Never Forget

by Richard Davis

  A door opened. Gravelly footsteps. Then he was there – a yard before her.

  The non-descript anorak. Indecipherable face. Jaded eyes.

  He nodded. ‘I know it’s a big effort to have to drive all this way just to communicate. But given the circumstances, I still believe it’s necessary.’

  Yuelin nodded. She understood his position. He continued:

  ‘As per usual, all I want – and need – is the confirmation that everything’s going to plan; that we’re still working to the agreed timeline.’

  Yuelin nodded. ‘We’re on track.’

  The guy nodded. If he was pleased, he didn’t show it.

  She regarded him carefully. She knew he didn’t want to hear any more from her. But this time, she wanted more from him.

  ‘Saul Marshall. Does that name mean anything to you?’

  The guy looked at her with stony silence. This was a break with protocol. But she knew the situation warranted it. She added suddenly:

  ‘I don’t see how it would compromise your position—’

  He cut her off with a raised hand. ‘He’s an ex FBI agent. Before that, he was a con-artist of some notoriety. He’s something of an embarrassment to US national security, since it is thought that he is at least in part responsible – through his inaction – for terrorist events unfolding on American soil. His part to play, however, has been suppressed from the public.’

  He broke off abruptly, and continued his stony stare.

  Suddenly, Yuelin’s nails were puncturing her palms, and that anger she’d felt a few hours ago when she’d found out what’d happened to her men – that giddy, zealous, insatiable anger – again pounded through her neck.

  ‘The piece of shit killed six of my brothers. And he nearly – very, very nearly – undermined my weeks of meticulous planning in—’

  The guy again raised his hand and started tutting. Yuelin went on over him:

  ‘—in Vegas. The killings still came off – I had a man on the inside who told me there’d been a tip, that we had to hurry – but it was a close call. And all because of this guizi.’

  ‘Stop,’ the guy broke in authoritatively. ‘I haven’t heard a word you just said. No: I can’t afford to have heard a word you just said, as you well know.’

  Yuelin stared at him hard. She felt sure he could feel her anger. The heat exuding from her. The guy held her gaze a long moment; then:

  ‘Saul Marshall’s a drifter. If he was to wind up dead, there would be no official investigation. On the contrary: the authorities would actively suppress an investigation, and would likely be very pleased he’d been taken care of. In other words, while other deaths may need to be accounted for, his does not, okay?’

  These words hung in the air. Then Yuelin nodded. She understood what he was saying. Understood, too, that even this was a concession. She felt calmer.

  ‘Do what you need to do,’ the guy added. ‘As agreed, there’ll be two more meetings and, at the final one, we complete our transaction. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  * * *

  Once the SUV had departed, Yuelin climbed back into the Crown Vic, and opened the bag containing her many walkie-talkies: one on a different frequency for each of her correspondents, so that if one frequency got compromised, the rest would remain intact. She took up the one that would put her in contact with Shuai and Jantzen, and pushed the button:

  ‘Shuai? Jantzen?’

  ‘Yuelin,’ came Shuai’s voice a second later.

  Yuelin licked her lips. ‘Do you have him ready? And the fire?’

  ‘Yes – awaiting your order to proceed.’

  ‘Do it now. But hold the walkie-talkie up as you do it: I want to hear.’

  There was a lengthy pause. Then the walkie-talkie crackled to life again. Not with a voice. But with a curdled, throat-tearing scream of agony. The scream of fire meeting flesh.

  Todd Liang hadn’t originally been fated for the flame: he was merely someone Yuelin had needed for information; someone who happened, in fact, to be of Chinese extraction, and thus someone Yuelin had initially been willing to treat with relative kindness. But then after making extensive use of Todd, it’d regrettably become clear that Todd could be a liability, that the dirt might not be enough to keep him in line. That Todd needed to be silenced. But while the sound of him meeting his fate calmed her, filled her with an awesome sense of justice done, she knew that Marshall and Kelden ought to be meeting the same fate.

  Yuelin flexed her fingers, and though she felt the anger coursing, it felt under control.

