Day Zero

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Day Zero Page 16

by James Swallow


  “Nah… no. Leave it. Anything in the flat?”

  “Not that I saw.” Hattersley leaned over and spit. “It’s a shithole.”

  “Worse than yours?”

  “Hey, I resemble that remark.” Hattersley looked up. “Lot of drones. Bet one of them got a look at the intruder. We might be able to pull an image.”

  Danny froze, just for a moment. Thankfully, Hattersley didn’t notice. “Yeah. Good idea. I’ll handle it when we get back to base.”

  “You sure? It’ll take some time.”

  “Don’t you have a date?”

  “I probably do, and thank you for your sacrifice.” Hattersley grinned and slapped him on the back. “You’re a true brother in arms, Hayes.”

  Danny snorted. “You’re welcome.” His gaze strayed in the direction Ro had gone. He turned and clapped Hattersley on the shoulder. “Right. Let’s get back in there and take a look. That way we can tell Faulkner we did it.”

  “If we don’t find anything, he ain’t going to be happy,” Hattersley said, doubtfully.

  “When is he ever happy?”

  “He smiles a lot.”

  “So do fucking hyenas. Don’t mean they won’t eat you.” Danny shook his head. “Come on, move. Before the local dope heads clean the place out.”

  14: Signal

  It was getting dark by the time Olly arrived at the rally point, dishevelled and out of breath. Liz watched him through the window. The glass had been soaped, but she could just about see through it. “He looks like he’s been run over.”

  He almost was. But he managed to scrape a win, in the end.

  “You sound almost proud, Bagley.”

  If I could feel such a thing, now would be a moment for it.

  Liz sat back in her booth with a snort. Her own journey had been no easy thing. She’d ditched the drone in the park and made for the Chisenhale Gallery. There was a showing and crowd. She’d blended in, and left Albion looking lost. As far as she knew, they were still chasing her ride. She’d sent the drone towards Clapton with a false GPS ping attached.

  She looked around. The café was a pop-up, nesting in the refurbished remnants of a Staroger coffee shop across from the park. All the bland company branding had been gutted and loose wiring, decorated with fairy lights, hung through the ceiling tiles. The floor had been stripped of lino, but someone had taken the time to put down carpet squares under the seating section.

  It was cramped, the lavatories were out of order and the menu was miniscule, but it was safe enough and she like the place’s counter-corporate vibe. Olly spotted her, and sidled towards the booth, looking around nervously. As he sat, she said, “Have fun?”

  “No,” he said flatly. “I never want to do that again.”

  “I’ve got some bad news for you, then. That was just another day at the office for us.” She paused. “Do you still have it?”

  “Safe as houses,” he said. He patted his bag. “I thought at first I’d broken it when I fell off the bus, but it’s still in one piece.”

  “You fell off a bus?” Liz asked, in some surprise.

  “Yeah, after the drone crashed.”

  She shook her head. A waitress came by to take Olly’s order. When she’d gone, he said, “Maybe we should keep moving. They’ll be looking for us…”

  “Which is why we sit tight, until it gets dark. Then we take the underground and head back to the cellar.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I wonder why they want it.”

  “That’s what we want to find out, right?” Olly pulled out the Optik and studied it. “It doesn’t look special.” He frowned at it for a moment, and then turned it on. “I can maybe brute-force a synchronization with my Optik, but that’ll require a hard reboot…”

  “Which might erase whatever data we’re looking for,” Liz said. She reached out and put her hand over the device. “Leave it for now. We’ll clone it first before we do anything.”

  Olly nodded and put the device away. “That was too close for comfort back there. The way you went after them… I just froze.” He fell silent as their coffees arrived. “I’m sorry,” he said, after a moment. “Didn’t even think to use the bloody stun gun.”

  “Probably wouldn’t have worked anyway, unless you hit them in the right spot. Albion uniforms are insulated.” Liz smiled at him. “Don’t worry about it. You did good, for your first time out.”

