by BRM Stewart
There was a break for lunch: a platter of cheeses, cold meats and bread, with coffee and water.
Towards the end of the afternoon, when I was getting really tired – I had been the focus all day, answering questions, talking – they put a simple question to me, originally from Gheorghe but through Bianca to Coralia: ‘What do you think we should put our attention to?’
‘That depends,’ I said. ‘Do you want to make money, or do you want to disrupt someone else’s online life?’
That took a bit of translating, but I think we got there. They wanted to make money.
‘OK,’ I said. I thought for a minute. ‘I’ll come over tomorrow morning – with Aurel?’ He nodded. ‘And I’ll work on some ideas, then discuss it through Coralia with – Bianca?’ A nod. ‘Then in the afternoon we can all go through those ideas, and take it from there. See if they fly.’
This last statement caused puzzled looks when translated, so I waved it away. They agreed to my plan.
That evening I went out for a walk and found the bizarrely named London Pub, which, of course, sold Italian lagers. I had one, and then walked back to the hotel to be served dinner by the tall waitress with an even shorter skirt tonight, the parrot even noisier. Then it was another couple of beers and up to my room.
I checked my emails: nothing from Helen. I emailed Sandy to tell him everything looked fine. Absolutely exhausted, I went to bed, falling asleep to the thoughts that I wanted to go back, back to the day before that Alvor thing, back to my relationship with Helen, back to my comfortable, safe life.
Outside in the streets, the dogs started barking.
Chapter 16
Glasgow and York – the mid nineties
Mid-morning, Davey and I met with Sandy at St Vincent Street, and I gave my impressions from the conference.
‘Online security,’ I said. ‘It’s bigger than we thought: there’s a whole market in keeping people secure, stopping their details being stolen. We can really establish a name for ourselves, and help people and businesses.’
I told them about Colin Strachan, and Sandy reached for his mobile and disappeared into an office while Davey and I went for a coffee.
‘I’ll need to get a mobile,’ I said.
Davey frowned. ‘Why?’
I shrugged. ‘I want one.’
‘Like one of these?’ Charlie came from nowhere, making one of his rare appearances. He’d hung around a lot at the beginning of the B&D office, mainly trying to get off with the secretary. He’d either given up or, possibly, completed his mission and lost interest. He grabbed a coffee and sat with us, showing us his little mobile phone. ‘Can’t function without this boys – the office can get me wherever I am.’
I could see how that might be useful: he was never in the office. However, I wondered who would ever contact him, and why: he still contributed nothing that I could see, though he was the major partner in B&D.
We sat for a time, then Davey said: ‘Sam didn’t come in today.’
‘You still shagging her?’ Charlie asked, lighting up a cigarette.
Davey looked up at me, puzzled, and I just looked embarrassed, and ashamed… and a mixture of a lot of emotions, but certainly not any pride.
‘It’s all over,’ I mumbled. ‘It was just a fling. For both of us. Nothing more.’
That morning, I had told Sam it was over. We hadn’t seen each other since I’d got back from London – I’d taken the day off, and she’d then been at college. I’d suggested a drink and a meal the night before. My intention had been to tell her that we couldn’t continue, but she’d babbled on, not letting me get a word in edgeways. But I’d got a bit drunk, and she was looking damned sexy. So we’d gone back to my flat, and one thing had led to another. And another.
In the morning, as she stood naked by the window, looking out, drying her hair, she asked what we would do that evening. I looked at her, trying to analyse my feelings: physical desire for her certainly, but beyond that? Conversations in the pub were just a prelude to sex.
I said I’d let her know about ‘later’. I’d be in St Vincent Street all of today, probably till very late. She took that happily, and got dressed.
Then she climbed over the bed to me, and grinned. ‘How about tomorrow?’
‘Sam... look – it’s great being with you, and the sex and everything is fantastic, but…’
She sat up, her smile fading to a frown. ‘Martin? What are you saying?’
‘We’ve nothing on common,’ I blurted out.
The beginnings of awareness and horror crossed her face, and I felt like a shit. ‘Is there someone else?’
‘No.’ Which was technically true at that moment.
‘Are you saying you don’t want to go out with me?’ Awareness, horror, puzzlement were all there.
I closed my eyes. Tell her, tell her. ‘I think we should have a break. Our relationship is all about sex, we need to explore…’
But she was already on her way to the bathroom door, sobbing, slamming it behind her and loudly locking it. I clenched my fists and swore at myself for being such a complete shit.
I’d managed to get out of the flat without seeing her, and, just as importantly, without needing to go to the bathroom. I’d used the facilities at the office, after grabbing a bacon roll from a shop a few streets away from the office. I was looking dishevelled, and I ached inside. I hadn’t done this before, hurting someone who apparently loved me. It felt awful, and god knew what effect it would have on Sam: I was no better that Charlie had been – worse, in fact.
Sandy came out of the office and beckoned the three of us in, rescuing me from Davey’s censure.
‘Want to run through the main details for Charlie?’ Sandy said, so I did.
Charlie really paid attention for a change, and tried to think about what I was saying, but I could see the bafflement behind his eyes.
