Treasonable Intent

by C Shaw Hilton

  The frustrated CERT officer looked at her with an owl like stare through thick spectacles. “I am recommending that we do not proceed to use the interface. Haller and his friends in Esterhazy cannot guarantee that the Russian malware will be neutralised. We should sit out the attack on the national grid and do the job thoroughly in our own time.” He puffed out the last words and looked taller and more assertive as he finished.

  “Noted,” said the Head of MI5. It was dismissive but she needed time to think. In a few minutes the Brigadier would arrive and the video conference of the National Security Council would begin. She needed his insight in helping formulate the recommendation. If they blocked the Americans or were seen to be difficult in accepting their help, it could result in an international incident.

  Haller had initially thrown himself wholeheartedly into the task of directing the Esterhazy intervention. He knew that the British would be difficult to convince but the strength of their resistance surprised and frustrated him. The whole of their infrastructure was under attack and their assets had been undermined or corrupted. Yet still they insisted on all kinds of compromises and guarantees. It convinced him that despite his respect for companies like Lansing Research he would never give up his independence to work for them. He thought the CERT team were like a dead hand on any kind of bold risk culture. They completely failed to grasp the new developments he tried to explain to them. Yet as annoying as this was, it paled in comparison with being forced to work alongside Neville Benning. Every so often, some utterance would come from the room holding the former Head of Threat Assessment and be mulled over by the CERT team. It wasted valuable time. It encouraged Benning to act less like a prisoner than a technical consultant, despite knowing only a fraction of what Haller understood. It gave them an excuse to ignore him. Only the Americans seemed interested in his view and gradually he became less and less engaged. As eight o’clock approached he muttered “To hell with them” and excused himself to hide away in the toilet.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Carter was becoming impatient. He scanned his mirrors again as the traffic edged slowly forward. “I don’t understand why we are doing this” he queried, “the whole transport system is in chaos, yet we are trying to use it to make an escape. We should have found a bolt hole in south London, even for a few hours.”

  Olsson paused before replying: “As I said before, they would expect it. They have surveillance everywhere. A moving target is harder for them to trap and they need more resources. Added to that the chaos and close proximity of large numbers of civilians limits them tactically. They won’t risk mass casualties.”

  Jenny sniffed. She knew that the rationality of his argument didn’t make it the right choice. The idea of a gun battle trapped in a traffic jam was a frightening prospect on any level.

  Olsson waited patiently until the traffic reached a standstill on the Farthing Way bypass around the small town of Coulsden. He knew that a proportion of the vehicles in the surrounding traffic would be police or MI5 but he counted on the element of surprise. As the BMW edged under the railway bridge he was on his phone again looking at the live rail transport information. The disruption caused by the cyber-attack had left an even more disjointed and partial service than usual. His phone told him there was a train heading for London Bridge in five minutes. He would have to jump out of the car and climb the embankment up to the railway station.

  Carter was busy concentrating on the traffic and trying to identify the police vehicles that might be surrounding them. Jenny was rummaging through the holdall at her feet. It contained fully automatic CZ75 pistols and high capacity magazines. She was loading each magazine with 9mm Hi Shok ammunition. Designed to wreak havoc on anyone or anything it hit, the ammunition had been chosen to handle a close range fire fight. She handed Olsson a pistol which he slid into a shoulder holster in a single practiced movement. The remaining guns were placed into the various door pockets and console storage spaces in the car. As the car remained stationary under the bridge Olsson suddenly spoke: “I’m leaving. Keep going to Gatwick then get yourselves to safety.”

  Carter reacted first “What the hell?” and Jenny followed with a blurted “Hang on a minute…” but her voice trailed away as Olsson had already opened the rear door and stepped out onto the verge beneath the bridge. He didn’t even look back as he walked away briskly, heading to the embankment to climb up to the station. It took thirty seconds for the following police cars to realise what had happened. Then the radio traffic was filled with voices. The two nearest vehicles had S.C.O.19 officers aboard and dispatched them to chase after Olsson. Above, an overhead drone was tasked to follow him as he raced towards the station. “There is a train coming into the station. It’s the delayed service to London Bridge” came a pursuing voice over the radio.

