The Hack

by Will Patching

  The Thai heard only the background noise, the fragments of karaoke, the shrieks and laughter of locals enjoying the night.

  He heard nothing else.

  Felt nothing, until an irresistible force wrenched his head back so hard his spine cracked.

  The pain in his neck, a searing hot poker at the base of his skull, shocked his senses.

  Startled, his brain making no sense of it as his body collapsed and the gutter smashed against his cheek.

  He gasped for air. His chest and lungs were refusing to work.

  The dry smell of the concrete, the pungent spiced fish in the air mingling with the tangy odour and taste of his own blood were the last sensations experienced by the dying pimp.

  ***

  Sir Jeremy was at his gentlemen’s club waiting for the man he had called earlier that day. He had told his wife the meeting was prearranged but the lie was just another to pile on the vast rubbish dump of dishonesty that underpinned his married life. Sir Jeremy hated himself, and was beginning to accept that he had always hated himself.

  He sat, rustling his newspaper, pretending to read while scanning the dinosaurs lurking in the dingy lounge of the Cromwellian Club. As he watched the aged men, wearing their wealth like the burnished paint job on an old Rolls Royce, puffed by their own self-importance and treated like gods by the fawning, servile staff, he wondered why on earth he continued paying the five thousand pounds a year membership fee.

  Good God, he thought, I used to belong here. What is happening to me?

  He sat like that, peering from behind his paper, wondering if George Simm’s death had somehow shocked him into being an entirely different person altogether. It seemed to Sir Jeremy he was seeing things in a new light.

  What he had deemed important a few days before now seemed trivial. Was it possible he was actually seeing himself more clearly too?

  His introspection was brought to a halt by the bulk of the imposing man towering over him, proffering a hand to shake. Sir Jeremy stood as he grasped it.

  ‘Hullo Jeremy. Long time no see.’

  ‘Ah, Benjamin! Glad you could come.’

  ‘Let’s go through, shall we? I’ve made a window in my diary, but I need to be back in an hour.’ The man laid a hand on Jeremy’s back, almost as if to propel him.

  It was at that point Sir Jeremy, his newfound clarity alerting his senses, realised the panicky phone call that morning was possibly a very big mistake.

  ***

  The microwave pinged and Kylie took out her meal before sitting with it in on her lap. She tore open the packaging and tucked in while watching the TV in her exquisitely furnished lounge.

  She loved a Sunday roast and really did not care, often did not know, what day of the week it was. She flopped on to the white leather sofa and propped her feet on the matching footstool. Her toes were separated with tissue and the red glossed nails gleamed as she waited for the lacquer to dry.

  She zapped channels, not looking for anything in particular, and certainly not the one o’clock news bulletin. But fate or chance threw a picture of George Simm on to her screen at the precise moment she flicked the button on the remote.

  She watched and listened intently.

  ***

  Cody had completed his presentation and left his superiors to talk.

  ‘Jack, our boys are the best, but if Cody says the guy could Level Five us, we’re in deep shit...’ The head of GUSSET frowned, sipped some water and chomped a peppermint. Heartburn? That hardly described it. A thermal lance was slicing his aorta.

  ‘That’s an understatement, Mike.’ The Director was an old friend and when they were alone they discussed issues in an informal way, like two chums chewing the fat. ‘I’m worried enough, okay, but we haven’t had a Level Five breach since we started using the grading system. Am I right?’

  ‘Yeah. It was about five years back. Some kid hacked in. We caught him. He was barely thirteen years old. It was around the time we were setting up the team. Took our eye off him for a moment and the little tyke managed to do it again. Deleted his own records. Disappeared with his sister.’ Teague crunched another peppermint. He was starting to feel much better. ‘We’ve lost a few files since then, like Cody said, ashtrays in the scale of things, but nothing’s hit us like that kid.’

  ‘Cody’s convinced it’s just some geek, isn’t he? Not al-Qaeda or some other major threat? The Chinese and Iranians have some very bright computer guys. You think he’s right?’

