A Friend in Deed

by G D Harper

  The next day, I couldn’t help myself – I decided to indulge in a little brainstorming about how Act Now! and the Russians could be in cahoots with each other, to see how much of what the party was doing could favour Russia. It turned out not to be a difficult exercise. Looking at Act Now!’s political agenda through the prism of acting in Russia’s interests revealed that just about every major policy initiative they had underway would be good news for Russia.

  I went through their manifesto. Abolish post-Brexit trade agreements, NATO, the World Trade Organisation, the G7. Support Act Now! in other countries to break up the EU. All things that would strengthen Russia’s position on the world stage.

  The list went on. Pull out of the Paris Accord on climate change; great for an economy like Russia’s, based on oil. And when vast swathes of your country are Siberian tundra, global warming might not be a bad thing.

  Abolish fracking: good for the barrel price of oil.

  Tighten regulation and control of UK businesses, especially in the financial services sector: good news for a country whose businesses are not subject to the same restrictions.

  Reduce the power of parliament and have more decisions made locally or through plebiscites: more opportunities to manipulate and hoodwink people into making decisions that could undermine Britain’s economic and political power.

  If I was feeling paranoid, I could imagine two-thirds of the manifesto had been written in the Kremlin to turn Britain into a country that was doing everything it could to be brought under Russian control and everything possible to boost Russia’s status as a global superpower. With Act Now! lauding the fact that their core manifesto was the same in every country in which they operated, soon all of western Europe would be pressing the self-destruct button and handing power over to the Russians.

  And now, evidence of preferential treatment to Russian companies when awarding government contracts. I’d written a provocative story linking Axos Technology’s seemingly effortless ability to steal a nuclear construction project from under the noses of Saudi Arabia and the French. But to go further than that with this information was pure speculation. The only piece of hard evidence I had, if you could call it that, was a couple of throwaway comments made by a Russian playboy when he was alone in a bedroom with his lover. It wasn’t exactly Pulitzer Prize material.

  I wasn’t quite prepared to have myself labelled as a wild-eyed conspiracy nut just yet, so I decided to have a chat with Nigel about my theories, to see if there was any technical basis to how the Russians could be operating. The thought filled me with dread. Usually, I had to fight off his attempts to tell me about his wildest fantasies. Now I was going to invite him to open the floodgates.

  I went to see him and outlined my theory that Act Now! was a puppet of the Russians, acting under their control. He gobbled it up, nodding furiously.

  ‘I can see how Russia would love to have Act Now! in power,’ I told him when I’d finished. ‘What I don’t get is how they could undermine the existing political parties from Moscow. Surely you can’t hack into the computers of major political parties willy-nilly? And if you could, wouldn’t you get found out and wouldn’t there be an almighty ruckus?’ I shook my head. ‘It all seems too far-fetched.’

  ‘Hacking’s easy-peasy,’ Nigel replied. ‘People who are hacked don’t talk about it, because if they did it would make them look stupid. Looking stupid is bad. Ian looks stupid and he doesn’t like people telling him.’

  I resisted the temptation to ask who Ian was.

  Nigel was getting animated now. ‘If you want proof, look at how many news stories are based on what they call leaks. They’re not leaks; they’re hacks. Saying they’re leaks is telling lies, and that’s bad too. I never tell lies. If I tell a lie, it means I have to think about something that didn’t happen. And then I have to think about all the other things that didn’t happen. And then I can’t stop. There are too many things that don’t happen; I can’t think of them all, it makes my brain explode. I only think about things that do happen.’

  Animated was starting to move towards agitated.

  ‘I know you don’t tell lies. That’s very good. Don’t think about news stories telling lies. Tell me about people stealing data.’

  ‘When people steal data, they don’t keep quiet about it. They steal it to tell the truth about things all over the internet. It’s bad to steal, but good to tell the truth. They cancel each other out, so that sort of stealing isn’t bad. It’s not like stealing from a shop. That’s bad.’

  ‘That’s very true, Nigel. But how do you know it’s Russian intelligence helping people steal data? Couldn’t it be a bunch of geeks with a lot of time on their hands, enjoying making mischief? There’s a lot of people who like to find things out for fun.’

  ‘Yes. It’s fun seeing what you can find out. But the Russia hacking is different. They’re not doing it for fun. They always do it the same way; the fun is doing it the way that you invent. And what they do costs a lot of money. They track down software flaws that nobody knows about and use them to breach firewalls. And as soon as anyone finds out what’s going on, they’re off to find another one.’

  ‘But how do you know it’s the Russians? Couldn’t it be our political parties doing it to each other?’

  ‘No.’ I’d never seen Nigel so sure of himself. ‘What happens when the hackers breach security is that they plant malware on people’s computers, which lets other super-smarts get access to juicy, juicy files. When they go snooping around looking in files, they’re professionals; they know what they’re looking for. The fun of hacking is that you get to look for cool things to find out and then have a good time telling everyone. The Russians don’t do that.’

  Nigel leaned towards me, staring at the floor again, his voice now a whisper. ‘And you know what else? The operating system used to develop the malware uses Cyrillic, and the hackers work in the GMT-3 time zone, Moscow time.