  Fawzia heard the commotion and the frantic scramble to chase Olsson through her headset. She was still half a mile away with her elite troops. “Get me air transport immediately” she shouted down the microphone, “I need to follow wherever he is heading.”

  Olsson was completely focussed on catching the train. He was intent on outrunning anyone who might be in pursuit and never looked back. He reached the station and saw a modest crowd. Clearly most people had given up the attempt to get into work. He used his contactless rail card to open the ticket barrier. Seconds later the train pulled in. To his relief it was only two thirds full. He squeezed on with his fellow travellers and within thirty seconds the doors closed and it pulled away from the platform heading back into the city.

  Bob Christie listened to the reports of what was happening with alarm. The BMW was still some time away from the ambush and the principal target had taken flight. “I’m taking the helicopter to Fawzia and her team. The rest of you stay here and take out the BMW and its two remaining occupants.” He raced back to the small six person helicopter on the verge and instructed the pilot to head back up the road. Fawzia and the three land rovers were still stuck in traffic.

  Jenny wasn’t happy. “Olsson has set us up!” she cried, “He wants us to be a diversion, driving south to mislead the security service. Probably hopes we end up in a fatal fire fight!” Carter was still struggling with the idea they had been betrayed. He and Olsson went back a long way. They had faced numerous situations in hostile territory behind enemy lines. They had grown to rely on each other and to trust they would cover each other’s backs. Together they had pulled off an audacious plan to expose a dangerous misuse of technology at the heart of Britain’s cyber defence system. It should have cemented their relationship but instead, in the blink of an eye, he had abandoned them to their fate.

  “We need to get off this bloody road” said Jenny. Her eyes scanned the traffic for signs of pursuit. Carter didn’t argue. “Ok. Get on the Sat Nav. We need to get to somewhere we can disappear into a crowd and get away.” As he drove forward a few metres before coming to a halt, he saw a side route away to the east. Slowly he forced the car to the verge and then accelerated along the hard shoulder to get to the exit. It was a mistake. As the exit came into view he saw the blue lights and the three police patrol cars blocking his path. At the same time Jenny span round to see the road behind and to the side become alive with more blue lights and in front a helicopter gunship loomed into view. It removed any prospect of battering their way out of the ambush.

  Carter applied the brakes. Jenny looked at him. “Throw our hands up or shoot our way out?” she asked. He smiled. It was really not a choice but he admired her spirit. “Live to fight another day,” he said with affection. Slowly they opened the doors of the BMW and with exaggerated compliance raised their hands above their heads, stepped out and waited to be arrested. Seconds later they were handcuffed and being read their rights.

  Only one of the armed police officers had made the train. The others had failed to keep up or had tripped and cascaded down the station steps. An experienced member of S.C.O.19 he was slowly and cautiously making his way through the carriages looking for O
lsson. In a shoulder holster under his denim jacket he carried a 9mm Glock pistol. He assumed the fugitive was similarly armed. The carriage swayed from side to side and was crowded but not as full as it might have been on a normal day. On his phone he carried an image of Olsson and he checked it against the faces surrounding him. In his earpiece he heard a range of voices. It was clear that back up was on its way and he noted that the accomplices in the car had been arrested. It gave him a sense of confidence and a boldness he normally tempered with professional caution. It was in the fourth carriage he saw the face he recognised. By now the train was approaching East Croydon station. Overhead he could hear the beat of rotors and in the distance the distinctive sound of police sirens. The net was closing.