  ‘I do Jack, but what if he’s wrong? What if it’s the endgame? A hostile nation planning to achieve a Level Five probing our systems? Who knows how many people would like to get in and destroy or tamper with files. Think of what some criminals, international drug dealers, would pay to alter their records. Let alone foreign governments wanting to access our own defence material.’ He shook his head.

  ‘Mike, we go way back, and normally I’d leave you to it, right? But why don’t you and Cody’s boys set up a trap for this son of a bitch? Stop the guys banging their heads on the wall. Christ, I could feel Cody’s frustration like it was a tangible force, and you can’t afford their morale to drop. Forget chasing these websites, just get the team ready for the next time he spikes us. I don’t know how or what – that’s your job. But, spending hundreds of man hours chasing our tails is just wasting the best brains we got.’

  Teague took the mild rebuke in good heart. His boss was right. He was probably pressing the wrong buttons.

  ‘Could be that low level shit from Thailand was the target. The Simm’s report. Perhaps someone wanted to short the stock in his travel company. I think the price has dropped about half in two days. Someone could’ve made a fortune out of that...’ His mind was spinning as his boss spoke. He should’ve thought of it before. SimmpleTravel.

  ‘That’s more like it, Mike. Get together with the boys and chase up every angle. See what you can do. There is nothing more important than this right now. I really ought to brief the President and the Director of National Intelligence. If this guy does get in he could start a war.’

  ‘I’m on it.’

  The Director then asked, ‘Now, what’s the score with the Simm case? We’ve got the press howling at the gates and zip to give them.’

  ‘Jack, I’m going through the old files now. You remember Operation Candyman?’

  ‘Yeah, I remember it. I wasn’t involved but it was a big deal, an operation by the US Postal Service and the Feds in 2001, right?’

  ‘That’s the one. I was with the Feds at the time. We managed to identify credit card transactions of thousands of people who had purchased, downloaded or made available child pornography through the internet.’

  ‘Go on. If I remember it reached all levels, famous people some of them.’

  ‘You got it, Jack. It touched pretty much every occupation and took years to roll up, especially as we had some problems with the evidence. We netted the ones who’d set up the sites and so on, but you can imagine it was a massive effort. We sent around six thousand names to the UK too, and they could barely cope.’

  ‘So, how was Simm involved?’

  ‘He was a pioneer on the internet, converted part of his travel company to online sales in the nineties, sold up for millions then set up a bigger, better site and mopped up. Bought his original company back ten years later for five cents on the dollar.’

  ‘Knows his stuff then. And the kiddie porn?’

  ‘At the time he sold out the original agency there was supposed to be rock solid evidence that he had set up a kiddie-porn site, selling images of naked children, some with adults, some with objects, doing all sorts of unspeakable stuff.’

  ‘Jesus, Mike. This guy was a regular at the White House and donated millions to the President’s SuperPAC! When I saw the news about our report, I thought it was a hoax, or a mistake.’ The Director thought for a moment. ‘So why wasn’t he prosecuted?’

  ‘We lost all the evidence. Some sneaky bastard got into the communication loop be
tween us and the Brits, managed to enter the system and wiped out a load of records. Not just the evidence on him, but that on dozens of other top names.’

  ‘But surely we had some hard evidence they couldn’t destroy?’

  ‘It was all electronic evidence – data, records from their credit card transactions – every trace was wiped by the virus that bombed us. We weren’t as sophisticated then. The systems leaked. Things went astray. It’s only by luck we’ve got the little we have on him.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Simm’s got a file. It contains a brief summary, a hard copy but it got buried, forgotten because there were too many other fish to fry. The Brits were struggling as it was, took them years to tie it all up. And Simm was based in the UK... Trouble is the current file contains nothing you could use as evidence. It could just as easily be a fairy story, and no judge in the land would indict the guy, let alone convict on the basis of what the FBI have on him.’

  ‘And this stuff was mentioned in the report from Thailand?’ The Director eased himself forward, resting his elbows on his desk, frown lines rippling his forehead. ‘How the hell did that happen?’

