by G D Harper
‘You’re saying he’s the one that’s odd? You want me to dress up as Mrs Hudson too?’ Tanya collapsed into a fit of giggles.
‘Very funny. I’ve learned that any new things he’s introduced to have to fit within constructs he’s already comfortable with. He thinks of the two of us as Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson, and so I had to make you another Conan Doyle character. You’ll understand when you meet him.’
‘This is what the Russians are up against, is it? I bet they would have quaking boots if they knew they were fighting the three of us.’ She had a relapse of the giggles. ‘Sherlock Holmes, Dr Watson and Mrs Hudson. Off to solve the case of the Russian bear. I love it.’
I laughed with Tanya, played along with the jokes, but my heart wasn’t in it. She had to get back to work at the British Council so I headed off and had a print shop make a scan of the brochure, just to be on the safe side. I popped the original into a left luggage locker at Victoria station and steeled myself to head back to my flat. It was anticlimactic. No sign that anyone had broken in and no knock on the door as I waited for my midnight meeting with Nigel. The texts from Alex were getting more and more irate, so I finally sent her one, asking to see her tomorrow morning. The reply was instant, ten o’clock in her offices and also to call her now. I texted back saying sorry, I needed some time before we could talk. One way or another I had to make a decision first thing in the morning as to what to tell her.
I had time to kill, so I sat down at my computer and started to work up the gist of the article, should I ever decide to publish it. Reporter heads off to Moscow to meet with Russian dissident. Dissident gives him blueprint for a website cloning operation at heart of Russia’s dirty tricks activity to discredit mainstream political parties in Britain and help Act Now! take power. Visit to troll factory on the outskirts of Moscow. Dossier purports to show existence of secret list of email addresses of people in UK, who unwittingly or otherwise are taking fake news stories dreamt up by Kremlin black ops puppet-masters and writing posts and tweets in different urban argots. These blend with huge number of micro-operations that cumulatively have enough critical mass to sway a general election. Narrowly escaping threat to his life, reporter hightails it back to UK, where with help of accomplices he translates website blueprints and hacks into cloned website, uncovering further proof of scale and sophistication of operation. Maybe even confronts some of the ‘useful idiots’ the Kremlin has working for them in UK. Useful idiots break down and confess their part in operation.
I wrote page after page, the words flowing out of me. Powerful stuff. As I reread it, I made a decision. I’d supply News Today with the minimum I could get away with to satisfy my obligations to them, and then I’d take the rest of the story to Sam at the Chronicle and offer him the exclusive on the next chapter of the story.
Then another text pinged into my phone. From Dmitry, telling me he had been to Sergey’s flat and had found him there with his boyfriend, both okay, but that morning Igor had been fired from the troll factory and Sergey’s landlord had served him notice to quit the flat. Retribution of sorts, but not as severe as I had feared.
I called Dmitry to get some more details. He told me both men were resigned to having to move on and make changes in their lives. They were going to face the future together and were glad to be leaving their days of working in the troll factory behind them. I thought about them after I hung up. It was going to be tough, two gay guys in Moscow, trying to pick up the pieces of their life and move on with the state against them. I had no illusions about that. I tried to convince myself they’d be happier in the long term, but I still felt revulsion at the part I’d played in bringing their lives down around them.
Just after ten, Tanya and I headed off to meet with Nigel. Two chairs awaited us as we walked into Nigel’s living room.
‘This is Mrs Hudson I told you about,’ I said.
Tanya looked at the Sherlock Holmes poster on the wall and pursed her lips. I shot her a look and she forced herself to keep a straight face.
Nigel ignored Tanya completely and sat down at his computer and brought up the website.
‘Wow, this is all fake?’
He double-checked the website URL against the real one. Just two letters were transposed. He switched to the real website and clicked on a few random pages, comparing them with their equivalents on the other.
‘They’re almost identical. Except where there’s a breaking story, the two sites mirror each other completely.’
