by A J Jameson
THE HACKER WHO BECAME NO ONE
A.J. JAMESON
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
The Hacker Who Became No One. Copyright © 2018 by A.J. Jameson
All Rights Reserved
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 1
“The blast radius is confined to the intersection,” Marek said, another succession of car horns blaring through the storm drain above. “It won’t reach the buildings, and our diversions will stop pedestrians from entering the danger zone.”
“What about the drivers?” Zyta asked, her hazel eyes grayed by the surrounding shadows. “We can’t blow the explosives if there’s a traffic jam, Marek. It’s bad enough we’re claiming the lives of eight men.”
“Terrorists,” Marek said, a little too forcefully. He rolled his shoulders against the tight-fitting jacket. “We’ve gathered extensive background information on each radical, and their rate of redemption falls below satisfactory levels.”
Zyta pulled at the collar of her blouse in repetitive motions, attempting to generate some air flow. “This whole thing…” she trailed off, searching the shadowy walls to her right. “The plan feels too much like Sadie. What’s the good of being Vanguard if you’re going to mirror her strategies?”
Marek gently clasped a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Thirteen precincts. Hundreds of law enforcement officers and staff members. Desk workers. People locked in holding cells. Witnesses giving interviews—"
“Forensics, medical responders, and members of the canine unit,” Zyta added. “I know what’s at risk, and I agree that we have to prevent it. I’m only questioning the method.” She bit her lower lip.
Marek had told Zyta countless times that all “questions” were to be brought up during the pre-op phase, inside the briefing room. Second guessing during a live mission ran the risk of skewing the time frame. It added seconds that trickled into minutes and introduced the variable of impossibility.
Marek checked his watch. Three minutes before the train passes. He needed Zyta’s undivided attention before they could continue with the mission. Her role didn’t require much talking or interaction, but it did require her to stay in line. To stay submissive. “The method is sound. Progressive.”
“Progressive?” she asked, eyebrows hidden beneath choppy bangs.
“Aggressive,” Marek corrected. “Anything less would fail to render an adequate response. For instance, handing the radicals over to the police. They’d get locked up, questioned, and spill some names. Maybe even confess. But we don’t need names, we need public support. Higher ratings for our boys and girls in blue. And unfortunately, violence is the surest way.”
The sound of metal wheels grinding against the subway rails grew louder in the distance. Marek hunched down to pick up the spray-painted piece of cardboard, lifting it by a string handle. He leaned it on-edge and knelt behind its cover, Zyta joining his side. She produced a pair of earplugs and they each stuffed their left ear, their right already protected by their MET communications device.
The train’s headlights spilled over the cardboard and illuminated Zyta’s face. Her naturally pale complexion was golden from an application of spray tan. Artificial, Marek thought, a shiver running down his spine. All fell dark a moment later.
Their twenty-minute window had opened.
“Just finished wiring the last of the explosives,” Eduardo’s voice came through the MET. “I’ll be at rendezvous in two mikes.”
Marek tapped his pinky against the transmitter. “Train’s behind schedule. We’ll be late a minute or two.”
“Roger.”
Marek disabled his MET. He could feel his sister’s reluctance, which was kind of funny because he was horrible at reading people—that was her skill. But he needed her to be enthusiastic for him to be effective. It’d been that way since they were kids. He fed off her mood. Or maybe it was contagious. Either way, he had about thirty seconds to fix the situation.
“You’re right,” he said. “We’re running this mission by Sadie’s playbook, and I think it stems back to Law. He made her leader of Alpha squad, and I guess to me that meant she was doing something he liked. So I mimicked her tactics.”
“He told us to never copy anybody, Marek. Remember our training, plan for ourselves. It’s the best way to keep C3U well-rounded.”
Marek nodded. Thinking back to the mission’s scouting phase, he could almost imagine Sadie standing twenty feet from where he was now, pointing at the pillars to suggest weaknesses in the infrastructure.
