London Calling, page 17
part #1 of Beta Force Series
"But...why did you create it?"
"That's the big one, isn't it? Why would a hacker want to monitor what other hackers are doing? Simple. I'm not like them." She turned to her brother with disdain. "He's not, either, though he's dabbled in the past."
Vincent lowered his head like a chastised child.
"I’m not sayin' I'm a saint," Marilyn continued. "I'm a sinner, same as the rest of you. But now I'm on a different path. I still gotta pay the bills, though. So, I hunt cybercriminals and sell their information to the highest bidder."
"You're a digital bounty hunter?" Phoenix asked, sounding like more than just the new information intrigued him. There was a look in his eye that Zeke hadn't seen during their short friendship. He knew what it meant, too. Phoenix liked this Marilyn chick.
"You could say that. Tech companies pay big money to catch the people tampering with their systems. They also pay well for anyone who can crack their stuff in a contained environment. I don't really get into that anymore. Turns out, CEOs will pay generously for justice."
"Justice?" Jessica asked. "You mean revenge. You're taking those hackers to the slaughter."
"Look, love, I don't know what happens to most of them. And I really don't care. You ask me, the companies would be doing the world a favor by taking out some of those miscreants. Most of the time, I know they turn them over to the cops. Know what happens when they do that?"
Jessica blinked and waited for the answer.
It was Zeke who gave it. "They go free," he said solemnly.
"That's right. They go free. And for what? Lack of evidence? Lack of motive? Who knows? Most of these hackers are so connected, within hours of their arrest they can make a phone call and have everything set up online to look like someone else was behind it. So, truth is, it's probably better for the world if the less-ethical tech giants take them out for us."
"So, that's it? You're some kind of saint? That's how you justify what you do?"
Marilyn grinned proudly. "No, love. I don't have to justify anything I do. I'm justifying it for you, ’cause I can tell something about it bothers you." She held up a finger. "But I can also tell there's a part of you that appreciates it. You know the system is broken. Can't always play by the rules."
Jessica wanted to refute her statement, but she held back. Her comments weren't going to change anything, and the truth was Marilyn was right, about pretty much everything. As long as Marilyn was on the right side of the law, which she appeared to be, Jessica wouldn't push it.
"Now, if you don't mind. We should probably get back down to business. Our boy Philipe is probably in dire need of rescuing, and us standing around gabbing on about it isn't going to help." She picked up a remote from the center table and pointed it at the map of Europe. She pressed a button, and the view zoomed in to a specific area of London. "This is our best bet." The circle encompassing the zone was dark red.
Phoenix took a step forward to get a closer look. There was a name in black letters in the center of the red circle. "What's Brompton Road Station?" he asked.
"Brompton Road Station," Vincent fielded, "is an Tube station." He stepped forward as well and turned his head toward his sister. "They're using an abandoned Tube stop for their operation?"
"Looks like it. I know this: There's a massive mainframe working there, and probably a ton of servers. Whatever it is, it's big. The heat signatures and data streams going in and out are off the charts. I haven't seen one this big outside of Moscow."
"Moscow?" Zeke asked.
"You don't want to know." She eyed him down off the ledge before he dove into a conversation that would take up more of their valuable time.
"But Brompton was bought years ago by some big company. They came in and built flats there, some of them pretty expensive, from what I hear."
"It's an apartment complex?" Freeman asked. "Would that account for the huge bandwidth and the other readings you're getting?"
Marilyn chuckled. "That's cute. No. What we're seeing out of that area," she jabbed her finger at the screen again, "is way more than a few hundred tenants streaming their favorite television shows." She looked at Vincent. "You don't happen to know who owns that company, the one who built the flats?"
"No," he answered with a shrug, "but I can find out."
She nodded. "Do it."