  ‘Our liaison officer there recognised the name. He transferred to us from the FBI and had been working on Candyman years before he joined us. When the police report mentioned Simm was a sex-tourist with a kid in his hotel room, our man remembered everything... Pretty much duplicated the paper file in his report.’ Teague cupped his hand over his mouth and let out a noxious burp.

  ‘So, the world knows we knew he was a paedophile?’

  ‘Yup. The asshole that spread that report on the net put our nuts on the chopping block. We are now on record confirming Simm was a known threat to kids and was planning to use his travel company to promote international paedophilia. But we’ve got no evidence because we lost it.’

  The Director shook his head and murmured, ‘What a clusterfuck.’ Then more strongly to Teague, ‘And if we confirm the validity of the report...’

  ‘The stockholders in SimmpleTravel will sue us for the drop in the company value – around three hundred million dollars in consequential loss and that’s just for starters. There’s the man’s good name, the kids, you can imagine how that would play out in court. It would be a first but their attorney reckons someone must pay, and that someone is us.’ Teague finished his assessment, sipped some more water and watched his friend, his boss. He did not envy him the conversation he would be having with the President.

  ‘So, what do we do about it Mike?’

  Teague rubbed his chest and swallowed more peppermint as he said, ‘Well, we keep schtum for now and meanwhile we do as you suggest. We set a trap for the hacker and I think we take a long hard look at SimmpleTravel investors.’

  ***

  Chapter Three

  Kylie, with the TV still blaring, was staring at the screen. Her plate of food had slipped off her lap and gravy was congealing on the pale leather sofa. She was oblivious, her appetite had vanished the moment she had seen Simm on the screen.

  So, Georgie’s dead.

  Georgie Porgy Pudden and Pie.

  The fat sweaty American.

  Kylie’s expression showed no emotion, a consequence of the shock, her mind rolling over the past.

  She had hated Georgie. He was one of the ones who liked to hurt her. He did not want to shag her. Oh no. He preferred to take photos. Like she was a model. At least that’s what he had told her.

  The first time she met him, he just took some ‘pervy pics’ as she called them. Kylie knew she wasn’t all that bright but she was sure he was selling them. Not that it bothered her. In fact, she was quite proud of the effect she had on men. She knew she should consider herself a victim, but she did not feel like one. She was half her mother’s age yet much older men, rich and famous older men, found her more attractive.

  Wanted her.

  And for Kylie that was what really mattered.

  Things took a turn for the worse with Georgie though. The second session he had told her to put things inside her. She was okay with the vibrator, at least at first, it was almost fun. Posing, pretending. She thought she might even be getting her first orgasm, but didn’t think so in the end.

  When he asked her to stick it up her bum she told him to ‘Piss off!’

  And that’s when he hit her.

  She had been whacked many times. Her mum, the Bitch, and her string of partners – ‘uncles’ she called them – had made Kylie immune to casual violence, the bruising of regular domestic beatings.

  Georgie was different. He was about twice the size of the biggest of her ‘uncles’ and when he punched her belly she thought her spine would burst out her back.

  No, she had not felt anything like that punch before and vowed never to again. She did whatever they asked, whenever they asked, tried to please them all. Even if it hurt a bit.

  After all. They wanted her, didn’t they?

  ***

  When two knights of the realm take lunch at the Cromwellian Club, they expect a private room with individual waiter service, and right now two uniformed staff were lifting the silver domes off their plates, an operation performed with the military synchronicity expected of ex– servicemen. The club prided itself on the reputation of its employees, all of whom had served in Her Majesty’s armed forces, and as such, were still bound by their oaths of allegiance to the Queen.

  ‘Doesn’t count for much these days, Jeremy.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘An oath to the Queen. Seems to me the country’s going to hell in a handcart. The press have turned totally republican, stabbing the backs of the Royal Family whenever they get the chance.’