  It was fine, she thought. Saul and Ellen will meet the same fate. Only a matter of time.

  Chapter 20

  Sunday, December 12, 4:30 a.m. – 56 Liberty Dock, Sausalito, San Francisco.

  It was just gone 4:30 a.m. when we arrived in Sausalito – the counter-cultural enclave just north across the Golden Gate Bridge from San Francisco. And we were parked on the road just round the corner from where the GPS bug on Manek’s bike had stopped: at one of the multi-million dollar houseboats on Liberty Dock.

  It’d been an eight and a half hour slog back to the coast, but Vann bore the brunt behind the wheel, while Ellen and I re-charged our batteries in the back: Ellen had gone out like a light, her head in my lap, and I snoozed against the door. We had unhesitatingly headed in the direction of San Francisco because of the bug on Manek’s bike. However, I had another reason for heading to San Francisco: I’d recognized a number of the nationalists, and I had an old friend in San Francisco who I reckoned could illuminate things further. But though I had every intention of telling Vann and Ellen about this, I had put it off, largely because I’d been too tired to broach it. In fact, the only conversation we’d had – in the final hour of our journey – had been about Manek. It was now indisputable that he’d lied, and we all agreed that, since we didn’t have time for games, it was time to turn the screws. And his location worked in our favor. A house-boat on a dock – no escape route.

  It’d also crossed our minds that instead of finding him in a hackers’ commune – which we thought was most likely – we might in fact find him among the nationalists. But even if the house-boat was full of nationalists, we reckoned brute-force shock tactics were our best bet: they were more likely to quickly overcome the enemy.

  And so, when we arrived, we didn’t hesitate. We got out of the car, and walked towards the entrance of Liberty Dock.

  Although dark, we could still make out the lay of the land. These houseboats were not dingy, depressing dives, they were three-story converted ferries, permanent fixtures affixed to the dock with little wooden bridges. And the colorful paint-jobs and miniature herb gardens gave an air of hippie counter-culture.

  A neighborhood of fat-cat socialists: bestselling novelists, famous sculptors, acclaimed filmmakers. Perhaps a computer programmer or two.

  Vann sniffed the unseasonably hot air. ‘So you going to take the lead on this, Saul? Looks like all these places have just one entrance.’

  I flexed my neck. I was feeling fresher for the sleep. ‘That’s the plan. I go in, and hunt down Manek while you cover me. If it is just another hackers’ commune, the key objective is to make sure none of the others call the cops – so let’s keep them under watch, and maybe even imply that we are the police. By the same token: we don’t want to make too much noise and have the neighbors raise the alarm.’

  Vann grinned. ‘Just a shame we didn’t have time to get you a parrot and hook so you’d really look the part.’

  ‘And what about me?’ asked Ellen pragmatically.

  ‘There’s only one route of escape, so I reckon you should stay out front, and make sure no one does a runner.’

  She nodded, and we headed down the wooden dock. Soon enough, we hit the house the GPS device had led us to – 58 Liberty Dock. A bright yellow ferry, which comprised of at least 1,500 square feet of floor space, over three stories, and which had Manek’s bike pushed up against the outer wall.

  There we
re lights on, but the curtains were drawn.

  I led the way over the small bridge. I examined the gap between the door and the jamb. The door was unlocked.

  I took out my Walther. Go-time.

  I burst silently through the door, the weapon raised. I was in a large foyer, and immediately I had company: there were two young men, in a cloud of marijuana smoke, on a sofa. And my first thought was: this is definitely a hackers’ commune.

  One of them jumped to his feet.

  ‘What the fuck, man?’

  ‘This is a bust. Where’s Manek?’ I demanded brutally.

  ‘Fuck you, pig.’

  I moved straight past them, to a spiral staircase on the other side of the room, and as I began mounting the stairs, I looked back, and saw that Vann had them in his sights, and was demanding how many people were in the house. The other guy replied: four.

  I reached the top of the stairs, and found myself in an oversized lavish living room. Carpeted floor. Fireplace. Beamed ceiling. And though the spiral staircase led up to another floor, there were four doors off this space.

