by Tomas Black
“So, what are you telling me?”
“I’m telling you not to fuck around with her.”
“You have a low opinion of me.”
“Right.”
“What else?” said Drum.
“Gleb Vashchenko,” continued McKay. “Nasty piece of work. Ex-military, now an enforcer for this hacking group. Victor’s intel appears to be accurate.” McKay paused. “I was sorry to hear about Charles, by the way. I know you two were close. He’ll be missed.”
Drum picked up his glass. “Here’s to Charles.”
“Charles,” said McKay, clinking his glass against Drum’s.
The mention of Charles jogged Drum’s memory. He pulled out the piece of blood-stained paper from his wallet. “I found this on Charles.”
“What is it?” said McKay, examining the slip of paper.
“I think it’s a paper cryptocurrency wallet,” said Drum.
“Er, I thought all cryptocurrency was digital.”
“It is and systems like this are rarely used, except to make a hard-copy backup. That long string of numbers is the encryption key that unlocks the wallet—providing you can remember the password. That’s what the random words are for—answers to a challenge if you can’t remember the password.”
“What was Charles doing with it?” asked McKay, a look of puzzlement on his face.
“I think it was a payment. Perhaps to let someone onto the safety area of the tower. I don’t believe for one minute Charles knew what was going to happen, which is probably why they killed him—to tie up loose ends. Get GCHQ to look at it for me.”
“Vashchenko’s work,” said McKay.
Drum nodded. “Do you have eyes on him?”
“If he’s in Cambridge, we’ll find him,” said McKay.
“Ok,” said Drum, “but surveillance only. I don’t want to spook the guy before we know what he’s up to.”
“Right,” said McKay. “I’ll inform operations, but it’s likely that both the Russians and the Chinese are also looking for him if they suspect he’s the one behind the hacks.”
Drum updated McKay on his meeting with Salenko. McKay looked confused.
“You think Salenko’s system is responsible for the hacks?”
“I do,” said Drum. “Whether Salenko himself has sanctioned the operation, I’m not sure. But, if his system is as good as he says it is, it would make a formidable cyberwarfare weapon if developed in that direction.”
“I see,” said McKay. “And this Vashchenko and his crew are being used to train the system. Incredible!” McKay thought for a moment. “You realise, of course, this may be the primary reason the Russians and Chinese are here—to obtain the system.”
“I dare say the same thing has occurred to GCHQ,” said Drum. “But it still doesn’t make much sense.”
“Why not?”
“Well, they are about to enter an IPO, which means a version of the system will be up for sale. Why attack state systems and risk the IPO and lucrative sales?”
McKay shrugged. “Perhaps they were testing the system and slipped up?”
“Maybe,” said Drum. He had a thought. “What about our American friends? They’re rather late to the party?”
McKay drained his drink. “Right. I got word this morning. They’re sending Jack Marchetti.”
Drum knew that must stick in McKay’s throat. The two men had history, back when they served in Section 6 which was now defunct. McKay never spoke of it. The CIA would want a piece of the Salenko system.
“Moretti,” said Drum as an afterthought. “Any progress tracking down her killer?”
“No. Your DCI Chambers was a fake, as you suspected. Video feeds in the hotel had been disabled. A professional job. You think your meeting with this Moretti precipitated her death?”
“It’s connected, somehow,” said Drum.
He looked across at the bar. Sergei had almost finished his drink. It was time to go. “Time’s up,” said Drum.
McKay pushed a small canvas bag across the floor under the table. “Something for the weekend.”
Drum smiled and rose from the table picking up the bag.
“Next steps,” said McKay.
“I need to find this Jane. She appears to be the key.”
McKay nodded. “I’m staying here. I’ll message you for our next meet.”
Drum started to walk away.
“And Drum,” said McKay.
Drum turned.
“Don’t trust the Russian.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Friends and Family
Drum left McKay downing his third pint of the evening—or was it his fourth? The man had the constitution of an ox. Afghanistan had been their last military assignment together—a complete disaster that had left them both scarred. He still woke some nights, staring at the faces of the men who had made the ultimate sacrifice so that he might live. He felt honoured but also great guilt that at one time sought to consume him. Only his father had pulled him through his inner turmoil. Drum had learned much later that McKay had resigned his commission over that fateful last mission. They shared the same guilt.
“You look troubled,” said Sergei, pulling up his collar against the drizzle that had begun to fall. “That man. He is your handler?”
Drum frowned. There wasn’t much point denying the obvious, but why make it easy? “An old Army friend. We served together.”
“Where was that?”
“Afghanistan.”
“The graveyard of occupying forces,” said Sergei. “Both our countries have spilt much blood over the place.”
If only you knew, thought Drum. The memory of a big Russian smoking a cigarette beside a GAZ Tigr in a nameless desert came to mind. “Let’s walk,” he said.
They headed back up Mill Lane. “Where are we going?” said Sergei, surreptitiously eyeing Drum’s bag.
“We’re going to meet your handler. She’s reserved a table in a place up the road.”
Sergei smiled. “You mean Alice.”