He scrolled again through the pages of the bogus website, then the genuine one.
‘Ah,’ he said, looking pleased with himself. ‘There it is.’ He brought up the same section from both websites on two different screens. ‘Look – see this block of text has an extra link in it?’ He right-clicked. ‘Thought so. That’s the link that would install the malware if I’d left-clicked on it. Great. Now I know where to start looking.’
I looked over at Tanya. She was clearly impressed.
‘You spotted that after whizzing through all these pages? You have some memory, Nigel.’
Nigel continued to ignore her. ‘Okay, let’s see what’s behind this. I’ll switch to a Cyrillic keyboard; then I’m going to need Mrs Hudson’s help to type in the password and navigate around it.’
He pulled up a drop-down window and I handed him the username and password that I’d got from Dmitry. He pressed Enter and suddenly we were into a black screen covered in Russian computer code. With that, there was no going back. If someone went looking, they would know there had been a log-in on the site. A little voice in the back of my head was screaming at me to stop. If anyone else had suggested it, I would have.
‘Okay,’ Nigel said to Tanya. ‘Stand behind me.’
I was pleased to see Tanya kept her distance, standing as far back from Nigel as she could while still being able to read the screen.
‘You’re looking for something like Access Folders,’ Nigel said without turning around. ‘Site Architecture, that sort of thing.’
‘Site Architecture. There it is.’ She leaned over him and pointed to an icon on the screen.
Nigel stared at the floor, forcing himself to tolerate her presence until she moved away. He clicked on the icon. ‘Now is there anything that says Show Folders or similar?’
‘Da, here.’
Yellow folder icons filled the screen.
‘Okay, we need to download these. They’ll show me how they code the malware. I’ve written an app to open them and take screenshots automatically and I’m going to an FTP to download these onto my hard drive.’
‘FTP?’ I felt I had to say something.
‘File Transfer Protocol.’ Nigel looked stressed. ‘Duncan, shut up. Let me work with Mrs Hudson to get this done.’ The tension of the moment was keeping Nigel focused; he was displaying none of his usual behavioural peccadillos. He activated the app and the computer screen was a flurry of activity, files opening and screenshots being grabbed at lightning speed, as the same time as copying everything onto a memory stick.
‘Okay, let’s go back up a level. Is there anything that says Network Tools, System Preferences, something like that?’
‘System Preferences. There.’ Tanya pointed to an icon.
Nigel clicked.
‘Users? Or User Groups?’
‘That one.’
Nigel clicked again and an address book came up.
‘Voila!’ he said. ‘Everyone who works with the site.’ He hit Select All and Copy and a few seconds later they were downloaded. ‘Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy. He-he-he-he.’
‘Can we log out now and have a look at what we’ve got?’ I didn’t want to be logged into the computer a second longer than we had to.
Nigel shrugged his shoulders and logged out.
‘I feel like burglar on the prowl,’ said Tanya. ‘Very scary. Next time find another Russian translator.�
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‘And next time they can find another journalist,’ I said. ‘I’m getting too old for this. That almost gave me a heart attack.’
Nigel seemed less perturbed; he was busy copying all the files onto another memory stick.
‘Finished,’ he said, as he handed it to me. ‘For your meeting tomorrow. From Sherlock Holmes to Dr Watson. Proof.’
‘To solve the case of the Russian bear,’ Tanya added.
Now that he no longer needed help with translations, Nigel studiously ignored her again.
‘Well, we’ve got this stuff, what do we do with it?’ I asked, as much to break the awkward atmosphere as anything else.
‘We need to translate these downloads,’ said Nigel. ‘Somewhere in one of these folders should be the Trojan virus that they used to take over people’s computers and search through their hard drives. Find them and work out how sophisticated they are and you’ve got the story.’
‘No problem,’ said Tanya. ‘When do you want me to start?’
‘We decide what to do, not you!’ Nigel started rocking in his chair. ‘Go away, now, and leave us alone. Tell her to go away, Watson. Go away.’
