Wreckoning

by Lee Harding

  The customary morning hustle and bustle had been replaced by an eerie silence. Computers bore blank screens, printers sat lifeless. Even the radio was devoid of a toe-tapping tune. It felt like an alien abduction and Alana shivered. She looked to the conference room and saw her colleagues seated behind the glass. She tried to ignore the ominous hum of the electric bulbs overhead and quietly turned the handle to enter.

  All heads turned towards her. Alana scanned the table for an available seat. Aaron ‘Smitty’ Smith gave her a solemn nod before returning his attention to the three men standing at the front. Danny mouthed a hello and tried to give her a grin. Deirdre Hawkins, tenderly named ‘the office bitch’, rolled her eyes and tutted. Although there was an empty seat beside Deirdre, Alana lifted a spare chair and placed it next to her friend Audrey.

  “Hey,” she whispered. Audrey returned a half-hearted smile.

  “As I was saying.” Roger stood with his arms folded across a brown, polyester cardigan. Her boss’s eyes had great drooping bags under them like they’d been stretched.

  “I was alerted to the intrusion at 4am this morning. Some hackers bypassed our security systems and got into our internal network. From there they seem to have wiped all of our data.” He swept his brow with a bedraggled tissue. “We currently have no access to our computers or the backup files. In short, we can’t do anything.”

  Alana looked behind him at the two men standing to the rear of the room. Both wore dark suits and trench coats but that’s where the similarities ended. The one on the right was tall and gawky. He was wearing a pair of thick spectacles and his strawberry blonde hair was gelled tight against his head. Alana was drawn to the man on the left. He was shorter than his colleague but about average height. A light line of stubble ran along a strong jaw line. He had chestnut brown eyes that despite herself, Alana had the sudden urge to drown in. His black hair was neatly trimmed and his lips were strong and steady. He paid close attention to what Roger was saying.

  “I know we have a paper to publish and our deadline is 3pm. However, even if we could access our files our printers also had their systems hacked.”

  Deirdre pushed her scrawny hand in the air.

  “Yes?”

  “Does this mean we can go home?”

  Roger’s face reddened. “No, of course it doesn’t.”

  “But,” she said, drawing her stick-thin frame up into her chair, “what’s the point in being here if we can’t work? That’s daft.”

  Audrey gave her a withering look before speaking up. “That’s hardly the issue we need to address. What happens if we can’t recover those files or get access to the computers?”

  Roger was still flustered but replied, “A newspaper that can’t go to press can’t sell papers. If we can’t get back online soon I’m afraid we would have no choice but to shut down.”

  An exasperated murmur shot around the table. Suddenly the situation had become a lot more real. He’s talking about laying people off already, Alana thought. Danny put his hands on his forehead while Smitty stared up at the ceiling mouthing something to himself.

  The handsome man with the light stubble took a step forward. He waited for the noise to subside before speaking.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Detective Inspector Michael Grant and this is my colleague Sergeant Charlie Mace. We are from Scotland Yard’s Cyber Terrorism Unit. As Mr Dolphrey has pointed out the events that took place this morning are indeed extremely serious.”

  He slowly moved his gaze around the table, looking directly into the eyes of everyone present. Alana’s heart quickened as he reached her.

  “But I want you to know that everything is being done to rectify the situation.”

  His calm manner and firm demeanour helped to ease the mood.

  “Inspector, the television reports say every media company in the UK has been affected; is that true?” Smitty asked.

  “It appears likely.” Sergeant Mace joined the conversation.

  “Well then, perhaps you could tell me what CTU is doing with a small fish like us and not the big sharks down the street?”

  It was an excellent point. Smitty was renowned as a tenacious journalist and always asked the most pertinent questions.

  Inspector Grant glanced at Alana. It made her reel and she leaned over to pour herself a glass of water as he returned his attention to Smitty.

  “I’m afraid I can’t say. Regardless of your company’s size though, you have my word we are doing all that we can.”

