Hacked

by Tracy Alexander

  ‘Where have you been?’ I said, in a pretty steady voice, given that I wanted to yell and weep at the same time.

  She held out her hand to show me the bar of Cadbury’s Caramel.

  ‘I was worried, El.’

  She shrugged, and tried to walk past me.

  ‘I’m coming too,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  The good thing about being ten is that moods don’t last long, not like teenage ones – all rage and brooding.

  ‘There’s going to be nail-painting,’ she said.

  ‘You don’t have any,’ I said.

  ‘I do, I’ve been growing them.’

  She showed me her fingers, splayed like a frog’s. There was a tiny strip of white on the tip of each nail.

  ‘So I see.’

  I kept up the jollity all the way back to Bishop Road.

  ‘Here she is,’ I said, as the party-mum opened the door.

  ‘Thank heavens, we thought you’d gone astray. Come on in, Elena.’

  El disappeared.

  ‘I’ll pick you up,’ I shouted to the space she’d vacated.

  ‘Five o’clock,’ said the mum, looking behind me as though expecting to see …

  Damn! I hadn’t told the others.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, hurrying off to text the parents still roaming the streets.

  The drama had completely taken my mind off the tiny issue of a wayward drone circling above who-knew-where with a missile or two. But alone again, with nothing to do for two hours, it came back bigger and badder. I had no idea what to do. Go home and try and fix things? Bury my head in the sand pit at the park?

  ‘Dan!’ It was Ruby, striding towards me, face flushed, hair hidden in a beanie. Seeing her made it all even more desperate. She’d never forgive me if it all came out. If I was responsible.

  ‘El was buying sweets,’ I said.

  Ruby laughed. ‘Good girl,’ she said.

  I was torn between wanting to be left to think, and making the most of my time alone with the lovely redheaded girl standing in front of me.

  ‘I miss you,’ I said.

  ‘Let’s go and get a cake.’

  We walked arm in arm down to the Gloucester Road. She’d been working all day so was keen to chat, which was good because it prevented me from blurting it all out like Confessional Tourette’s – a little-known condition in which the sufferer cannot commit a misdemeanour without leaking it.

  ‘I’m sorry about last week,’ she said, as we reached the shop. ‘I didn’t really mean it – it’s just that Mum was so cross. She worries …’

  ‘It’s OK. I get it,’ I said, taking a rogue piece of hair and putting it behind her ear. I leant across and kissed her – not a peck, a proper going-out kiss. A random passer-by clapped.

  ‘You’re not the bad guy people think you are,’ she said. ‘I know that.’

  ‘Chocolate brownie or tiffin?’ I asked.

  It took all my willpower to park the problem and stay with Ruby, eating cake, kissing, laughing. It was nice, but a dark shadow was creeping over. I wasn’t sad when it was time to get El. Ruby said she’d better get going as she was babysitting.

  ‘Coming volunteering, Fella?’

  ‘Try and stop me,’ I said, but tomorrow seemed a long way away. I watched her walk off, battered satchel over her shoulder, before I hurried back to admire El’s black fingernails, complete with white skull and crossbones. (They’re ten! What was party-mum thinking of?)

  ‘Awesome. So how was the party?’

  ‘Good,’ said El. She was holding a party bag of monster proportions.

  ‘What’s in there?’

  ‘A pencil with a fairy on top, a notebook, a …’

  The list went on, in between mouthfuls of miniature Curly Wurly and Cadbury’s Fudge. She offered me the Crunchie.

  I listened to a review of the whole party – sandwiches with crusts, not enough layers on the pass-the-parcel, scrummy cake, and made all the right noises but, inside, my mind was trying to make order out of the mess. I couldn’t let the fact that I had a gift for code ruin everything.