  ‘And all this is known? How come it’s not front page news?’

  ‘Some of the guys in the chat room have told the newspapers, but they just get laughed at. “Circumstantial evidence” they get told. That means it’s not real evidence, like finding a gun with fingerprints on it.’

  ‘I suppose the Russians simply deny that they’re involved, and there’s nothing definitive that can prove otherwise …’ I was surprised to find that everything Nigel was saying was making sense and there was not an alien or a Loch Ness monster in sight. ‘And there’s also the realpolitik dimension. One government trying to find out another government’s secrets. It’s the second oldest profession. They spy on us, we spy on them. And we all know we’re doing it to each other; that’s why you have MI5, CIA and Russia’s FSB and SVR. Especially the SVR.’

  ‘Yes!’ said Nigel, banging his fist on the table. ‘What’s different now is that it’s being used in a new sort of way. It’s called hybrid intelligence.’

  ‘And that is …’

  ‘Super sneaky. The hackers can get into anything, the folders on your computer, your emails, search history, everything. And there’s no point in deleting stuff; they can set up a secret cache on your computer where anything deleted is copied to and then they check that as well. Very funny. You delete something naughty, and that makes sure it gets spotted. He-he-he-he.’

  He stopped laughing. ‘Then the games begin. Boring information turns into rumours of rivalries and arguments; spicy stuff people want to stay hidden ends up on the front page. And there’s always the chance of coming across something shady or embarrassing that a naughty politician thought was safely deleted or hidden away on their personal computer.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Nigel, why haven’t you told me this before? I had you running around getting reports on shale oil extraction for a fracking story that nobody wanted to read, and you were sitting on all of this stuff. This is dynamite.’

  Nigel looked alarmed. ‘Dyna
mite is bad. Blows things up. Like Wile E. Coyote does to Road Runner.’

  ‘I didn’t mean real dynamite. It’s a metaphor … Never mind. And how exactly do they get this malware onto people’s computers? Surely there must be airtight security on any computer used by someone who has access to such sensitive information?’

  ‘No, they are very clever. Even cleverer than Ian, and he’s very clever, even though he looks stupid. They set up a domain name which is almost identical to a name someone would regularly use, but with a very small typo. When you and I make a typo, it’s a mistake, but this is a typo that’s done on purpose. Which means it’s not really a typo. But I don’t know what to call it if it’s not a typo. Can I call it an anti-typo, like the antimatter in Star Trek?’

  ‘That’s good. Call it an anti-typo. What do they do with the anti-typo?’

  ‘They design a website that is identical to the public site but which installs malware on any computer that visits it. It only needs one silly person in a political organisation to be tricked into clicking on the link to visit the bogus site for the malware to be installed on the other side of a firewall. Then the first thing it does is delete all trace of how it got there and the history showing what bogus site it came from. Then, every time the silly person’s infected computer emails someone or visits internal web pages, the malware gets spread. That’s why you should never click on a link someone sends you. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘I do. And that’s how they find out what’s on people’s computers?’

  ‘And tell lies.’ Nigel looked disgusted. ‘The same designers who copy public websites can also copy internal documents and email. Even if they don’t find anything damaging, they plant a nasty sentence into something nice and smart someone wrote to make them look bad or stupid. Then they overwrite the original and leak the nasty new one. And that’s bad leaking. Because it’s even worse than telling lies. It’s pretending that other people are telling lies, even when they didn’t. It’s telling lies twice.’

  I went home that night with my head spinning. Yes, Nigel was right, these stories weren’t new; I’d heard about these rumours before. But now I had something more. Rather than Act Now! being the innocent recipients of all this Russian largesse to get them elected, what I was finding out was that they were in cahoots with the Russians, receiving support in return for putting forward a manifesto that had practically been written by the Kremlin. And Act Now! was repaying the favour by lining the pockets of favoured Russian oligarchs and the Russian exchequer with lucrative business deals.

  It was this last bit that made my story unique, and it was also the part that I had the most qualms about publishing. I couldn’t use Anton Shub’s stupidity as the reason to publish this latest part of the story, and yet again, the only reason I’d started looking at all this was another throwaway comment from Tanya.

  I agonised overnight about what to do next. I realised I could only do the story if I told Tanya everything, and she said it was okay to go ahead. But if she didn’t, would I really walk away? I’d like to think so, that I wasn’t the sort of person who could exploit someone like that. I thought back to my light-hearted piece about our first meeting. How ironic that I worried then whether I had taken advantage of her. Something so trivial. Now this.

  I needed to talk it through with someone. I called Bobbie that evening. I explained the background to the story and was about to ask how best to tell Tanya what I’d been getting up to. But I never got that far.

  ‘You never bloody learn, do you, Duncan?’ she yelled at me from my computer screen. ‘You might see yourself as the saviour of Western civilisation, but think about that poor girl for a moment. Do you want to do to her what you did to me? Either your story will be ignored as the ramblings of a nutcase, or it will be taken seriously, in which case your friend will be crucified by people trying to discredit her and hounded by others trying to find out more. Don’t even think about it.’