He turned back to his sister. “If this mission pans out the way it should, Bravo will continue to be Vanguard. And I promise, we’ll place the minimization of casualties as top priority.”
“Ten-four,” Zyta said, professionally. “The limousine is on standby for evacuation, and we have motorbikes set in two different locations for contingencies.”
Back on track. Marek initiated his MET. “Eduardo, we’ll be there in less than one mike. Yolanda, Ivan, give me a sit rep.”
“Have I mentioned my disdain for the outfit you put me in?” Yolanda answered.
“You? Imagine how I feel,” Ivan said.
“At least you’re putting your skillset to use, playing dress up.”
Ivan cleared his throat. “Identity transformation is the term I prefer.”
“Don’t forget to enable your voice modulator,” Zyta said.
“That better?” Ivan asked, his scratchy voice now morphed into an elegant singer’s. “And please, refer to me as Sylvia from now on.”
Marek snorted at that, and Zyta laughed. Up ahead, Eduardo had activated the mobile flood lights and was waiting patiently next to a stack of briefcases. He checked his watch when he spotted Marek and Zyta approaching.
“All right, Yolanda…Sylvia, the rendezvous is set for 8 mikes,” Marek transmitted. “That leaves you two for entry, one for setup. Make it happen.”
“Roger,” Yolanda responded through the MET, Ivan echoing her.
Staring at the mirror, Yolanda barely recognized herself. Her face (not my real face) was no longer chiseled but soft. Plumper (rounder, like Zyta’s). And the dress she wore, a mashup of mesh and blue thread, hugged her body (also not fully mine) tighter than the knee braces she wore each day. Sixteen-year-old Yolanda would have found the image stunning.
“Do you like it?” Ivan asked, his eyes twinkling like moonlight through an ice sculpture.
“It’s good work,” Yolanda said. “Remarkable. Do you have the dose ready?”
Ivan displayed the small lipstick canister. Then he rubbed the back of his neck. “Does it ever feel like it’s not there?”
“Like what’s not there?” Yolanda asked.
“The tracker,” Ivan said.
Yolanda touched the back of her neck, feeling the tiny pea-size bump. “Yeah, you always feel it, but it’s a good feeling. Like knowing your parents can easily find you if you ever get lost.” Yolanda let her hair down. “Now remember, you give the signal, I give the coun
t. Got it?”
Ivan nodded. They picked up their hand bags and left the bathroom.
“Going offline,” Yolanda radioed the team. She removed her MET, Ivan following suit, and snapped the small transmitter into the slit of her customized wristlet.
Ten paces down the corridor marked their target’s front door. Yolanda knocked, mild pain biting at her knuckles. She missed her gloves.
Ivan gently elbowed Yolanda’s side.
“Shh,” Yolanda grunted.
The prodding continued, so she turned. Ivan wore a huge smile. The kind worn by a person who was completely out of their mind…oh, I should smile. She did, addressing the peephole. A moment later the bolt-lock released, followed by the keylock and a turn of the knob.
The door swung open to accommodate a man with wide shoulders and a meticulously groomed mustache. He was dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and didn’t seem surprised by the presence of two provocatively dressed women. Do we have the right room? Yolanda wondered.
“We’re here for Thaddeus,” Ivan said, his expression bored.
Yolanda loosened her smile and tried to convey similar indifference. The meticulously groomed man, who reacted with anxious surprise to Ivan, met Yolanda with condescending aggravation. Did she not look bored? Probably pissed off. She was kind of pissed off, or at least getting there. This is why I don’t enter the field.
“Hello?” Ivan said, grabbing the man’s attention. “Where’s Thaddeus? Or Ren?”
The man squinted suspiciously, and Yolanda knew why. “Prepare treatment,” she said, just as Ren reached behind his waist. Yolanda rocketed the point of her foot through the upright of his legs.
He bellowed in pain and fell to his knees.