  24

  There was nothing new online, or rather there was plenty of new content but it said all the same things that were already there. It didn’t matter, because I’d made a decision. I could either wait and see what happened with the missing drone – that would be passive and the anticipation might kill me. Or I could find out for myself whether my little contribution to Angel’s virtual toolbox in the sky was any use. I’d managed to get hold of a drone, but not one with a payload. With any luck there would be more security on something that could annihilate people praying in mosques and playing in parks. My code was probably n00b level compared to what you need to swipe the controls of a combat drone – in which case I was in the clear. Time to find out.

  I went back to the base station in Afghanistan. As usual, I routed through six servers to cover my tracks – El Savador, the Maldives, Brazil, Port Talbot, and so on. There was good news and bad. The good news was that there didn’t seem to be any Predators being controlled from the server I’d used to hack the spy drone. The bad news was that, without too much difficulty, I stumbled upon a parallel server, where everything looked very similar. I studied the patterns of activity over Kandahar. The chances were, based on media coverage, these drones had weapons. I chose one.

  The Dan that enjoyed happy endings was hoping his way would be barred by a concept of cleverness he couldn’t even recognise, yet alone sidestep. But it wasn’t.

  For the second time in my life I took control of a drone, except this time it was a Predator. I held in my hands the ability to target and destroy. And all Angel had to do was follow the same logic as me and he could do the same. It was terrible, like holding someone’s bloody limb. I gave the control straight back, put my hands in the air and briefly considered having my first OCD hand-washing episode. I felt dirty, like I’d shown too much of myself, the hacker’s equivalent of tweeting a selfie.

  25

  I went volunteering with Ruby. She convinced me that revision worked better if you had time away from it. I didn’t take much persuading, desperate to get away from the voices in my head.

  Is it Angel? Or isn’t it? If it is, is he planning annihilation or having a laugh? Or is it all a coincidence, nothing to do with me or Angel? There are seven billion people on the planet. More than one must have hacked a drone …

  I was in limbo, as Gran would say, like when she was waiting for Grandad’s test results to see if she should book a cruise or pick hymns for the funeral. (It was time to pick hymns.)

  I met Ruby at the courtyard. It was sunny. Proper blue sky. And warm for the first time in forever. She was chatting with her geriatric fan club.

  ‘We missed you last week, Fella,’ said Ted.

  ‘I got in a fight,’ I said, because my brain was too clogged to process anything but the truth.

  ‘Protecting your girl, were you?’ he said.

  ‘I was protecting him,’ said Ruby, pretending to kick box.

  ‘You ever get in trouble, Ruby, and you can call on me. I was trained to kill, you know.’ Ted flexed his non-existent biceps.

  The group all laughed. I almost did too. Being with normal (in the widest sense) people was a good idea – chase away the demons. We went in the minibus to somewhere near Chew Valley to do hedgerow management along the footpath. There were only twelve of us, much fewer than usual.

  ‘You’re quiet,’ said Ruby.

  ‘I’m at one with nature,’ I said.

  She nipped my arm. I feigned pain.

  ‘What was that for?’

  ‘Just showing how much I like you.’

  ‘What’s the next level? A slap round the face?’

  ‘There’s a willow warbler,’ said Isaac, pointing.

  My phone rang, sending the bird away, and probably annoying everyone. It was Joe. This was rare. FaceTime, text, Snapchat, but real-life talking – not often. I picked up.

  ‘Have
you heard?’ he said.

  There was a long sarcastic answer to this on the tip of my tongue. It stayed there.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s threatened to bomb London.’

  It’s not the sort of sentence you hear every day. You’d think that would make it sink in fast, but the opposite happened with my brain. (Call it denial, I’m just telling it how it was.)

  ‘Say again?’ I said.

  ‘The nutter that stole the drone says he’s heading for London, armed and ready to fire.’

  ‘And I’m the Green Goblin. Good one, Joe.’ As I said it, I already knew it wasn’t a wind-up. I made a conscious effort to stop my face acknowledging the disembowelment of my body … kept my voice steady.

  ‘I’m out with Ruby, so I’ll see you later.’

  ‘You better have a good excuse, Dan, when the men in suits come. It’s —’

  I disconnected.