  Olsson sat near to the door. He hadn’t seen anyone follow him onto the train but he instinctively felt he had to get off, for all the reasons he had explained to Carter. East Croydon gave him the chance to evade his pursuers in the crowds. Amongst the movement of a city centre, within the warren of buildings, car parks and underpasses he could slip out of sight. Gatwick had always been a ruse and hopefully Carter and Hsu would continue it for a while. He felt little regret for abandoning them. They had served their purpose. His real intention was to lay low until a few days had passed, then slip away to the continent. From there he could be extracted more easily by the FSB. Ultimately he would report to Moscow and then build a new life for himself under their protection.

  His field craft was excellent. He spotted a woman with a small child in a pushchair preparing to get off. Immediately he offered to assist her alighting from the train. It would look like they were a family. Once outside the station he could drift into the crowd, lose himself in a shopping mall and then walk north east in a varying pattern until darkness fell.

  The armed officer had backed away into the next carriage so he could radio in a situation report. His orders were clear. Not to engage unless there looked like a risk of losing the suspect. He shrugged to himself, why risk being shot if the cavalry were arriving to help him? He looked out as the platform slid past the carriage and tried to pick out any threats that might be waiting. There were none. As the doors opened he saw Olsson spring up and assist a young woman with a pushchair off the train. He hovered in the door of his own carriage. It was important not to be seen and to cover Olsson jumping back on the train. It didn’t happen. Olsson set off with the mother and child at a brisk pace heading for the station exit. As the door bleeper sounded the closing alert, he hurried after them. There were several passengers ahead of Olsson and a bigger group of around twenty between himself and his target. If he still wasn’t certain whether Olsson was armed, he was certain this was not the place to have a shoot-out.

  Olsson arrived at the barrier and flashed his card at a bored looking station employee standing next to the extra wide access gate. It extracted a nod but no recognition nor any other response. The woman seemed to thank Olsson again. Then she peeled sharp right out of the station whilst Olsson headed forward with the majority of commuters en route for the centre of Croydon. Suddenly there were shouts and the air filled with the sound of a helicopter skimming past the station roof. The small craft had opened its sliding doors. Two men in dark combat uniforms sat on each side with their feet planted on the landing rail. Fawzia and Bob were squeezed in next to the pilot who began to land on the car park adjacent to the station entrance. Olsson had seen enough. He began running across the tram tracks and towards the city centre. The armed officer saw him dart past the other commuters and weave around the back of a stationary tram. He set off in pursuit. Moments later the two assault troops jumped off the helicopter and began running towards Olsson on an intercept course. There was an intense whine as the rotors picked up speed and the craft rose and twisted to avoid the overhead power lines. It then dipped its nose so the pilot could accelerate ahead of Olsson and drop Fawzia and Bob somewhere ahead to cut him off.

  Olsson’s head was pounding and his breath came in sharp snatches. A fugitive now running at full speed. He weaved across two lanes of traffic, running down the central reservation before cutting back into one of the covered walkways. Ahead he could see a ramp leading towards shops and a large blue glass and steel office building. There it would be easier to lose his pursuers. The armed officer was only twenty metres behind as Olsson hit the ramp, when a black clad figure vaulted over the sidewall and landed like a cat in a crouched position next to him. “I’m armed and with you in pursuit.” said the trooper. The two of them accelerated after their quarry but Olsson was fit and had almost reached the doors into the shopping mall.

  “Armed Officer. Stop or I shoot!” came the instruction from the dark figure. It was surprisingly clear from behind the ski mask. In the same moment his right hand swung up in an arc and levelled a pistol at him. Before the trooper could fire, Olsson checked his pace and span to his left where the local bakery and café had just thrown open its doors. He expected to feel the impact of a bullet or hear the crack and whistle as it skimmed his body, but nothing. The queue at the counter was only three people and he barged straight through them, knocking over a chair in the process. He saw a sign marked “Fire Exit” and headed for it, pulling over chairs behind as he ran. The black clad figure and the armed officer were seconds behind him. He burst through the fire door at the back of the kitchen area and found himself in a narrow alley. He pushed a large wheeled bin across the door to try and block out his pursuers. To his right he could make out a ladder leading up to a fire escape climbing some six storeys high to the roof. The left looked like a dead end with a six foot brick wall.