  Deirdre snorted. “Fat lot of use that is,” she muttered.

  “Roger, what do you want us to do today seeing as we can’t use the computers?” Alana asked after taking a long drink. She ignored the police man completely.

  Roger snapped out of his daze. “Yes, quite so. We may not have computers but I’ve always said a reporter’s tools are his feet and a pen. We’re still in the business of reporting the news and shall continue to do so. Contact everyone you know to try and find who is behind this attack. This is the biggest story of the century so let’s go to work.”

  Smitty and Danny rose first. They chatted avidly to each other as they left the conference room. Danny tried to give Alana a wave goodbye but she was speaking with Audrey.

  “I’ll contact my old professor at Uni. Perhaps he’ll know about all of this.”

  “Miss White?”

  Alana whipped her head around to come face to chest with Inspector Grant.

  “We’d like to have a word with you, please,” he said. “In private. If you could lead the way to your workstation.”

  Audrey raised her eyebrows as Alana led the two detectives and her boss out of the room. Her cubicle lay to the left next to a large window. Rain pelted off the glass as she sat on the edge of the table to stare at the men. She disregarded the glares coming from Deirdre who stood close by at the coffee machine.

  “Why do you want to talk to me?”

  She tried not to sound defensive. She’d nothing to hide after all.

  “Miss White. May I call you Alana?” Inspector Grant started.

  “As long as I can call you Michael.”

  Roger coughed which made his eyeballs bulge. The detective smiled and nodded. “Do you know anything about this morning’s attack?”

  “No more than anyone else, Michael.”

  “Have you ever been the victim of an online scam or other cyber assault?”

  “I’m proficient in IT. I studied hacking, or more accurately cracking, at university so I am quite au fait with the threat of cyber terrorism.”

  Both detectives looked at each other.

  “Miss White,” Sergeant Mace said, “would you know any reason why someone would attack your computer in particular?”

  Feeling frustrated at the ambiguous bombardment of questions, Alana said, “Could you please just tell me what this has got to do with me?”

  Looking around, DCI Grant ensured Deirdre had filled her mug and skulked off before lowering his voice.

  “Because Alana, your office network, in fact your computer specifically, was the first one targeted out of the hundreds of thousands around the country.”

  Chapter 3

  5th November 12:57

  Angelic beings gazed heavenward, their spread wings shielding the tombs of the upper classes. Those with wealth and fame lined the top of a manicured mound. This spot was the first mourners saw as they entered. Behind the glistening marble lay a muddy walkway that spiralled out of sight. That trail was overgrown and the grimy graves beyond forever overshadowed. This was the path the sisters took.

  Alana cursed herself for wearing the wrong footwear. The significance of the date had completely slipped her mind. Of course the morning’s events hadn’t helped. She hated graveyards. Even as a child when she visited her grandfather’s burial spot she refused to leave the car. It wasn’t the thought of corpses reanimating or vampires wanting to drink her blood, no, nothing that ridiculous. She supposed it was the utter finality she feared.


  Her mother often said she’d never met a child who could ask so many questions. That trait had stayed with her throughout her life. The search for answers was tied to the search for truth and truth was what mattered the most. Many sauntered along not knowing or caring but that would never suffice. She could not and would not lie down until all her questions were answered.

  The graveyard was the full stop of all life’s queries. Alana didn’t want to admit it but it raised one of the hardest questions of all – what is the point of life?

  “Here, hold these.”

  A bouquet of yellow roses was pushed into her hand. Her sister nodded to a cluster of trees in the centre of the plot.

  Walking in the rain while sharing an umbrella was awkward but Alana tried to avoid the bare, muddy spots as they trudged on.

  “You’re getting me all wet,” Paula said. “Stop pulling the brolly away.”

  “Sorry.”

  Alana hunched into her jacket as a distant roll of thunder boomed. Her teeth chattered in the frosty air. Paula was wearing the correct gear as always. A pine-green coat with a waxy finish reached down to a stylish pair of knee-height leather boots. Alana smiled as she saw they were caked in dirt and gravel.