  ‘The chances are no one will ever trace the story to her. And I’d tell her everything before I did anything. Give her the right to say no.’

  ‘You did that to me with your Michael Mitchell book and look what happened. I can’t believe you’re even considering going down that road again.’

  She was right. I knew it even before I spoke to her. I just needed to hear the words.

  ‘Then I won’t do it. In fact, I should probably tell Tanya I was responsible for the Axos Technology story. I learned a long time ago it’s not always good to keep secrets from people.’

  Bobbie’s tone softened. ‘Look, I’m sorry. You get caught up in your stories, Duncan, expand them a little, it’s part of your charm. But you need to be careful about what you write these days. This isn’t the 1970s; you can’t just disappear if you want to escape from something. Nobody can hide for long these days.’

  I thought back to the horrors of that time. Bobbie fleeing for her life down to London, abandoning everything she knew, all her dreams. The constant fear that her past would catch up on her. Me being threatened, then beaten up, for refusing to tell Michael Mitchell how he could find her. As always, she was right.

  Bobbie hadn’t finished. ‘Think carefully before you tell Tanya that you’ve already posted something based on information she’s given you,’ she said. ‘She might react badly, and it sounds like you’ve got away with it. You’ve got a good friendship there. You shouldn’t put it in jeopardy.’

  I said I’d think about it, but I’d already decided that Tanya had a right to know. She’d twice given me ideas for stories and, given the company she kept, she’d probably say something equally newsworthy again. She needed to know that I wrote about politics. She needed to know I was Richard Foxe. I sat down to email my confession, and tried to justify myself to her by saying I kept my political identity completely secret. I said I didn’t want there to be any more secrets between us, no compromising situations involving what she said to me.

  As I typed the word ‘secrets’, I suddenly froze. What the bloody hell did I think I was doing? I’d just spent a couple of hours listening to Nigel telling me that Act Now! was hacking into all and sundry and here I was, the journalist who’d just exposed their subterfuge, composing an email that couldn’t incriminate Tanya more if it tried.

  I backspaced through the text until everything was gone; I didn’t know if that was better than just deleting the draft, but best be on the safe side. I realised I couldn’t risk the phone either. I had to tell her in person.

  I decided to turn up unannounced, and headed off to Tanya’s flat. Tomorrow, I’d buy a second mobile, pay-as-you-go, for any vaguely sensitive calls, and a second tablet as well. I would set up new email and video calling accounts, and use them only for those occasions. I arrived at her flat and banged on the door. Nothing. I walked back up the steps from the basement and stood in the street, trying to work out what to do next. There was a post office on the corner, and I went in and bought paper, envelopes and a pen and sat down outside Tanya’s flat and wrote out again what I had typed up earlier. As I sealed the envelope, I looked up and down the street one last time, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tanya arriving. I waited another five minutes, then posted the envelope through her letterbox.

  No going back now.

  I was preparing dinner when the doorbell rang. I opened the door and there was Tanya, her face grim, tense. I’d never seen her like that. I blurted out her name and then regained my composure.

  ‘Do you want to come in?’ I asked, my stomach churning. She didn’t speak, simply nodded. We headed into the living room.

  ‘Can I get you something? Coffee? Wine?’ Banal, but I needed to say something – anything – to ease the tension.

  ‘Nyet. You shock me, Duncan. You take what I say about Anton, and you write scandal story? That is very bad thing to do.’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. But I didn’t mention what he said to you or give any clue that you wer
e involved. His visit to the UK wasn’t a secret. If he told you, he probably told others. It’s important people know what’s going on, but I shouldn’t have done this without you knowing who I really am. That’s why I wanted to tell you all about Richard Foxe. I was tempted to write another story, so you had to know. Who knows what you might tell me in the future? I couldn’t promise myself I’d never be tempted to use something you told me, so I had to make sure you knew all about me.’

  There was a long silence. Tanya looked around the room, like she was struggling to speak. When, finally, she did say something, her voice was quiet, with the faint hint of reproach.

  ‘You should have told me sooner, Duncan. But I can see that revealing Richard Foxe is a big decision for you. I’m happy you decide to tell me.’ She walked slowly to the window and looked out onto the street. Without turning, she said, ‘Tell me more about this big story you write. I like Russians, but not Russian government. You remember my brother.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘Dreadful.’

  ‘It was the Russians behind these riots. Ukrainian government starts looking to the West and Russians go crazy, destabilise everything, get Crimea people to become part of Russia, so they keep big naval base. If they are playing the same game in the UK, then you need to tell. Somebody else should not lose brother.’

  I felt my mouth opening in astonishment. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that she might agree for me to write the story without the need to be convinced. I told her all that I had found out, how everything Act Now! seemed to be doing could be seen to be in Russia’s interests. How Russia seemed to be behind a massive, well-funded, sophisticated hacking operation that was talked about in the dark recesses of internet chat rooms. And how, in return, Russia was being given big favours. Tanya sat listening until I came to the new information, the piece that only I knew, the evidence for which had come from one of the very oligarchs who was a front man for the Russian payback. At that point, I could see fear and anxiety grip her like a vice.