  Surreal. So surreal it was film-like. There we were, a boy and his girl, with two old men, enjoying the sun on our backs as we worked to keep part of the English countryside beautiful for future generations of both people and wildlife, while far away in the capital, the population was at the mercy of a nameless evil. Surely time for Superman? The idea that I had to somehow be Superman made me catch my breath.

  ‘What did he want?’ asked Ruby, possibly not for the first time, judging by her expression.

  ‘Wanted to know if I was going round later,’ I said. In order to smile I had to jumpstart a few muscles.

  ‘What was that thing about the Green Goblin?’

  ‘He was in a little-known film with a spidery character —’

  ‘OK. Don’t tell me,’ she said, carrying on with the hedge tidying.

  I wanted to tell her. If I could have conjured a spell that guaranteed she’d stick by me …

  ‘Do you think you can reach the top?’ asked Isaac, as I was the only one under sixty and grazing six foot.

  ‘I’ll have a go,’ I said. He passed me his long-handled shears and I trimmed the hedge all the way along, leaving Ruby to work with Ted. I was glad to be away from her all-knowing eye. It gave me a chance to get myself together.

  The afternoon dragged, even the bit with cake. They all talked, and I nodded and grinned at what seemed appropriate moments. Ruby didn’t press me for details until we were on the bus, homeward bound (Simon and Garfunkel – one of Dad’s choices for when he’s on Desert Island Discs).

  ‘What did Joe say?’

  No way could I tell the truth. What was the truth, anyway?

  ‘He’s worried about Ty. Says he’s not getting any better. You know … his memory and stuff?’

  ‘I haven’t noticed.’

  ‘Yes, but you didn’t really know him before.’

  ‘I expect his mum and dad are making sure he’s all right.’

  It was the opening I needed. I proceeded to tell Ruby all about the rag-and-bone front garden and general lack of organisation in Ty’s house.

  ‘Shall I come to yours for a bit?’ she said, as we got off the bus.

  ‘I need to get round to Joe’s. He was a bit worked up.’ I sighed, as though I believed my own lie. ‘When he mentioned the bouldering competition, Ty asked how long he’d been climbing.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound good.’ A little frown froze on Ruby’s forehead.

  It felt bad, trying to get away from my best person, but I was all acted out.

  ‘Bye.’

  I kissed her, got the usual whistles from the silver-haired volunteers and ran home.

  26

  Social media’s take on the crisis, accessed from my phone, didn’t help much (and was badly written):

  shoot it down POW! (On Snapchat with a picture of a pointed finger.)

  he needs putting in an assylum

  my aunty lives in London I dont want her to die

  is this are 9/11?

  got to be a hoax

  we had 7/7

  scared to death

  As I went in the kitchen, Mum, without looking up from the sink, said, ‘There’s a lunatic threatening to bomb London. I’ve been on the phone to Uncle Rob. He says he’ll stay out of the city.’

  I got Dad’s summary as I passed the living room. ‘That cyber criminal’s a bloody fanatic.’

  El’s question, from my doorway, was, ‘Do you think he’ll pick Buckingham Palace? I would.’ Odd child.

  I said the minimum. Like a tyre that had been pumped up too much, any more pressure – such as having a normal conversation with my family – and I’d burst. I needed to see what ‘the terrorist’ had to say for himself, on my own, in my room, with the door shut.

  There it was, confirmed online for the world to see. An unspecified target in London would be the site of a missile hit at noon on Monday 7th April. That was tomorrow. As I read the details I did yogic breathing – one of the things Mum taught me back when I needed ‘taming’. In front of my eyes, real time journalists turned the anonymous perp into Dronejacker and a celebrity cyber criminal was born. Why he picked London was the source of endless speculation. I waded through to find the original source, rather than the spin.

  Did he have a lot of face or what? Dronejacker had hacked the BBC News page and delivered his message that way, dead on noon. It had been taken down but not before being screenshot and relayed by every webwatcher and news service. The words were brief, but the more I re-read them, the more I could see Angel typing them.