I moved quickly to defuse the situation. ‘I’ll take her away, Nigel, no problem. You were super-quick when you were logged into the computer. Well done.’
Nigel stopped rocking but sat staring at a computer screen, his face inches from the monitor. He was obviously not going to say another word till Tanya left.
‘Okay, Tanya and I will go now. Talk soon,’ I said. ‘Solemn promise not to tell anyone about this?’
‘Solemn promise. And you make solemn promise not to have her here again.’ He continued to stare at the screen.
We walked back to the car.
‘I’m sorry Nigel was so rude and ungrateful,’ I said. ‘I did warn you about him. It’s just his way.’
‘No problem. Really, Duncan, it’s not an issue. I didn’t take it personally. What are you going to do now?’
‘I’ve got to hand this over to a news organisation to help me get it translated. I haven’t got the resources to do it and even if you wanted to help, we’re talking days of translating time.’
‘You know I would help if you wanted me to. So, you’re going to give it to that TV programme? I suppose that makes sense.’
‘No, I suspect they were the source of the leak that meant someone found out I was in Moscow. I’m going back to the Chronicle. I know I can trust them, and this is going to be a big story, with all the detail to back it up. Probably better it appears in a newspaper.’
‘And you’re definitely going to run with it? No second thoughts after what happened to you in Moscow?’
‘I was having cold feet until I saw what Nigel uncovered tonight. If I decided to run away from the story now, I’d never forgive myself. I’ll sleep on it and make my decision in the morning’. I looked at my watch. ‘It’s late, I’ll drop you home. It’s not far out of my way.’
‘It’s halfway across the city, Duncan,’ she replied, but with a grateful smile. ‘But yes, it’s late. Thank you for being gentleman.’
Our conversation was sporadic on the drive to her flat; I was still decompressing after the tension of the night’s events. As I parked outside, she said, ‘So, hotshot journalist. What is your decision? Do you publish story or say goodbye?’
‘I don’t know, Tanya. That’s a crap answer, but there are too many factors at play. All I know is that tomorrow I have to decide.’
‘Then we need to talk till you decide. Come with me. It will take you an hour to get home, now it very late. We talk, you decide, then you sleep on couch till you meet TV bosses in morning. Okay?’
Truth be told, I needed someone to decide for me. I gave a resigned nod and we headed inside. Her flat was so different in the dark, and Tanya put on only a few lights. We sat across from each other in the living room.
‘It comes down to courage,’ I admitted. ‘In all this excitement, I have a heady urge to keep going, but I was terrified on that taxi ride to Moscow airport. I don’t want to have to go through that again.’
‘Once things are out in open, you’d be safe. Do you think anyone would make it more of a story by threatening you again, or worse? Running away might seem safe option, but it means you are always a loose end, waiting to be tidied up.’
I hadn’t thought of that. I remained silent for a few minutes.
‘You’re right, Tanya. I’ll keep going. It’s my story and I’m going to stick with it.’
She smiled, and there was an unsettling intensity in her eyes. ‘My brother would have been proud of you. I am proud of you.’ She got up and sat next to me on the sofa. She put her hand on my shoulder and kissed me on the ear.
‘I’m … I’m not sure this is a good idea.’
‘Terrible idea. Shocking.’
‘No, really. It’s complicated enough without—’
I never got to finish my sentence. Suddenly we were a tangle of arms, legs, hair, tongues. Before I knew what was happening, I was on my back on the sofa, Tanya towering above me, her arms on my shoulders pinning me down.
‘Let me show you just how bad an idea this really is,’ she said. She purred into my ear. ‘We’ll see if you complain in the morning.’
chapter eleven
The first thing I felt as I started to wake up the next morning was the warmth of Tanya’s body lying next to me. I turned to look at her. In repose, her expression looked severe, intense; like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. It was a little unsettling, like I was seeing past a mask she wore for the world. I wondered if that was what she always looked like when she was sleeping, or if, in her dreams, she was already regretting what had happened between us.