  Olly shook his head. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

  “It takes some getting used to. Trust me. Next time, you won’t freeze.”

  “Next time?”

  “There’s always a next time, Olly. That’s the way this works now.” Liz stretched, and could hear her own joints popping. Riding on drones and getting in punch ups was hard on a girl’s body. She grunted and rotated her shoulders. “I might be getting too old for it, though.”

  “How old are you anyway?”

  She gave him a sideways look. “What sort of question is that to ask a lady?”

  “I’m not asking a lady, am I?”

  Liz snorted. “Cheeky git.” She tipped her head back, looking at the ceiling.

  Olly cleared his throat. She could tell that something was on his mind. “Earlier, when you said you were a black hat cracker…” he began, hesitantly.

  Liz lifted her cup. “What about it?”

  “Were you being serious? You weren’t just taking the piss?”

  She paused, then took a drink. “No, I wasn’t taking the piss.”

  “And now you’re… a freedom fighter? Bad guy to good guy, just like that?”

  Liz looked out the window, watching the street. “I don’t think I was a bad guy, per se…” she began, slowly.

  “But you stole money.”

  “And you stole food.”

  “Yeah, but for other people,” Olly said. “Who’d you give the money to?”

  Liz smiled. “Fair play.”

  “So why’d you join DedSec, then?”

  Liz was silent. Then, “What does London mean to you, Olly?”

  Olly frowned. “You what?”

  “Simple question. Is it your home? Are you just passing through? What?” Liz looked at him. “What does this city mean to you? What are you willing to do, to save it?”

  Olly shook his head. “I don’t – I’ve never thought about it. I’m doing what I’m doing, yeah?” It was the answer she’d been expecting, but it still disappointed her. She sighed and looked away.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Annoyed now, Olly said, “Well what does it mean to you, then?”

  “Everything,” Liz said flatly. “I was born here. I grew up here.”

  “You don’t sound like you grew up in East London…”

  “There’s more to city than East London, Olly.” She sighed. “I was born in Catford. My parents were antifascists. They met while beating the piss out of National Front members in ’77. They served in the emergency government of the People’s Republic of Lewisham Clock-Tower.”

  Olly frowned. “I have no idea what that is.”

  “Most people don’t.” Liz smiled. “My parents loved London, Olly. Loved it enough to fight for it, with bricks and boots. And they taught me to love it too. But you can’t win a fight with bricks and boots these days.” She looked around the café. “All that stuff back in the cellar? I helped build that, you know. Back in the day, I was the one crunching numbers and cracking encryption programs. I was the one setting up bots to farm gold in MMORPGs, and more bots to turn that gold into cryptocurrency – money we used to set up everything. Because I knew all of this was coming.”

  “All what was coming?”

  “Blume. Albion. All of it.” Liz looked at him. “We’re paying for the sins of previous generations – for their decisions, for their lack of forethought – and for our own mistakes too. It’s all compounded into one big cancerous mess, resting right in society’s gut. The longer it goes on, the sicker we all get.”

  “Maybe you should have warned some people.�
��

  Liz leaned back. “I did. I was on every forum, message board and chat app. I sounded the alarm around the clock and nobody listened – not until it was too late.” She paused. “No, some people listened. Some saw what I saw, and we found each other. Just like my parents and their friends did, back in the day.”

  “DedSec,” Olly said, softly.

  “DedSec,” Liz agreed. She paused. “Look around.”

  Olly did. Liz did as well. Information rippled across her display as the facial recognition software went to work. There weren’t many patrons in the café, but there were enough to make interesting reading. She fixed on one. “The geezer in the corner,” Liz murmured. “Tell me about him.”