Drum stopped and turned to face Sergei. “Listen, you would do well to follow her lead and keep your nose clean. Tailing me was a stupid idea. The only way this is going to work is if we stick together. Understood?”
Sergei nodded.
They carried on, turning onto Trumpington Street that faced the Cambridge colleges illuminated in all their medieval glory against the brooding evening sky. Drum stopped outside a small bistro and surveyed the street before entering. The place was warm and cosy and decked out in an art deco style. Alice and Stevie had commandeered a large table, discreetly tucked away in the corner. Drum took a seat beside Alice and slid his bag beneath the table.
“From a mutual friend, Alice.”
Alice smiled and nodded.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Svetlana,” said Sergei in Russian, taking a seat beside Stevie
“What’s he doing here?” said Stevie, a look of concern creasing her brow.
“This is Sergei,” said Alice. “He’s working with us—don’t ask, it’s a long story.”
“Let’s keep to English, shall we,” said Drum. He looked around the room for a waiter. “I’m starving.”
“I can’t stay,” said Stevie, looking around nervously, “I’ll be missed. I’ll grab something to go.”
Drum nodded. “Where are they keeping you?”
“They’ve rented this large house, just outside of town in a place called Fen Wootton, close to the campus.”
“I know it,” said Drum. “I drove through there this morning. Seems a sleepy little village. What are you doing for comms?”
“No expense spared,” said Stevie. “They have a fibre optic cable that runs across one of the small utility bridges on the river and from there straight onto the campus and into the main data centre.”
“That’s a lot of bandwidth,” said Drum. “What are they doing?”
Before Stevie could answer, a waitress appeared. “You guys ready to order?”
Ever
yone suddenly picked up a menu. Drum glanced at a few options. “I’ll just have the burger and fries with all the trimmings.”
“Sounds good,” said Sergei.
“Caesar salad for me,” added Alice.
“I’ll have the burger to go,” said Stevie.
“Drinks?”
“Four beers,” said Sergei.
The waitress nodded and departed with their order.
“Really?” said Alice. “I would have thought the two of you had had enough for one evening?”
Drum and Sergei looked at each other like two naughty schoolboys. “Intelligence is thirsty work, Alice,” said Sergei, and gave her a broad grin.
Stevie frowned at Sergei.
“What?” said Sergei.
“You remind me of someone,” said Stevie. “Moscow, right.”
Sergei nodded.
“You were saying, Stevie,” interrupted Drum.
“Right. They’re organising an auction.”
“An auction of what, dear,” said Alice.
“An auction of the stolen data from the recent data centre breaches. Whoever pays the most gets the complete package. I’m helping create the site.”
“Bloody hell,” said Alice. “It’ll be a bloodbath.”
Stevie looked anxiously around the room. “Don’t say that, Alice. If these people find out I’ve been talking to you, I’m dead.”
“When is this auction?” asked Sergei, a look of concern on his face.
“In a week. They’ll invite all the major governments to bid.”
“Ok,” said Drum. “Let’s calm down and think this through. Where are they storing the data caches?”
Stevie hung her head. “Sorry, I don’t know. I don’t have access to their core systems. They have them locked down tight.”
“You need to find out,” said Sergei. “You must make it a priority.”
“I’ll tell you what the priority is,” said Alice, her voice rising. “It’s getting Stevie out of this mess. Fuck the data.”
“Of course, Alice,” said Sergei. “I didn’t mean to imply we risk Svetlana …”
“It’s just that Stevie is our only hope of finding out where this information is being stored," said Drum. "Even if we storm the place, there is no guarantee it won’t end up all over WikiLeaks.”
“Listen to yourself,” said Alice. “Stevie didn’t sign up for this. She’s not one of us. We all knew the score when we signed on the dotted line—even this deluded young man.”
“Thank you, Alice,” said Sergei, “but I know what you mean.”
The waitress appeared with their drinks. “Everything alright?”
“Yes, thanks,” said Drum. “Arguing over football.”
The waitress nodded. “Food is on its way.” She smiled and walked back to the kitchen.
Drum raised his palms from the table. “Let’s calm down and think this through.”
Alice sat back in her chair and folded her arms, a scowl on her face. Sergei picked up his beer and took a swig straight from the bottle. Stevie looked down at her hands, lost in thought. Something occurred to Drum.
“Is there anyone called Jane at the house?”
“No,” said Stevie. “Not as far as I know. They’re all Ukrainian. But …”
“What?” said Drum.
“One of the hackers mentioned someone called Jane from the campus. Something about not pissing her off.”
“Who’s Jane?” asked Sergei.
Drum raised his hand. “Are the attacks being carried out from the house?”
“No,” said Stevie. “That’s the thing. It’s all being coordinated from inside the campus. I just assumed they were working for Salenko.”
“Right,” said Drum. “That’s the impression I got when I visited Salenko this afternoon.”
“You did?” said Sergei, looking a little aggrieved at being kept in the dark.
“Is there anything else you can tell us that might help locate the data cache?” said Drum.