I slipped out of bed, gathered up my clothes and crept into the bathroom to get dressed. No doubt we would have to talk, and I wanted to avoid making it too excruciating. Clothes would help. I made the mistake of looking in the mirror, then I sat down on the toilet seat for a moment and ran my fingers through what hair I had left these days. I put on my clothes and, taking a deep breath, walked back to the bedroom.
Tanya was awake. ‘Sneaking off after having your wicked way?’ She gave a sleepy laugh. ‘I thought old guys had manners.’
‘I was getting dressed,’ I said, the heat rising in my cheeks. ‘I’m shocked you thought I was running off.’
‘Lighten up, darling,’ Tanya laughed. The first time she had ever called me that. ‘It was joke. You remember jokes?’
‘Sorry, I’m feeling … I don’t know. Awkward, that’s all.’
Tanya pulled the bedclothes round her and sat up. ‘About last night? It was just sex, Duncan. People do it all the time. Was it so bad?’
‘Of course not. So, you’re okay with it? Really okay?’
‘I was not virgin, Duncan. I made first move, remember? You found out big news and decided to do right thing. So, I did right thing too. Right for last night. Today you are Duncan again. My Scottish friend who makes me laugh.’
‘And makes you coffee.’ I smiled with relief and went into the kitchen.
We drank coffee in her living room, sitting across from each other, this time at her dinner table.
I looked at my watch.
‘If I’m to bring down the government with an exposé of international intrigue, I’d better be going,’ I said. ‘I promised the folks at News Today I’d be at their offices by ten. Don’t want to be late.’
Tanya read me like a book. ‘You can escape, don’t worry.’
I grabbed my coat, perhaps a little too hastily. ‘Well, yes. Thank you.’
Tanya laughed again. ‘Duncan, I never seen you like this. Everything is okay. Last night was nice. Very nice, actually. Now go off and write your story and stop worrying about me. I will survive my broken heart.’
Her last sentence w
as dripping with irony. She gave a satisfied, catlike stretch and stood up as a signal for me to go.
As I drove to the News Today offices, I forced myself to focus on the meeting ahead.
Alex had already assembled her team in the meeting room before I arrived, briefed them on what I’d been up to. I took them all through everything that happened in Moscow, including the menacing plane ticket, which I produced with a flourish. Some of the younger members of her team were open-jawed in fascinated horror, but Alex maintained a professional composure. I went through everything that Dmitry had told me, but omitting any details about the website folder. I played the audiotape, a female Sergey explaining all about the troll factory in a computer-generated American accent. Finally, I sat back in my chair and forced myself to appear proud of what little I’d revealed.
‘So, what do you think? Much of a story?’
Alex didn’t hide her disappointment. ‘Not really. The troll factory interview is all hearsay; your informant couldn’t provide any tangible proof of what he says was going on, and the Russians will deny everything. And in any case, you’ve told us he’s not prepared to go on the record and is about to leave Moscow. We have to track down the trolls working in England to hear what they tell us and I’ll need your Russian contacts, Sergey and Dmitry, to go on the record. If we can do all that, we might have something.’
‘Surely there’s enough already to show the Russians are behind Act Now!?’ I glanced at the rest of her team to see if they shared her scepticism.
‘I don’t think so,’ Alex replied. ‘It could be Act Now! themselves for all we know, doing all this. And we certainly can’t go so far as to claim that the Russians are behind the formation of Act Now! all around the world and are now looking for payback. The most we can say is that the Russians might have a vested interest in Act Now! succeeding and are willing to do a few underhand things to help them along. There’s no evidence that Act Now! has colluded in these dirty tricks or even knew they were going on, never mind that they are under the control of their Moscow puppet-masters. I’m sorry, Duncan. I know you took some personal risk in getting us this story, but that’s how it seems to me.’