  She was two years older but was often singled out as the youngest. Paula married at twenty-one and became pregnant less than a year later. She was the consummate mother and wife to her darling Craig. Part of Alana felt sick that her sister would throw away her life at such a young age. She saw the both of them as independent women who would travel the world in search of adventure. But when Craig came along – a handsome, charismatic banker from the City – she knew the fantasy was a delusion. Paula fell in love on the spot and they wed within six months.

  It was Paula’s potential gone to waste that angered Alana the most. Men would come and go but youth and ambition had such a short window. Being a housewife, even in a million pound home, held zero appeal. In fact, Alana would have preferred to work in a graveyard. Yet when she held little Stephen in her arms and gazed into those beautiful blue eyes a primal instinct swept through her. It took a forceful portion of willpower to disengage and refocus. She would leave motherhood to the distant future and anyway, that’s why being an aunt was so wonderful; heaping all the benefits without any of the ties.

  “It’s over here.”

  Paula led them to the third tree along. It was an evergreen whose branches always seemed bare. Halfway up its trunk a square brass plate was affixed into the wood. There were no gravestones here.

  Although Alana knew the words etched on the moss-encrusted face she still felt compelled to read them.

  Cameron Faith. Died 5th November. Loving father of Alana and Paula. Sailed home too soon.

  The sisters stood in silence. The sole noise came from the eternal downpour. The rain struck through the stark branches to land on the red and amber leaves piled high by their feet. Alana felt a trembling arm slide under her elbow and latch around her wrist. She turned to see Paula sobbing, her slim face hanging low.

  Alana squatted to place their flowers against the tree then straightened. She wrapped her hand over Paula’s and squeezed it.

  “Why did he have to die, Alana? We barely got to know him.”

  Alana didn’t respond. Her sister continued.

  “I mean, I only met him when I was six. I never had a daddy before. Then he came. It was like a miracle. Do you remember?”

  Yes, thought Alana. I remember very well.

  She was eight-and-a-half and had given up on the concept of a dad. For years she badgered their mother; where was Daddy? Why was he never home? Their mother was always evasive, never giving Alana a direct answer. One day, after a long bout of questioning, her mother knelt to face her.

  “Alana, your father left us many years ago. He was a bad man and you should forget about him.”

  Any child hearing the words ‘bad man’ and ‘father’ in the same sentence would naturally be devastated. But not her. She pondered the revelation and instead of becoming engulfed with grief over abandonment decided to follow her mother’s advice. She forced the images of him from her mind, the ones she had conjured of the stranger, and resolved to forget him. She thought it best not to share the secret with Paula for fear of crushing her hopes and dreams. Even the usually overwhelming desire to find out why was distilled.

  Then one day the phone rang.

  Her mother’s face went pale as she sat to take the call by the foot of the stairs.

  “Alana, Paula, girls; I need to tell you something.”

  She directed her children into the living room. Alana could see tears in her mother’s eyes. They weren’t tears of joy.

  “Your father wants to see you.”

  Alana watched as her sister squealed with delight. In contrast a pang like a frosty chill swept across her body. Her mother was shaking.

  “He’s asked if you’d be willing to go and visit him.”

  “Yes, Mummy. Yes, yes, YES!”

  Paula was skipping around in circles. Alana replied, “When?”

  “On Friday. He won’t be coming here so you’ll need to meet him somewhere else.”

  “At his house?”

  “Probably a place where families come together.”

  Alana wondered if she meant a church like the one they went to on Sunday. She was whisked off her feet and twirled around as Paula started to sing, “We’re going to see Daddy, we’re going to see Daddy.”

  Friday arrived all too quickly. Their three-door Peugeot pulled into the car park opposite the Social Services building. The vehicle was ten years past its prime and exhaled a smoggy sigh as their mother switched off the engine. Although Alana had never thought of herself as poor she was aware they had little. Seldom were appliances purchased shrink-wrapped from the store. Sometimes people from the church would arrive with bin liners full of clothes for her and her sister. Their mother gratefully accepted the generosity but drew the line with financial aid. An allowance was out of the question but Alana’s two aunties would regularly slip her and Paula a ten pound note as pocket money.