  There were at least two more people in the house, including Manek. And while we hadn’t made enough noise to alert the neighbors, anyone on this floor at least would undoubtedly know something was up. That meant I needed to be careful…

  I approached the first door, and booted it open. A kitchen – empty. The second door – a bedroom, empty. The third door – a Jacuzzi on an outdoor mezzanine, empty. Then I approached the fourth, and, half-expecting it also to yield nothing, kicked it down.

  A small pen-knife came slashing down at me, and I took an urgent half-step back and it whispered past my face. It was held by a small, greasy-faced guy, who looked terrified at his own display of violence. My response was immediate and instinctive: as he was still following through, out of balance, my gun came up, and whipped him round the ear.

  A pop as his ear-drum perforated and he was down for the count.

  Man number three. And the bedroom behind him empty.

  The next instant, I was back on the spiral staircase, pounding upwards. As I did so, I hoped to hell that Manek was upstairs; hoped to hell he wasn’t planning on doing something stupid. I couldn’t afford to have another lead die on me.

  My heart was hammering, but I felt calm, focused, lucid…

  No sooner did I hit the top of the stairs than I found Manek, standing with his back to the wall, the other side of a large hackers’ space: a room packed with high-end computers. He had sweat on his chin, panic in his eyes, and a Colt pistol in his right hand, aimed directly at me.

  ‘Stay where you are,’ he yelled, his voice breaking.

  I held my ground, my Walther raised.

  His gun told me he’d expected trouble. But the tremor in his hand told me he had little experience with firearms.

  On one hand, this was dangerous: a lack of confidence can make a target volatile. On the other, it meant I had a better chance of taking the lead.

  The trick was to act fast. Give no time to think.

  I glanced around my immediate vicinity. Just within my range was a hard plastic stool, no more than knee height. I had a plan.

  ‘I lower mine, you lower yours – nobody gets hurt.’

  ‘How can I trust you?’

  ‘It’s either that, or both our heads roll. On the count of three.’

  He said nothing. I started counting. ‘One, two, three.’

  At that, I slowly started lowering my arm, and he did the same. Four seconds later, both our arms reached our side.

  Almost in the same moment, my foot lashed out like a snake, and belted the stool across the room. It bounced once and smashed into his legs, and he toppled awkwardly onto his gun-wielding arm with a visceral crunch.

  Next thing I knew, I was across the room, straddling his back, and prizing the weapon from his hand. Then, once disarmed, I twisted the arm he’d landed on, and he groaned in pain. He was under control.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Arjun was on the sofa in the foyer, with Ellen and me standing over him, while Vann was upstairs with the three others, keeping them in check – not least because we didn’t need three strangers privy to what we were asking about.

  We hadn’t said a word to Arjun yet. The tension was showing on his face.

  I grabbed a chair, placed it opposite Manek, and sat, fondling my Walther with deliberate menace.

  ‘Arjun, I’ll cut to the chase,’ I said quietly. ‘We know you lied about GhostWallet: we went to an untraceable location, used GhostWallet, and a team of terrorists showed up and took us hostage. Now, there’s one of two possible scenarios. Scenario one: you’re in cahoots with them – either willingly or not. Scenario two: Lawrence told the nationalists about the trapdoor, you know nothing about them, and you lied out of loyalty to your libertarian ideals. Either way, the situation’s simple: either you tell us what you know, or there’s trouble.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about? There’s no goddamn trapdoor.’

  ‘Wrong answer.’ I lifted the gun, and flicked off the safety.

  Thick beads of sweat instantly formed on his temples, and words tumbled out of him:

  ‘Please, please, I honestly have no fucking clue about a trapdoor. Please, listen, listen, there’s no trapdoor, I have no idea about any terrorists, swear to God.’

  I hadn’t planned to shoot him there and then: I’d planned to get a reaction. But while what he said was unexceptional, his tone wasn’t. He sounded profoundly sincere.

  I lowered the gun and regarded him carefully.