‘OK,’ Sandy resumed, ‘I’ve checked out your man Colin Strachan, and had a word.’ He sat back in his chair, and took a drink of his coffee. ‘He seems to be an expert in his field, all the qualifications, an MBA no less, and he has his own consultancy firm. Which consists of a wee flat in Highgate, and a mobile phone number – no staff. One man show – not that there is a problem with that. He has a conviction for fraud, and is a discharged bankrupt.’
My heart sank, and looked at Davey. ‘Ah well. Sorry, Sandy. He sounded like the real deal.’
Sandy was smiling. ‘Let’s interview him tomorrow, as planned. You and Davey talk to him first, and see what he’s like, whether you could work with him. Then Charlie and I will have a word.’
‘You’re not put off by his dodgy past?’
‘On the contrary, Martin.’ He smiled. ‘On the contrary.’
*
That afternoon I found a Vodafone shop in the city centre and got myself a wee Nokia mobile phone on a contract, then went to the big pub on George Square to wonder what to do with it.
My first phone call was to Elizabeth.
‘Hi. It’s Martin, from the conference.’
‘Oh. Hi.’
‘You free to talk?’
‘Yes.’ I heard footsteps and a door closing, and the background noise went away. ‘That’s better. How are you, Martin?’
‘I’m good. I – eh – sorted out my complicated relationship.’
‘That’s good. I sorted out my complicated engagement.’
There was a silence.
‘So what do we do now?’ I asked.
‘I’ll be at that book festival in Edinburgh in a few weeks.’
‘Of course. It would be nice to meet up before then.’
‘Yes it would. We’re busy in the shop, though. Getting ready for the festival. I’m not sure I could take time off.’
‘I’m busy too, but I could come down to York. If that would help.’
‘Yes, that would help.’
‘I could find a hotel.’
‘Don’t worry about that – I’ve got plenty of room at my place: I
live just outside York, a village called Upper Poppleton.’
I laughed at the name.
‘We have a railway station and a pub and a shop – all I need.’
‘Sounds lovely.’
‘So when can I expect you?’
‘I could probably get there Friday evening – I’d need to check the times of the trains.’
‘That would be perfect. I’m working Saturday, but you could browse around, and we could meet for lunch, and there’s a concert at night at the University Concert Hall. You like classical music?’
‘Of course,’ I said. Maybe I did.
‘OK – let me know when your train gets in, and I’ll meet you at the station. Looking forward to seeing you again.’
‘And me.’
I worked out how to finish a call, and sat with my beer. Yes, this was the right decision. Elizabeth was cultured – classical music! – and intelligent. She was attractive and funny. Sam was a lovely wee thing, and a sexual athlete, but she wasn’t what I wanted.
I thought about the options, and agreed with myself that I’d made the right choice. I needed to properly move on from Fiona.
*
Two weeks later, Colin was in place as a full partner of the St Vincent Street business. Charlie was CEO of B&D Software Solutions, and Bytes and Digits, with a remit to stay out of the fucking way. There was another company mentioned on the paperwork – ‘Software Support Services’ – and Charlie and I were partners in it, but Sandy told us not to worry about that: it was just a tax thing.
And I’d had my first weekend with Elizabeth, in York. I’d got there on the train just before six – not a bad journey: change at Waverley, less than four hours in total – and she’d met me at the station, and taken me to a little pub for a drink, and a tentative embrace and a kiss on the lips. Then we got the train to the small town and the bungalow where she lived. I dumped my bag in her spare room, got changed, and we went to the local pub for food and wine.
We talked. We talked about books and films and music and the theatre, and uncovered all the gaps in my knowledge. I’d been buried all these years in computer magazines, and now geeky websites and discussion forums, and so much had passed me by. Elizabeth said she’d broaden my education.
She spoke about the business, and the threats to it.
Then, a good bit drunk, we linked arms and went back to her home, where we sat in the dark lounge, listening to a classical CD, sipping wine, talking more, sharing our past: Fiona, my dad and wee brother – the tears came again and she held me tight – and Sam, and the business. She told me about two failed engagements: one she admitted was her fault – too busy building the bookshop, and an ill-judged one-night stand with a colleague – but the other was his fault: serial infidelity, though maybe her continuing obsession with work had been a factor.
And then we starting kissing and stroking, and undoing catches and buttons.
‘Did you bring any condoms?’ she gasped.
‘No – didn’t want to make assumptions.’
She reached for my hand to stand up. ‘I’ve got some in the bedroom – let’s go to bed, Martin.’
*
And it just went on from there, effortlessly. Weekends in York, which meant taking Friday afternoons and Monday mornings off, but that was no problem. She was very busy with work, and some Fridays when I arrived in York I had to sit in a pub in a narrow, winding street with a couple of pints of Theakston’s and a book, but that was no hardship. Most Saturdays she had to go into the bookshop for at least part of the day, sometimes staying late, but again I loved wandering the city. Sometimes I just stayed in her bungalow, doing some of my work online.
