get out of that cafe right now.’
Chapter 7
That was it, right there. The moment when it all went to shit.
My life; my safe and boring and unfulfilling life, had just shattered into a million pieces right in front of my eyes. I was too stupid to recognize it at the time, or maybe I was just too scared to admit it to myself. But like so many things before and after, I really should have seen it coming.
I should have seen it the moment I thought about opening that file.
What is it they say about curiosity and cats?
*
Caught off guard by the sudden intrusion into his world, Alex could barely stammer an answer down the phone. ‘W-who the hell are you?’
‘Who I am isn’t important,’ she said, her impatience obvious. ‘But what I have to tell you is. The Agency is coming after you. Whatever you’ve done tonight, it has made you a threat to them. And there is only one way they deal with such threats.’
Alex let out a single breath, almost a grunt, as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He could feel bile rising in his throat, and fought back a growing wave of nausea.
‘Bollocks. How could you possibly know this?’
‘Because I’ve been monitoring the police band. An arrest warrant has just gone out over the radio. Local units are being diverted to that cafe as we speak.’
‘Now wait a fucking second!’ he hissed, his voice rising in pitch despite his best efforts to stay calm. A couple of people looked up from their tables, disturbed by the noise. ‘This is ridiculous. Nobody could—’
‘Stop talking, Alex,’ she commanded.
That stopped him cold. ‘How do you know my name?’
‘Because clearly you are not as good at covering your tracks as you believe.’ Her scorn was impossible to ignore. ‘Arran met with you a week ago, and he disappeared not long after. It was no accident. Unless you want to end up like him, I suggest you be somewhere else when the police get there.’
Moving over to the window, Alex peered outside. The street was quiet, with just a few pedestrians moving back and forth. Traffic had calmed down, rush hour having long since passed. All things considered, it looked about as normal and peaceful as any other street in London.
‘I don’t see anything out there,’ he said, wondering if this was some elaborate hoax on her part. ‘How do I know this isn’t a dose of bullshit and chips?’
‘Alex, every second you delay gives them more time to close the net,’ she said, forcing calm into her voice. ‘For your own sake, get out of there while you still can.’
‘And go where, exactly?’ he demanded. It wasn’t as if he had a private jet standing by to whisk him off to safety. ‘Do what?’
Her answer was as blunt as it was chilling. ‘Run.’
Before he could reply, he heard something echoing between the buildings outside. A high pitched wail, rising and falling in tone, getting closer. And sure enough, a moment or two later he caught sight of something at the far end of the street. A light, blue and flashing, coming his way.
‘Oh fuck. Fuck!’ he gasped, backing away from the window in horror. He didn’t care who saw him now. ‘This isn’t a joke, is it? I mean, this is really happening.’
‘It is,’ she confirmed. ‘As soon as the police arrest you, they will hand you over to an Agency retrieval team for interrogation. By the time they’re finished with you, you will be begging to tell them more.’
Alex clamped a hand over his mouth, having to fight the urge to throw up. His mind was already conjuring up all kinds of horrific images of interrogation, torture and mutilation.
‘I can help you, but only if you listen to me and do exactly as I say.’
‘All right,’ he said, his voice little more than a desperate whisper. ‘What do I do?’
‘Leave the cafe and turn left on the street outside. Hurry.’
He needed no further prompting. Ignoring the curious stares of the cafe patrons, he shoved his way through the door and strode outside. Straight away droplets of rain and chill night air assailed him, along with the wail of police sirens rapidly growing closer. His heart was pounding in his chest, the pulse thundering in his ears.
‘I’m out,’ he said, the phone pressed tight against his ear. ‘Where to now?’
‘Head west, then take the first side street you can find,’ the woman commanded him, her voice chillingly calm despite the intensity of the situation. ‘You need to get off the main road fast.’
‘Okay.’
‘If you have a hat or a hood, put it on. And don’t run. You’ll only draw attention to yourself,’ she advised, as if sensing that he was about to break into a sprint. ‘Try to look natural.’
‘Easy for you to say,’ Alex said under his breath, pulling the hood up over his head.
She ignored that one. ‘Do you have a cell phone of your own?’
‘Yeah.’ Instinctively he reached into his pocket to retrieve it.
‘Get rid of it now. They’ll use it to track you.’
‘But...’ He started to protest that the phone was worth a lot of money and that he could simply switch it off, then thought better of it. Now wasn’t th
e time to debate technicalities. ‘Fine. Fuck it.’
Passing by a public litter bin, he tossed it in without breaking stride. The wail of sirens were loud and urgent in his ears now. He could see the blue flash of lights reflecting off nearby windows, and did his best not to cringe at the knowledge that the men now hunting him had come screeching to a halt not fifty yards away.
As commanded, he turned left at the first junction into a residential street of three-storey apartment blocks, managing somehow to keep a steady walking pace. His legs felt like jelly, and he was certain that every person he passed was staring at him, yet he forced himself to keep his head down and carry on walking.
He’d always been good at blending in, at passing unnoticed. Just an anonymous young man in a hoodie making his way home. Nothing worth remembering.
‘Why are you doing this?’ he couldn’t help but ask, painfully aware of how exposed he still was. ‘Helping me.’
There was a pause, brief but noticeable. ‘Not now. You have more important things to worry about.’
Of that he had no doubt. ‘I see an alleyway up ahead,’ Alex said, spotting a service alley that ran between two buildings. Having lived here for the past year, he knew the area fairly well by now. ‘If I remember right, it leads down to a canal... Oh fuck.’
Just like that, his growing hope of escape was dashed as he spotted a pair of police officers heading in his direction, their bright fluorescent jackets standing out like beacons in the dim glow of street lights.
‘What is it?’
‘Two policemen, heading right towards me.’ His pace had slowed noticeably as indecision took hold. ‘I won’t make it to the alley.’
‘Are they running or walking?’
Alex forced himself to look at them, to assess the slow, measured tread of their boots on the cracked pavement. ‘Just walking, I think. They’re talking to each other.’