  Olly turned. Liz knew what he saw. The old man was worn down, frayed looking, with thin hairs clinging to his spotted pate. His suit had been fashionable once, maybe. Now it looked a bit silly on his shrunken frame. But his hands were big. She watched Olly scroll through the data. “Ian Parker. Just got out of Maidstone. A thirty-year stretch. Category C. Firearm offences, wounding with intent, conspiracy… Bloody hell, he’s a proper old school gangster.”

  “Good. What else?”

  “Uhm…” Olly continued to scroll. “Got a granddaughter in Hackney. She – huh.”

  “What?”

  “She works for Blume. In their research and development division.”

  “What’s their relationship like?”

  “How would I know?”

  “Study the data,” Liz said, softly. “What does it tell you?”

  She watched as Olly combed through social media feeds, posts to Invite, online journals, calendar apps – nothing was hidden from DedSec. If it was online, they could see it. “She visited him regularly while he was inside. He’s going to be staying with her temporarily, if her social media is anything to go by.”

  Liz nodded. “Interesting, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you think she tells him?” Liz looked at him. “Think about it. He’s a link in a chain – just like you, just like me. If we needed to get into Blume, he’s a way in. Especially if you dig a bit deeper and… ah.” She smiled. “He’s got a major grudge against the Kelleys.”

  Olly tensed. The Kelleys scared the crap out of him. “So?”

  “So if we helped him, what might he do for us in return?”

  Olly sat back. “You mean… he’d join DedSec?”

  “In a certain sense, he already has. Look who he’s with.” Liz twitched her chin towards the corner, where an older woman had taken a seat opposite the old man. Alarms and alerts flashed on her display, as they no doubt did on Olly’s. Old photos, video-streams, news conferences…

  “A copper?”

  “Retired copper.” Liz waved surreptitiously. The woman noticed, and gave a terse nod, before turning back to the old man. Olly looked on in puzzlement.

  “You know her?”

  “In a sense. DedSec did her a favour, once. Now she owes us a favour. Which is why she’s here. Digging up information on the Kelleys – they’re just as much a part of the problem as Albion, Olly. All part of the same cancer.” She knocked on the table. “DedSec is people. People talking to people, people helping people. We’re all part of the resistance, in our own way. Remember that.”

  As she spoke, the door to café slammed open, causing the bell to jangle. An armed Albion trooper stepped in, gaze sweeping over the patrons. He paused a moment, then ambled to the counter and ordered a coffee. Through the window, Liz could see two others standing on the street. Olly looked her, and she gestured for him to remain where he was.

  She couldn’t tell if they were the ones who’d pursued them from the station, but it didn’t really matter. The one at the counter scanned the patrons faces as he waited, using his Optik’s facial recognition software. Liz tensed as he turned towards their table – and then passed on. Olly glanced at Liz and she smiled thinly.

  When the trooper had ambled out, coffees in hand, Liz said, “Don’t worry. They won’t get any matches.”

  “You sure about that?” Olly asked as he slumped back in his seat. Outside, orange light cast long shadows. “I know I’m not in the system, but you…”

  “I should have said, they’ll get matches, but the identities are false. Innocuous. During the early days of the cTOS upgrades, we built a few hundred fake identities. When they use the facial recognition software on a member of DedSec, it attaches our picture to a randomised identity. It wouldn’t hold up against a second look, but it’s usually enough to satisfy the grunts on the street.”

  Olly shook his head, visibly impressed. “When was anybody going to tell me about all of this?” he asked, somewhat plaintively.

  “When you needed to know,” Liz said. She smiled. “Welcome to the Resistance.”

  Coyle looked up as his external Optik chimed. He brought up his display, and saw that Tell’s device had been activated. “Finally.”

  With a grim smile, he rose to his feet. He retrieved his Optik and brought up the control app for the drone across the room. With a tap of his screen, the drone’s motors whirred to life. It was quieter than one might think. Another improvement over the standard model. He opened a window, and the drone passed out into the late afternoon light. As it left the building, he activated its secondary systems.