Yolanda hopped around on her good foot and prepared to hold her breath. Ivan supplied the lipstick canister and released its lid. One, two—Ren fell flat on the ground, unconscious—three, four—Ivan recapped the lipstick—five.
“Ren? Seriously?” Yolanda asked. She bent down to grab one of Ren’s ankles.
Ivan took up the other ankle. “I thought he was Thaddeus’ number two?”
“That’s Isaac. This is Ren, their computer tech.”
“Ohhhhh, oops.”
“Yeah, your oops almost got us caught. Now help me with his body.”
They hid Ren’s body in the corner of the room, behind the bed. “Well you didn’t have to kick him in the super sensitive.”
“The what?” Her MET in place, Yolanda radioed the team. “We’re in. Target is subdued, and we’re securing the network.”
“Good work,” Marek said. “Let us know when you have full access.”
“You know, Mr. Vulnerable,” Ivan was saying. “All wool and no steel. Here, give me a hand holding his head?”
Yolanda grunted, leaving her laptop on the desk. She knelt beside Ivan, and gently lifted Ren’s head.
“Just like that,” Ivan said. He picked up the voice analyzer and ran it slowly and smoothly down the length of Ren’s neck. The device emitted a faint violet light. It traced every intricacy within the larynx and then replicated the person’s voice using a software program. Yolanda, personally, wasn’t fond of the technology, having fallen for a prank during Ivan’s initial intake. The rookie wanted to showcase his skillset, transforming his own voice to sound like Marek’s. He then berated Yolanda for her poor physical fitness rating in front of everybody. A “good laugh” that was both unpleasant and harrowing for Yolanda.
“Ready. Hey, you okay?” Ivan asked.
Yolanda accepted the voice analyzer. “Yeah, fine. Where would you rather me kick him, in the stomach? It’s too high.”
“The knee. Kick right through the front, drop and disable all in one motion.”
“You don’t think a busted kneecap would betray his accident?” Yolanda offered the laptop cable. “Plug this into a USB.”
Ivan did, then went back to surveying the camera feeds on Ren’s computer monitor. There were five in total. Two watched the rendezvous point from the subway platform. Two more hung high on street corners to overlook the subway exits. The last was attached to a streetlight, angled at the hotel’s emergency exit. Good, that meant there was no possible footage of Yolanda and Ivan entering the hotel.
“Time to open our eyes,” Yolanda said, loading the images of C3U’s cameras. The first showed the rendezvous point: the section of the subway divided by a fork in the tracks, well-lit by flood lights. Thirty-nine briefcases, two of which were full of dynamite, sat in a neat stack just a few feet away from Eduardo, the team’s demolitions expert. The other two cameras were located twenty-five feet north and south of the first. “Nice image,” Yolanda remarked. “Brighter and crisper than our typical low-light cameras.”
“Thank you,” Ivan said. “High definition, nocturnal adaptation, model 1900. They also can be submerged up to one-thousand feet and will try to replicate colors in deep sea.”
“Impressive,” Yolanda said, her attention more focused on the group of men descending the subway’s northern staircase. She radioed the team. “Targets in sight, entering Vine Street subway. ETA, six minutes. Eduardo, I advise you to finish up and get in position.”
“Just about…finished. Relocating,” Eduardo said, picking up his demolitions kit and jogging southbound along the tracks.
“Update on voice acquisition,” Marek radioed.
“Voice modulator ready, but still processing repetitive diction finder,” Yolanda said. She typed the command in her laptop and motioned for Ivan to give a demonstration.
“Example of voice modulator effect,” he said, his voice deeper and his words accented to sound like Ren’s.”
“Sounds good, Ivan,” Marek said.
“I’m Sylvia, sir.”
“Phase one is over. You’re to revert back to your normal identity. You’re Ivan for the remainder of this mission’s duration.”
“But I’m still in character, sir. Well, I guess I’m acting as Ren now. Permission to be referred to as Ren for phase two of the mission.”
“Permission declined,” Marek said. “Yolanda, I need an update when the diction finder finishes. Alpha team, what’s your position?”