  “Girls, I need you to listen to me.”

  Alana’s mother removed her seatbelt and swivelled round to face them in the back seat.

  “We’re going to meet a lady called Rachel who’s a social worker.” Her words tripped slightly. “She’ll be with you the entire time. I’ll be in a room down the hall so if you feel you need me you just tell Rachel and she’ll take you to me straight away.”

  “Don’t you want to see Daddy?” Paula said.

  Their mother ignored the question. “Now, you’ll be in there for about an hour. There are lots of games to play so you won’t get bored. You’ve brought your computer with you, Alana?”

  Alana nodded and clutched her portable games console close to her chest.

  “I’ve brought Susie,” Paula said and held up a raggedy doll with half her hair sheared off.

  Their mother checked her watch. “It’s time. Let’s go.”

  She got out of the car and pressed the lever to pull the driver’s seat forwards then squeezed into the back. Alana unbuckled her belt and helped Paula with hers. Their mother lifted their things and assisted them out before locking the car. She held her daughters’ hands as they crossed to the grubby building.

  The automatic doors slid open with a whoosh and Alana stepped closer to her mother. With its rows of bright red chairs and tables covered in fashion magazines it reminded her of the doctor’s surgery. Even the musty smell made her grimace. They walked to the receptionist who sat behind a plastic screen. She wore horn-rimmed glasses and her black hair was knotted into a tight bun. Alana gripped onto her mother’s hand.

  “Name?”

  The receptionist’s voice was devoid of emotion. A robot would have been friendlier.

  “Deborah Stratford. These are my children.”

  Paula gave the receptionist a wave but was met with a snarl.

  “My daughters are here to see Cameron Faith.�
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  “He’s already in Room Six. Take a seat and I shall summon Miss Roberts.” She indicated to the red chairs. They sat down. Alana noticed her mother was sweating.

  A few minutes later a lady with a round face and cheery smile approached them. She wore an extra-large knitted jumper with a kitten in the centre. She bent down awkwardly to reach eye level with the girls.

  “My name’s Rachel and you must be Alana and Paula?”

  “No, she’s Alana,” Paula said pointing to her sister.

  “It’s wonderful to meet you both. And you’re Ms Stratford?”

  “It’s Miss Stratford but please call me Deborah.” They shook hands then the social worker returned her attention to the girls.

  “I will be with you all the time. If you ever feel uncomfortable just let me know and I’ll bring you back to your mum.”

  “Why would I feel uncomfortable?” Alana said.

  It was obvious Rachel had never been asked that question.

  “I suppose if you become afraid or want to leave.”

  “Why, will my Daddy try to hurt us? Is he a bad man?” Alana felt her mother squeeze her fingers.

  “Oh, you’ll be perfectly safe, I promise,” Rachel said who, Alana noticed, did not fully answer her questions.

  With a momentous effort, the big woman pushed herself to her feet. She held out her hands.

  “Ready girls?”

  Alana and Paula jumped off their seats and Paula reached towards her. Alana kept her arms by her sides. She turned to face their mother.

  “It’ll be fine. I’ll see you soon,” her mum said and brushed a curly lock of hair from Alana’s eye.

  Rachel led them down a narrow corridor, passing by several doors on both sides. Each one was numbered; One, Two, Three until they reached number Six. The door had no glass so Alana couldn’t see in. The social worker opened it with her free hand and they stepped inside.

  The room was painted a bright yellow. Along the walls were pictures of animals. A giant caterpillar curved from one side to the other. Opposite was a collage of handprints which fanned into a multi-coloured hedgehog. Scattered across the carpet was an assortment of toys suitable for toddlers all the way up to Alana’s age. At the far end a row of cushioned seats offered a place to chat and relax.