  The sleek lines and rigid angles wavered, seemingly changing before his eyes. A moment was all it took. The drone no longer resembled a combat model, but instead looked like a common Parcel Fox courier drone. And as far as any electronic recording devices were concerned, that was exactly what it was.

  Coyle activated the remote HUD connected to the drone’s sensory suite. It was strange to see the city this way, and he doubted he would ever grow used to it. The drone could perceive things invisible to the human eye. A constant drip of data scrolled down either side of the display. The drone’s AI was responsible for most of its everyday functions – leaving only the execution of the kill-shot to Coyle.

  The drone soon locked onto the Optik’s signal, and headed out over the city, heading towards Victoria Park. That made sense, given how close it was to the police station. He wondered who was in possession of it – a police officer? An Albion operative? Either way, their fate was sealed. He felt a flicker of regret, but quickly pushed it aside. It was a vice he could not afford. Especially now.

  There was still Tell to find, after all. The enigmatic Marcus Tell. The other half of Zero Day’s equation. Coyle had done his research there as well, digging in to his primary target. Tell did not exist, save on paper, much like Coyle himself. Oh there had been a man named Marcus Tell, once. But the man who bore that name now had not been given it at birth. Coyle had not yet found out the man’s true name, and only had bits and pieces of his bloody history.

  According to Zero Day, Tell was a bomb maker by trade. An expert in improvised explosive devices, with connections to several now-defunct terrorist organisations. And it was in that capacity that he had been employed by Zero Day. But now his employment was at an end, and Zero Day wanted the loose end tied up.

  Coyle had performed similar clean-up operations before. Tell was a clear and present danger to Zero Day in some fashion. Perhaps he had threatened to go to the authorities. Or maybe he had reneged on the deal somehow. Coyle had considered that Zero Day might do the same to him – they wouldn’t have been the first – but he wasn’t unduly concerned about it. Professional killers did not last long if they did not instinctively consider such things.

  Once he was certain the drone was safely underway, he minimised the HUD. It would alert him if and when it located its target. He turned his attentions to a different app suite – an encrypted bloodhound program, designed to analyse and develop projections based on specific data trawled from a target’s phone data, social media, site profiles and shopping habits. The suite came in handy during the planning stages of his operations.

  He’d programmed in every scrap of information he’d collected, every
recording he’d made, of his employers. Now it was searching the net for similar turns of phrase and the like. So far, the program had come up with nothing. But soon enough, something – some phrase, some reference – would strike a hit, and he’d have their scent. Then, it would only be a matter of time until he tracked them down.

  Coyle intended to complete the job he’d been hired for. He was a professional, after all. But afterwards, there’d be a reckoning with Zero Day – whoever they were. He allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. It was quickly wiped away by an alert – an incoming call, for one of his aliases. He recognised the number and cursed. He activated an encryption app before he answered. “Holden. I thought I told you not to call me.”

  “Was that you?”

  Holden’s voice sounded scratchy, electronically distorted. He was using a scrambler. “Was what me?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  “The shootings on Sunday – it was you, wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do. And if you’re smart, you’ll drop the act. I don’t have much time.”

  “Then by all means, get to the point.” Coyle considered trying to trace the call, but Holden was surely too smart for that sort of thing.

  “I need money. And I need it now.”

  “I believe I already paid you, and quite fairly.”

  “I know who you are.”

  Coyle hesitated. “Do you? Please enlighten me, Mr Holden.”

  “Your name is Coyle…”

  “I get the picture. Fine. What do you want?”

  “I need money. Enough to get out of the city – the country…”

  Coyle’s eyes narrowed. “What have you done, Mr Holden?”

  Silence. Coyle sighed. That was answer enough. “Where are you?”

  He could sense Holden’s sudden hesitation. Greed and fear had made the other man incautious. But now he was beginning to realise that he’d just tried to extort a man in possession of a combat capable drone. Coyle chuckled. “Come now, Mr Holden. No sense acting shy now. Where are you?”

 

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