On Yolanda’s laptop, the camera located north of the rendezvous showed Sadie and Kyle from Alpha squad marching southbound along the tracks. They were dressed in suits, as Marek had instructed during pre-op. Sadie rolled her neck, a motion she made a habit of after being promoted to Alpha team’s squad leader, and Kyle cracked his knuckles, a habit he forced after Sadie complimented on how bad-ass it was.
“Report.”
Yolanda checked the diction finder’s status. It was a tenth of the way finished. Then Ivan’s hand covered her mouth.
“Here, sir,” Ivan said.
There was silence. Then in Yolanda’s ear, “In pos—,” she muted her MET before Eduardo could say anymore.
“Give me a report of this afternoon’s presentation.” Paying closer attention to the voice, Yolanda heard the accent; similar to Ivan’s, but touching more syllables.
Through the camera planted twenty-five feet north of the rendezvous, the group of suited men, some holding briefcases, ceased their travels. The one with a balled fist in the air had a cell phone pressed to his ear. “Ren, is everything okay? Did you lose the file?”
Yolanda minimized the camera feeds on her laptop to allow space for the diction finder’s registry. It sequenced all words exchanged on the original Ren’s computer and sorted them by frequency: Bullet-Point, Short-View, Template, Presentation, Slideshow, Transition, Stereo…
Yolanda pointed to Presentation and mouthed, “On schedule.”
“The presentation is on schedule,” Ivan said.
The man in the camera feed, Thaddeus, the radical leader, waved his men forward. “Double check your bullet points and ensure the slides transition nicely.”
“You got it,” Ivan said. Thaddeus stopped walking again. One of his associates had said something to him�
�something reassuring, by the way he nodded and straightened his posture. They continued down the tracks.
Yolanda held up a shushing finger and searched the radical’s computer for sound properties. She located the external microphone and set it to mute. “Good catch,” she said to Ivan. “I thought that was Marek asking for a report. I almost blew this entire operation.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” Ivan said.
Yolanda reenabled her MET. “Marek, they’re inbound. The traffic jam above has cleared. I’ll initiate a forty-five second window when given the signal. The mission’s a go. I repeat, the mission’s a go.”
“About fucking time,” Sadie chimed in. “But I guess I shouldn’t expect anything better coming from Bravo squad.” Through the rendezvous camera Sadie could be seen bumping fists with Kyle.
“I’ll keep saying it, Sadie, you’re an asshole,” Eduardo radioed.
“Airways clear,” Marek demanded. “You heard Yolanda, the mission’s a go. Unless you have something relevant to say, I don’t want to hear it.”
The camera showed that Marek and Zyta were just meeting up with Sadie and Kyle. The squad leaders seemed to be arguing.
“So, are those two always butting heads, Marek and Sadie?” Ivan asked.
Yolanda switched to the camera feed of the intersection above, the vehicles accumulating about ten per lane for each cycled red light, and pondered Ivan’s question. “Yeah, since I can remember.”
“And it’s because Sadie thinks Alpha squad is better than Bravo? I mean, she basically said during the preparation phase that everything would run smoother, or faster or whatever, if Alpha squad was leading the mission.”
Yolanda leaned back in her chair. She never paid too much attention to Marek and Sadie’s feud. It was more of a distraction, than anything. To Yolanda they were just two colleagues that didn’t get along, same as in any other job. Even so, she decided to speculate.
“Sadie was promoted to Alpha squad leader a few weeks ago, after the last squad leader retired, and I think it rubbed Marek the wrong way. You see, Sadie has always been a little…aggressive in method, something she probably picked up while training with Alpha. That’s like, their defining characteristic. Hit the ground running, react first, think later, that type of thing. Except Sadie’s aggression is equal to all her squad members combined, and Marek doesn’t agree with her promotion. Our squad, on the other hand, likes to think things through before acting. We avoid unnecessary casualties, environmental destruction…you know, collateral damage.”