  The US Predator drone is in London. I haven’t decided where to direct the missile strike yet. How does it feel, Londoners? Knowing you might be on a job or shopping, and boom! Look to the sky at twelve noon Monday 7th April and think about all the people who are scared every day, like you are now, because of killer drones flying above them.

  It’s impossible to describe how I felt, so I won’t bother, except to say that there was a period of mental self-harm before I picked up a pencil (presumably a deeply symbolic act rejecting my foray into cyber crime) and started to work through what I knew, and what I thought I knew, and what I thought. I followed the dominoes as they fell, one by one:

  – fainting in biology

  – going out with Soraya

  – helping her out with credit

  – word of my hack spreading throughout Dan’s life and KP’s

  – meeting Angel online

  – getting closer

  – Ty having his accident

  – Angel suggesting the council CCTV hack

  – and then the spy satellite

  – meeting Angel’s ‘friends’

  – him challenging me to hack a drone

  – sending Angel the lines of code

  – Angel vanishing

  – Dronejacker appearing.

  That was how it looked to me, but how did it look to Angel?

  I made two working assumptions. Firstly that Angel was Dronejacker and secondly that he wasn’t a l33t grey hat, but a script kiddie with a black hat. Why involve me if he could do it himself?

  So … Angel decides to steal a combat drone for some crazy reason, but doesn’t know how. Angel goes online and puts himself about (it’s not good when you start borrowing phrases from your dad), he gets to know lots of hackers, and follows up any random chats he can turn to his advantage. In my case, Ty’s accident gives him the opening to suggest a hack and see how good I am. I impress him. He gets close to me – we spend time together, gaming and chatting. I keep coming up with the goods, so he gives me the ultimate test. And I fall for it.

  Whatever Angel needs he commissions – like a nifty line of code that programs the drone to take a specified route to wherever, like a fake video that convinces the American flying the thing that it’s crashed.

  When Angel has tricked his ‘friends’ into providing each element, all he has to do is put them together, and he can take control of a drone. The operators are fooled by the dummy feed and put together a search operation, but that takes a while. Meanwhile, the drone makes it to the UK. A dron
e is the size of a small plane. Angel hides it until he needs it – they’re tricky to land so he probably keeps it flying around. They’re hard to detect – that’s one of the things that makes them good for spying.

  All in all, good job, as he would say.

  Working out that I wasn’t the only mug didn’t make me feel any better. We’d been socially engineered, helping Angel prise open the windows round the back of the palace while the beefeaters were manning the front gates.

  So, I’d worked it out. Big deal. That left the burning question. The question I didn’t dare ask myself … because I had no answer.

  What the hell was I going to do?

  27

  The advice from the government department responsible for crazies that threaten the Great British Public was to keep calm. There was no evidence that Dronejacker was anything other than a delusional character taking advantage of the fact that a drone had been ambushed. There was also no evidence that the drone was even over British air space. People should carry on about their business as usual. Inspirational advice!

  It wasn’t working judging by the trending on Twitter of #7april and #terrorist. It wasn’t working judging by the traffic cameras on the arterial roads out of London and the M25. Chock-a-block. The city was voting with its feet, or to be more exact, wheels.

  I heard footsteps coming up our stairs but with my door shut there was no chance of identification. There was a knock on my door, and in the gap between the rap and a voice saying my name I had a sudden panic that it would be the police.

  ‘Dan!’

  ‘Come in.’

  It was Ty, and behind him, Joe. It only felt marginally better than if it had been the cops.

  ‘Let’s go somewhere,’ said Joe.

  I thought about saying ‘Walls have ears’ in a hushed, spy-like tone but decided it might inflame the situation, so I grabbed a black hoodie, shouted, ‘Going out for a bit,’ to the house in general and trooped out of the front door. I walked in the middle, hood up, with my armed guards either side. We headed for the park.