We agreed we needed a break, a holiday to get us off the treadmill of work, and, with some misgivings I suggested the Algarve. We went to a place called Carvoiero, but took a trip along the coast to Alvor. There, on the beach there where I’d been before, as I held onto Elizabeth, I believed I’d finally put Fiona to rest. She was gone, Sam had been a blip, Elizabeth was my future.
Taking time together, with no work to get in the way, Elizabeth and I properly fell in love, and spoke about commitment. She taught me about wine and food. Our lovemaking became less frenetic, except on a Friday when we hadn’t been together for a week: we took the time to get to know each other, and what we both liked. I learned that she liked what she liked, and no more, but that was fine with me. I had no complaints. My life was back on track. My future, like the sky above us, was clear and wonderful. I had it all. Nothing would go wrong this time.
*
Colin Strachan sat with two men at a table in the lounge of the hotel on North Bridge, above Waverley Station in Edinburgh, a lounge so large that you could easily have discreet conversations without being overheard, and probably wouldn’t even be noticed.
They sipped their coffees, and Colin kept them topped up from the cafetiere.
The two men were young, younger than Colin. They were thin and quite short, wearing jeans and jackets, shirts with no ties. Their faces were clean-shaven, their hair short. Colin looked a bit young to be their father, but could possibly be an uncle.
One man looked at the other, and then asked Colin: ‘So what’s your idea?’ He was English, educated.
Colin cleared his throat. ‘I have access to the computer systems of various businesses in and around Glasgow – and our client base is growing all the time.’ He was exaggerating a little: the business was in its infancy. ‘I am in a position to influence the installation of these systems, and I will have the master password for the networks and individual computers.’ That too was a slight leap of imagination, but he felt it was highly feasible.
The men nodded. ‘And?’
Colin sat back. ‘You tell me. What would you be able to do with such access?’
One of them shrugged. ‘You heard the speakers at the workshops. Anyone with that access could install any kind of malware and make sure the anti-virus program ignored it. The malware could do anything: capture credit card details, bank accounts, passwords, email addresses. Those could be used or sold on. Network ports could be left open at particular times of day, which would allow anything to happen in future. Just need to tweak the firewall.’
‘Could you two organise all of that?’
The men looked at each other. ‘We can do the software and use it to get everything off of the machines.’
‘But,’ the other one added, ‘we don’t ourselves have direct access to the dark markets where such things are traded.’
‘Oh.’
‘But we have a contact: a network called Gregorius.’
‘So you would have to contact them and negotiate.’
‘It won’t be difficult. They would pay a set fee for every machine we infect.’
‘But they might get nothing off some and a fortune from others.’
The young men smiled. ‘In this situation, where we could guarantee a regular supply of new machines, we could work a new system.’
‘Such as?’
‘Charge per machine, but make it renewable. After one month, say, Gregorius either gives up access to the machine – and you change the master password – or they pay again for another month, at a higher rate.’ Both men shrugged. ‘Because we can turn off the tap at any time, we can ensure a steady return. Obviously we take a part of the monthly fee, as well as a big chunk up front.’ He indicated himself and his colleague.
Colin nodded. ‘That sounds OK. ‘When could we start?’
‘You identify your next client, and we will be with you just after you install their system. You need all the details of the computer and any passwords to access it – your IT people will have all the info. We can take it from there. We will also need to come to your office and look at your system. After that, we can work remotely.’
‘How about communication?’
‘We’ll each buy a new pay-as-you-go mobile, and use it only for this project.‘
Colin nodded and took a deep breath. It was goi
ng to work. The chance meeting with Martin McGregor and his open-minded criminal boss Sandy Lomond, and now these guys. A few years of this and he could retire to his Spanish flat permanently.
Chapter 17
May – Romania
At the end of the third day, when everyone was looking as tired as I was, we decided to take a day off. We’d reached a stage where they had choices to make, and Bianca and Gheorghe seemed to want to go off and meet with other people to talk about things. They were nearly ready to implement the plan, beginning with a fake corporation with lots of fake subsidiaries with websites – all basically short-term, unsustainable scams to generate quick money, leading on to the strategy to begin harvesting email accounts, mobile phone numbers, bank details – all very like what we had in Glasgow. They seemed to know some criminal gangs based in the old communist bloc who could simply trade email lists, customer details, and rafts of credit card numbers: some of these would have been detected by their owners, and stopped, but enough of them would work. It was probably the same people who picked up the stuff from B&D’s activities: Gregorius or similar.
They were really excited by the possibilities for exploiting what Facebook had opened up, where people happily published their phone numbers, home towns, and current locations. ‘Ceaușescu,’ Bianca smiled, ‘he would have love Facebook. Securitate not required.’
I was looking forward to a day off to wander the city, away from them, but Tudor and Aurel said they would take me for a drive, to see something of the countryside. I couldn’t refuse.
The next morning after breakfast they picked me up and we drove north. As soon as we were out of the city, the traffic thinned, and horses and carts appeared on the road. At a level crossing, a set of feral dogs materialised from the fields and sat at the car drivers’ doors, begging for a couple of minutes then moving down the line when nothing happened. We passed two Romany camps, and Tudor expressed his distaste for them. ‘Lazy. Young girls only want good husband. No ambition. Thieves.’