Vincent snapped into action and slid into the nearest empty seat. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he rapidly entered search terms. Results popped onto the screen, and he clicked the first relevant article. The others looked over his shoulder as he scanned the paragraphs. He shook his head and went back to the search results, clicked on another article, and started reading again.
"You won't find it," Zeke said.
Everyone in the room whipped their heads toward him.
"What?" Jessica asked first. "Why not?"
"Because Phoenix and I saw the look in Philipe's eyes when he told us about this guy, Perses, the one who's behind all of this. You won't find the name attached to the corporation." He pointed at the screen. "Do you see the name of the company that bought the property?"
"Yes, but—"
"You will find the CEO, the members of the board, all that, but they're all puppets. A man like the one Philipe described doesn't plaster his name and title on anything. He keeps a low profile. Real low. We're talking about someone who's been playing a long game for a while now. He's bent on something. Maybe it's revenge. Maybe it's some other motive, like greed. Or perhaps he wants the power of knowing he can hold the world's financial systems by the cojones. I have no idea. But one thing I do know is that guys like him can't be found with a quick Google search."
Zeke turned and faced Marilyn. "You say this Brompton Station is where we'll find what we're looking for?"
"Yes. I've been watching it for some time, but since we haven't traced any malicious attacks coming from there yet, I haven't checked it out personally."
"The bank virus didn't come from there?" Phoenix asked.
Marilyn smiled at him. It seemed he was the only one who could crack her icy exterior. "No. But that is good thinking. That virus was dropped in from somewhere else. We tracked it to a hotel. More than likely, they used that as a neutral place because it's not tied to the company or person who bought Brompton. Lots of people use hotels. It could have been anyone. This, however," she motioned to the screen, "is built for a much larger attack. It would take a while to do something like that from a hotel."
"Okay," Zeke said. "I guess we're going to the subway."
"Tube," Vincent corrected.
"I'm sorry?" Zeke asked.
"We call it the Tube. Sometimes the London Underground."
Zeke rolled his eyes. "Fine. Whatever. It's a train that goes under the city. Can we just get going? We have no idea how much time we have, so it's probably best to assume we're up against it."
"He's right," Jessica said through obvious existential anguish. "We need to move. If you're sure that's the place, then we need to be there ten minutes ago."
Marilyn gave a nod. "Okay, then. Follow me."
24
London
The façade of the old Brompton Road Station had worn fairly well considering how long it had been closed. The glossy, deep red Leslie Green tiles on the exterior looked almost new, and the white window frames contrasted with the dark crimson color.
Perhaps the new owners of the building had taken the time and resources to spruce the place up a little for the tenants. The upstairs flats appeared to be much like any others in the area…save for the fact they were built on top of an abandoned Tube station.
It was the perfect cover-up for a massive underground criminal operation.
"This is the place?" Zeke asked, staring at the building from across the busy street.
"This is it," Marilyn responded. Her eyes remained locked on the building.
At first glance, it didn't appear to be well guarded, if it was at all. Zeke and Phoenix immediately scanned the rooftops for snipers or men with guns sweeping the perimeter. Their eyes fell to the entrance and panned the sidewalk and adjoining side street to the left, then the alley to the right. Again, there were no signs of any guards.
Vincent trotted up to the group and slowed to a halt. He panted for breath for a moment and then grinned. "Sorry about that," he said. "Just had to make sure there wasn't anyone watching us." He'd circled the block parallel to the Brompton Road Station entrance, though he seemed hardly qualified to do any kind of recon work. The others had humored him while they searched the immediate premises.
"All clear," Vincent said once his breathing returned to normal.
"Does it bother any of you that there isn't a single security guy guarding the place?" Phoenix asked.
"It's definitely odd," Jessica answered. She'd noted the same peculiarity and wondered if they were being led on a wild goose chase. She turned to Marilyn. "How sure are you that this is the place?"
Marilyn sighed. "Is it possible that we've been thrown off track by some kind of decoy system? Is that what you're asking?"
"I…honestly, I don't know."