  ‘So these terrorists just happened to run into us?’ I said bitterly; then, after a brief pause, I added more patiently: ‘Or are you saying there is a trapdoor, but you just didn’t know about it? Because that’d explain not knowing about the terrorists.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand.’ He was red, on the brink of tears.

  ‘Help me understand.’

  He opened his mouth, shut it again, shook his head.

  ‘I’m losing patience,’ I whispered.

  ‘Who are you?’ he said with sudden urgency. ‘I need to know who you are.’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘Enough with the goddamn libertarian shit! Am I supposed to believe that you have no idea about these terrorists, and that you’re willing to lose your life simply to protect your goddamn app? For god’s sake: it’s already been compromised!’

  ‘This is bigger—’ He broke off, then said quickly. ‘Given the situation, yes, I’m willing to give my life rather than tell the wrong person. I don’t want to die, but I will. So either you tell me who you are, or shoot me now.’

  Silence. I looked at Ellen whose face was indecipherable, then back to Manek.

  Two options. Either resort to violence, or humor him. And all at once, I made the decision to humor him. Something told me the libertarian stuff was real, and that he really was willing to share if I could offer some assurances.

  And after all, if it didn’t play out as I wanted, I still had the other option…

  ‘My name’s Saul Marshall. If you’re worried about what you know falling into the hands of the state, then I’m not someone to be concerned about. On the contrary: as someone who once worked for the government, and wronged them, I’m considered an enemy of the state. But my relationship to the state is immaterial. A team of radical Chinese nationalists are using technology to track down and murder innocent protestors and I need to know exactly what’s going on so I can shut these fuckers down.’

  Arjun was rubbing his temples. ‘Okay, okay,’ he mumbled. He looked up, new resolve in his eyes. He had no way of verifying my story. But it looked like he was about to take a punt.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘When you went to this – untraceable location – what exactly did you do on the computer?’

  I shrugged. ‘Used GhostWallet, not much else matters.’

  ‘It matters a lot,’ he said loudly. ‘A lot. Tell me what you did.’

  I looked at Elle
n. A small nod.

  ‘We downloaded TOR, visited a Dark Net website, and transferred money to someone via that website.’

  Arjun nodded. ‘And on that website, did you input information that identified you?’

  I looked at him hard. ‘Yes, we signed in. But all information we sent was encrypted with Public Key.’

  He was still nodding. Then his eyes went misty, like he was thinking how to proceed.

  ‘Two months ago, Lawrence visited me out the blue: turned up at the squat I was at in LA, and told me he had big news – news I couldn’t share with anyone. He claimed that he and a cypherpunk team he’d been working with had achieved the biggest libertarian breakthrough of a generation: they’d not only de-anonymized TOR, but also bypassed the use of Public Key Encryption on TOR.’ He paused. ‘Then, by way of proof, he gave me a USB stick. On it, was a short description of how they’d achieved it – not instructions, but the theory – and document that contained details of the corrupt activity of five Californian elites, real high-powered people, as proof.’

  I absorbed this slowly.

  ‘So you’re telling me that this nationalist team don’t have a tiny window into the Dark Net: they’ve blown it wide open? That this team can see all the online activity of those people who’ve gone out of their way to conceal what they’re doing? And that’s how they tracked us?’

  Manek gave a blood-shot stare.

  ‘That’s precisely what I’m saying. They may only be a small team, but TOR is considerably smaller than the rest of the internet, so it’s definitely conceivable that they’ve been able to monitor all Dark Net activity. But the implications are vaster.’ He shook his head. ‘Sure, not many people use TOR compared to the mainstream internet. But it’s still used by thousands of dissidents the world over. In fact, they depend on it: it’s the last safe refuge on the net. Right now, it sounds like you’ve got a small team using this technology to carry out retribution on a small scale. But imagine if it fell into the hands of an authoritarian government – say, Russia or China – with the resources to follow up and punish every dissident. Hell – after Snowden– I’d be shitting myself even if the NSA got hold of it, because we sure as hell can’t trust them not to trample on our liberties.