  Olsson started up the ladder, his breath now becoming laboured and his hands hurting as he scrambled up the rough iron rungs. He was over half way up when the first shot whistled past his leg and struck a spark as the ricochet hit a metal stanchion. More shouts from below and instructions to stop. He ignored it and carried on climbing. The searing pain hit Olsson just as he reached the top of the ladder. He looked down and saw straight away the mess that had replaced his toe cap. The whole of his foot felt as though it was on fire and he legs struggled to hold his weight, let alone climb. Two more shots hit the brickwork by his left knee but now he was using his upper body strength to swing himself over the parapet and onto the roof. He gasped as he landed, not just from pain but also from the sight before him. On the far side of the roof the helicopter swung into view. As he scrambled forwards he saw Bob and Fawzia jumping out carrying their C8 Carbines. Olsson noticed a small doorway to his left. He hobbled towards it and drew his pistol from under his jacket. As he ran he fired randomly behind him to slow his pursuers. Within a few seconds all 26 rounds were discharged but he had made the door. It was locked. For agonising seconds he switched to his second magazine and as it clicked into place, he blasted the lock away. Before he could open the door he heard another shout, much closer behind him. It was Fawzia. “Stop there or we shoot.”

  Olsson wheeled round. It wasn’t going to be easy. Bob was flanking left and Fawzia to the right. Metres behind two other armed figures were already climbing onto the roof from the fire ladder and levelling their weapons.

  He fired off three short bursts as he swung open the door and dived into the stairwell. In mid-air he felt a sudden pain and then instantly was rendered unconscious. The first round hit him in the back and travelled through his kidney before exiting out of his abdomen. The second tore through his heart. The rest peppered the doorway and stairs. By the time his body cascaded down the stairwell he was already dead.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The Prime Minister started the meeting at eight o’clock exactly. As she expected, there was an almost complete attendance list.

  “Colleagues”, she started with a business like tone, “in about twenty minutes our National Grid will be disrupted. The supply of power to the whole country will be put at risk. Whilst attacks to date have caused significant harm, we have been able to manage the situation, for the most part. Cutting off the nations power supply,
will be of a different order. Can we have options presented, please?”

  Dame Maude sighed with resignation. She had hoped for better news and bolder options but nevertheless had to make a strong presentation. “Thank you Prime Minister” she began slowly. “We believe we have a number of options. Firstly you have negotiated a positive arrangement with the Chinese Government. As I look at my laptop here, I can see confirmation that their interference in our secure communications network has ceased. The CERT teams are now working on bringing Rose Garden back under direct control and neutralising the Russian malware. We would hope that within minutes they will be able to report success.”

  Sir Alistair looked sceptical: “And if they don’t?”

  Dame Maude shifted uncomfortably in her seat: “If they do not succeed then we move to option two in ten minutes. Your conversation with the US President has allowed us to work with their most advanced technological company. They will use their interface programme, with our co-operation, to open up the system and to neutralise any offensive action against our infrastructure. It carries risks but the team are confident they can pull this off and we have secured the services of Dr Haller to co-ordinate the UK and US effort.

  The Brigadier couldn’t restrain himself: “It carries risk alright. This is untried technology and they admit that the Russian malware is not something they fully understand.” There were several nods around the table.

  Dame Maude continued: “Which brings us to our final option. The Russian malware will be activated when we start sending countermanding instructions to cease these attacks. From our analysis it will degrade our Rose Garden System and revert it back to its basic programming form. In other words, we will be set back two years. It will, however, stop its offensive programmes being deployed against the National Grid. It’s not a great outcome but it is our last resort.”