"Well, it would take an immense amount of effort to set up something like that. It would hardly be an efficient use of someone's time. And the fact that these heat and data signatures are larger than anything we're currently seeing on the map means that there's something huge going on down there. Don't worry," she said with a smirk, "I'm sure there will be more than enough security for you to deal with once we're inside."
"Yeah, about that," Freeman said. He looked exceedingly uncomfortable with the pistol tucked under his jacket, and kept he shifting nervously. "How do we get in, exactly?"
"That door right there," Vincent said, pointing at the entrance to the red building.
"Yeah, but it's blocked off."
"I guess it's a good thing you have a couple of criminals with you then, innit?"
Traffic stopped at the lights on either side of the group, clearing the street momentarily.
"Come on," Marilyn said. "We may already be too late."
Marilyn stepped onto the street and trotted across. The others followed hesitantly and reached the sidewalk just before the lights turned green again.
The group stopped at the door and lingered for a moment as Vincent reached into his daypack and removed a small black cylinder. He stuck his hand back in the pack, removed a silver cylinder, and screwed it onto the black one. The two pieces combined were no longer than his hand from the heel to the tip of his middle finger, barely over two inches in diameter.
"What is that?" Freeman asked.
Vincent looked up with eagerness in his eyes, like a child who'd just opened a new toy at Christmas.
"Breaching torch," he said. "They make these for the military and law enforcement, but theirs are about twice the size of this one. Way too clunky for my tastes."
"Wait," Jessica said. "You have a breaching torch? Why would you have that?"
"You never know, love," he said with a wink. "Pays to be prepared, though, don't it?"
"Yeah, but those things aren't exactly subtle. They produce a ton of heat, a bright orange glow, and a cloud of smoke. Everyone within view will notice."
Vincent held out the device and pressed it to the thick deadbolt keeping the door to the London Underground locked. He looked at his sister and nodded.
She removed a small black box from her jacket pocket. There was a silver switch near the top and a red button under a plastic sheath beneath it.
"What is that?" Zeke asked.
"A diversion," Marilyn answered.
"Diversion? What diversion?"
Vincent looked over his shoulder at Zeke. "My little jog I took a minute ago? I wasn't just having a go for some fish and chips, mate."
Concern filled Zeke's face with a red hue on his cheeks as he watched Marilyn flip the arming switch and then tilt up the plastic sheath. She pressed the button, and a moment later a loud boom erupted from somewhere amid the buildings across the street. Within seconds, a pillar of smoke plumed up above the rooftops.
Pedestrians on the sidewalk froze for a moment and then started running in a panic, fleeing for safety. People abandoned their vehicles and followed the pedestrians down the next street.
"Bomb!" Marilyn shouted. The word seemed to urge on the slower folks, and they picked up their pace.
Screams echoed down the street as people fled. It took less than a minute to clear the street. Sirens blared in the distance, a sign that first responders had already been contacted.
"What did you do?" Phoenix asked with a stern tone directed at Marilyn.
"Take it easy, love," she said. She stroked his cheek with the back of her right hand, still holding the detonator. "Just some fireworks is all. Nothing dangerous."
"Yeah," Vincent said as he repositioned his torch against the door. "Mortar in a rubbish bin. Makes it sound much louder and more violent. Combined it with some smoke grenades, and boom. Literally. When the mortar blew, it popped the top off the dumpster and let all that smoke blow out. Pretty smart, eh?"
"Right, so maybe next time you should let us know when you're going to set off what everyone thinks is a bomb!" Phoenix roared. Then he lowered his voice. "Sorry."
"Seemed to work," Vincent said with a shrug. He pushed the sunglasses on his nose a little closer to the eyes. "You might want to look away. This burns pretty bright."
He pressed the button on the device, and a searing orange light burst from the contact point between the torch and the door. Within seconds, the hard metal glowed brightly and turned into a thick liquid. Sparks flew and smoke burst from the hotspot, shrouding Vincent for a moment before he stepped away from the door and turned off the device.