“They’re looking for something,” said Stevie.
“Looking for what?” asked Sergei.
“They call it a ‘keystone’—but I have no idea what it is or why they are looking for it. But those of us not coding the auction site are frantically looking for this thing. They’re giving a big reward to whoever locates it.”
Alice sat up and looked at Drum. “Did they describe it?” she asked.
Stevie picked up her phone and flipped through a few screens. She held up a picture of Moretti’s crystal. “Don’t ask me what it is, I don’t know.”
Drum knew then that he had to get back to London to retrieve the device. It might give him some leverage if push came to shove, and he didn’t think his safe would stop a determined operator from breaking in.
“What’s going on at the campus?” asked Stevie.
Drum sat back and took a swig of beer. “From my talks with Salenko, my theory is that someone is using an AI-based security system to target sites such as the ones that were recently breached. I’m not sure if Salenko is even aware of it.”
“That makes sense,” said Stevie, now leaning forward. “From what I’ve heard, these attacks are very sophisticated. And they mention one name: Tau.”
“Is that the name of the system?” asked Drum.
“It’s the name of the AI,” said Stevie. She thought for a moment. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. You should take the time to talk to Professor Kovac. Salenko’s AI is based on his work. He should be able to give you more insight into this Tau.”
“How do I find him?” asked Drum.
“I’ll message you his number. Tell him who you are. He’ll want to talk to you. He’s not a fan of what’s going on at the campus.”
“We should both go,” said Sergei, hurriedly.
Drum smiled. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Why not?” protested Sergei. “This is not cooperation.”
“You would blow my cover. I have another job for you.”
Sergei frowned, not convinced. “What would you have me do?”
“I need you and Alice to scope out the village of Fen Wootton. Treat Alice to afternoon tea.”
“Is that it?”
“And find the bridge carrying the fibre optic cable,” added Drum. “I suggest you rent a boat. There should be plenty of hires along that stretch of the river.”
Sergei sat back and nodded, resigned to the fact that he would be having tea with Alice.
Alice leaned forward. “What about Stevie?”
“We pull her out,” said Drum
Stevie hung her head. “Thanks, Ben. But I can’t leave.”
“Your friend,” said Alice. “We’ll get him protection. What’s his name?”
“Burnett—Jeremy Burnett. He’s an undergraduate here. I can’t risk it. I have to see this through.”
Alice sat back in frustration.
“Sorry, Alice.”
“Look,” said Drum. “Play along for now. Do nothing to draw attention to yourself. If you need to contact me, use our secure message server over VPN.”
Just then the waitress appeared with their food. She handed Stevie a brown bag. “One burger special to go.” She surveyed the table. “Anything else?”
“No thank you, dear,” said Alice, doing her best to force a smile.
Stevie rose and snatched up her bag. “Gotta go.”
“Don’t worry, Stevie,” said Sergei. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”
Stevie paused. “Sergei … what is your last name?”
Sergei hesitated. “It’s Fedorov.”
Stevie slumped back down onto her chair, a look of astonishment on her face.
“What is it?” asked Alice.
“And your father?” continued Stevie.
“Mikhail,” replied Sergei. “You know him as Misha.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Return to London
Drum woke early on Sunday morning after a restless night thinking a
bout Sergei’s revelation. He remembered the conversation with Misha last year in Manhattan. The big man had been chained to a chair in an FBI interrogation room. It was there that Misha had mentioned his son—although he’d never thought he would ever meet the guy. It was a colossal mess, and he wondered how Alice was handling the situation.
He showered and dressed and waited for Mei Ling in the dining room of the hotel. Like him she rose early, and he quickly brought her up to speed on selected pieces of intel about the house in Fen Wootton over coffee and croissants, leaving out the salient details of his Russian contacts. Mei would not be pleased if she found out he was working with Russian intelligence; his side wasn’t thrilled either.
“And your contact mentioned the name Tau,” said Mei.
He noted the interest she took in the name. “You’ve heard of it before?”
“No … it’s just an unusual name.” She sipped her coffee and nibbled at her croissant. “And your contact believes this is the AI being used in the attacks?”
Drum nodded.
“We should meet with this Kovac,” said Mei. “He may have some answers.”
“We will, but later. I need to return to London.”
She gave him a look. “Let me drive you.”
He could tell she was pissed. “No need. Set up the meeting with Kovac. I’ll be back by early afternoon at the latest.”
She relented and drained the last of her coffee. “I’ll have the Fen Wootton house put under surveillance.”
“That’s been taken care of,” he said. “Keep your people back. We don’t want to spook them and lose the data.”
She nodded. “You realise the problem it will create if they put that data up for auction? It could start another Cold War and possibly precipitate a cyber attack against your country.” She glanced at him. “Beijing still believes your government is behind the original attacks and is just using Salenko as a front.”
It was a reasonable assumption. After all, GCHQ had not been penetrated. But only he knew that. “Believe me, the British government wants nothing more than to find the source of these attacks and to normalise relations.”
“You’re sounding like a politician,” she said.
“There’s no need to insult me.”