  The waiters finished serving the vegetables accompanying the Chateaubriand and poured more wine. Sir Jeremy continued the charade. ‘Well, you know me Benjamin, I’m a Royalist.’ He was sure the irony of his comment, here in this club, was lost on Sir Benjamin Courtney.

  ‘Bloody well should be, Queen’s Counsellor!’

  The door whispered shut and the knights were alone, the only witness to their conversation the slabs of bovine carcass.

  ‘Now, listen to me, you bloody fool. You carry on like this and it’ll be you that upsets the applecart. Jesus Christ man, pull yourself together. Otherwise,’ Sir Benjamin paused, stabbing his steak knife deep into the bloody meat, ‘it won’t just be our George we’ll be burying.’

  ‘How dare you threaten me?’ Sir Jeremy had his own knife pointed at his friend in an unconscious gesture of self-defence. ‘We’ve been friends for thirty years. And after all I’ve done for – ’

  Sir Benjamin interrupted him mid-sentence. ‘What? Are we duelling now? For God’s sake, I didn’t threaten you. You’re paranoid and if you carry on this way you’ll give yourself a heart attack! Calm down man. Stop panicking, just keep your head down. Carry on as if nothing has happened. Nothing has happened.’

  ‘How can you say that? Our friend is dead. The CIA and the FBI have files on him. He’s turned into a liability.’

  ‘Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy.’

  The man’s condescension, a trait Sir Jeremy had witnessed but never directly experienced until today, was truly insulting. How did they ever become friends? Have I been blind, deaf and stupid? Sir Jeremy wondered. He listened in silence, could feel his heart being squeezed again as his tension grew.

  ‘Pray tell me what you think the CIA or FBI have to do with us?’

  ‘Benjamin, I am a patient man but please don’t treat me like a child. You and I both know what.’

  ‘That was then. This is now. Is that clear enough?’ Sir Benjamin chewed on his steak and added, ‘This food is wonderful. Eat man.’

  ‘And Kylie?’

  ‘Ah. Your little slut. What of her?’

  Sir Jeremy was starting to dislike his friend.

  ‘She’s not a slut, she was – ’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake. Listen to yourself man. You’re happily married. You’re very wealthy. You’ve had
a successful career spanning forty odd years. From a humble bobby on the beat you’ve worked yourself through law school and risen through the bar to the level of High Court Judge. And now you’re retired from the bench you sit on government select committees. You’re well on your way to the House of Lords! What are you – sixty-five?’

  ‘Sixty-four.’

  ‘And your little... flower... Kylie?’

  ‘Benjamin...’

  ‘She’s thirteen, isn’t she?’

  ‘She’s fifteen... I think.’

  ‘Oh well, that makes it alright then, doesn’t it... m’lord?’ The sarcasm dripped from Sir Benjamin’s tongue like poison.

  The words led Sir Jeremy to start reliving his tube ride home, and his heart clenched inside him. He took a long slow drag on his inhaler and tried to calm himself. He pushed his plate aside, untouched.

  ‘I didn’t know you were asthmatic.’ Sir Benjamin gave Sir Jeremy a hideous ironic grin, as if his well-being were not of the slightest concern or interest. The man was odious.

  ‘It’s for my heart, you bastard. At least I still have one.’

  ‘Touché, Jeremy. I was beginning to think you’d lost your sense of humour entirely. Now, tell me why you think the little slut – er, I mean,’ Sir Benjamin winked at him, ‘the love of your life, is such a problem to us?’

  ‘George took photographs.’ Sir Jeremy derived a little satisfaction from the other man’s reaction.

  ‘Are you sure? But she’s a girl!’

  ‘Well it may come as a surprise to you, but George enjoyed taking photographs of girls. Apparently he often masturbated when he did it. Turned him on it seems.’ There, stick that where it hurts, Benjamin! Sir Jeremy would like to have added the words but even the new, more self-aware character he had become was not quite ready for that level of rudeness.

  He took a sip of wine, his heart much better from the inhalant. Sir Benjamin recovered his composure as quickly.