Everyone else had already taken a step back. The Americans stared in rapt wonder at the freshly melted hole that replaced the lock. The door swung open on its own, creaking slightly.
Vincent stepped up to the door again and used the side of the torch to push it all the way open. Then he cautiously poked his head in, had a quick look around, and then motioned the others to follow.
"All clear," he said as he took a step into the dark alcove beyond.
His sister followed first while the trained agents held back for a moment, uncertain if they should simply stroll in. Zeke took a deep breath and made his move first, mostly because he already felt emasculated that Marilyn had gone before him.
Once all six were in the building, Vincent pulled the door shut again. The group drew their weapons and switched on the attached lights. The area was dark though not pitch black. A dim yellow glow emanated from a concrete spiral staircase ahead.
Each member of the group twisted and scanned the immediate area to make sure they hadn't walked into a trap. There were still no signs of security; all they found were the remnants of the abandoned Tube entrance. Old signs hung from the walls, some emblazoned with safety warnings, others there to direct passengers along the Piccadilly Line.
The room smelled of dust, the absence of moisture or mold striking considering its age and the lack of upkeep or use.
"Down the stairs," Marilyn said, pointing at the staircase that twisted down into the bowels of the city.
"Okay," Zeke said. "Let me take the lead."
Marilyn huffed but stepped aside to let him pass.
Zeke tiptoed by a retired ticket kiosk and shoved his weapon into the space over the first steps. He pointed the light down through the shaft, silently praying there was nothing or no one waiting below.
Then he took his first step, keeping his back to the wall. He let his pistol lead the way as he took one step after the other in deliberate, slow movements. His boot's sole hit the fourth step, and he was about to take another when he slipped. Zeke's arms shot up. His fingers loosened, and the gun slipped away a moment before his balance.
He snatched at the weapon as he fell after it, desperately trying to catch it. He struck the steps three feet below with his upper back, a blow that sent a sudden jarring pain through his nerves. The weapon bobbled in his hands as he tumbled head over heels down through the spiral staircase. His shoulders hit the wall, then his knees, then the back of his head—thankfully not hard enough to do more damage than was already done. The entire time he rolled down the stairs, he fumbled with the pistol to regain control.
The light below rapidly grew brighter as he neared the bottom. Zeke had lost all concern regarding his stealth and was now focused on not breaking any bones, particularly his skull. Zeke hit the last step with his tailbone at the exact second he snatched the pistol out of the air. His fingers grabbed the weapon so tightly that he accidentally squeezed the trigger.
The gun discharged and the suppressor clicked. Zeke was about to cringe, anticipating the ricochet bouncing all around the basement area, but instead he looked up to find a guard dressed in black and standing six feet away.
The man was holding a Heckler & Koch submachine gun slung over one shoulder. His skin was tanned golden and his eyes were a bright, piercing blue. His head was shaved clean, and he bore a barbed-wire tattoo around his neck.
Zeke nearly panicked and was about to squeeze the trigger again, this time on purpose, when he realized the guard was immobile. Seconds ticked by, though to Zeke it seemed like minutes. Then the guard unexpectedly dropped to his knees. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, his vacant eyes stared straight ahead. That's when Zeke noticed a small hole in the center of the man's black shirt. The bullet had entered the man's heart, rupturing the organ instantly.
Footsteps echoed down the stairwell, and Marilyn appeared with the others in tow. They found Zeke holding his weapon with arms extended and a guard lying facedown on the concrete floor, a pool of blood swelling around his torso.
Zeke heard them arrive and rose quickly, a little too quickly. His head spun, and he wavered for a moment, disoriented and dizzy. He reached out and braced himself against the nearest wall. Jessica rushed to his aid, wrapping an arm around his back and holding him tight so he wouldn't fall.
