London Calling, page 6
part #1 of Beta Force Series
"How did they escape?" Jordan asked without greeting.
"We're analyzing that now, sir."
"I don't need analyzing, Stubbs. I need answers."
"Yes, sir."
"Sir?" A new voice came through Jordan's radio. It was his point man on tech. "Go ahead, Rollins."
"We detected a slight anomaly during the breach."
"Anomaly?"
"Yes, sir. We didn't think it was anything at first, but it appears someone was tampering with the facility's video feeds."
Jordan turned his head and pressed his hand to the earpiece to make sure he'd heard correctly. "What did you just say? Did you say someone was tampering with the video feeds?"
"Affirmative."
"How was someone tampering with the video if we killed the power?" His face scrunched as he tried to figure out the answer for himself.
"It was just before the power shut down. The signal was fairly innocuous, so we continued as planned."
"Fairly innocuous?" Jordan's nostrils flared. The insinuation was that this video feed thing had no impact on the mission.
"It didn't affect what we were doing, sir. With the power down, the video feeds went with it. We did manage to trace the signal, though."
Finally, someone was providing him with something useful. "Where did it come from?"
"Pulling up the address now, sir."
Within ten seconds, they had the location.
"You can't hide from me," Jordan muttered to himself. "No one can hide from me."
8
London
"Where are we going?" Philipe demanded. "I told you, I have a place we can hide out. My friend, you can trust him. I swear."
"Yeah, that's great, Zeus, or Philipe, whatever you want to be called," Zeke said sardonically, "but we have to get back to the rest of our team first. They're coming with us."
"Rest of your team?"
"Specifcially, Gary our communications and tech guy. We knew something was up when you ran," Phoenix said as he steered the vehicle around a turn on the left. "Like we said when we came to interrogate you, we weren't the ones you were afraid of. Not until we started chasing you, anyway."
Philipe sighed and contemplated the scenario again. "I thought you were with him."
"Who?"
"I don't know who he was," Philipe said honestly. "But I have a feeling I know who he works for."
"The ghost you told us about?"
"Yes. Perses. In Greek mythology, Perses was a god, a Titan, actually. He was the god of destruction, a force for change. I’m not sure why this man has chosen that moniker, but it’s certainly imposing."
“And maybe a touch egotistical,” Phoenix added.
"You said this Perses guy, he approached you about a job?" Zeke asked.
"Something like that. I didn't tell you everything."
"There's a shocker," Zeke chirped.
"He found out about something I'd been working on, something big."
Silence permeated the car's cabin for a moment as the two Americans waited for their ward to continue.
Phoenix let his curiosity get the better of him. "What was it?"
"That's the thing," Philipe said. "It wasn't my virus. It was something I stumbled on when I was skimming around through the web. I found a conversation between this Perses and another hacker. They were working on a piece of code that could burrow into systems and cause total disruption."
"Systems such as what, exactly?" Zeke asked, glancing across the back seat at the hacker.
Philipe's shoulders lifted then dropped. "Anything. You could hack major financial institutions, education systems, power companies, cable companies, even the military."
"No way," Phoenix argued. "Most of the world's top militaries use encryption that's virtually uncrackable."
"Virtually," Philipe reiterated.
Phoenix narrowed his eyes as he glanced in the mirror at Philipe.
"If someone were to understand how the encryption works, they could slip the virus into the code where it wouldn't be noticed. Describing it is much easier than the actual task, but yes, it's doable."
"How did Perses know about it, your modifications? Or did he just assume you were capable?"
"That, I don't know. The only thing I can figure is someone else might have been watching my computer, but I have measures in place to prevent that. Still, to be safe, I copied the code onto my hard drive."
Dead silence soaked the car's interior once more.
"Wait. You did what?" Phoenix had enough knowledge about computers and technology to know that doing such a thing was dangerous. It could be tracked, or at the very least, could destroy anything on the receiving computer's hard drive.
"I took precautions," Philipe said. His gaze remained on the passing pubs, restaurants, and other buildings outside the vehicle.
"Not good enough ones, apparently," Zeke said. "They found you. Didn't they?"
"Yes. They did. I believe my mistake was opening the file and tweaking it, though I always use a VPN when I'm doing anything online, from shopping to…well, you know. When I looked at it, the thing was incomplete, but it was clear to me what the designer of it was trying to accomplish."
"Which was what?"
"Chaos on a massive scale," Philipe answered. "A virus like that could topple nations, not just one. If a nation was big enough, say the United States or China, the domino effect on the rest of the world would be catastrophic. Money would be useless. Riots, looting, murder, theft—all of it would happen within a day or two of the collapse."
Phoenix listened as he steered the vehicle to the right and down another street toward the flat where Freeman was waiting to be picked up.
"And you just thought it was a good idea to store that kind of virus on your computer?"
"I took precautions."
"Again, not enough."
"No. In the end, they tracked me down. I must have triggered something when I was looking through their systems. My daughter was staying with my mother at the time, so she was safe. Now, I'm not so sure."
"You're right to be uncertain about that," Zeke said. "If these guys are as bad as you say, the next place they'll check is any relatives living nearby."
"My mother is in Cambridge, in a little farmhouse. It’s in the country, quiet and safe."
That was good to hear, though it hardly solved their problems in London.
"Is that cabin traceable to you?" Phoenix asked.
"I purchased it through an umbrella corporation I created a few years ago. I have several such entities, so it makes tracking movement of funds far more difficult for authorities." Philipe spoke about illegal, or at least potentially illegal, activities as though they were as easy as opening a can of Coke.
"You know, I'm not going to say anything about that," Phoenix quipped, "even though everything you just said is super shady. Still, if you downloaded the virus and someone tracked you down, why didn't they just kill you on sight?"
Philipe turned his head away from the window and locked eyes in the rearview mirror with the driver. "Because…I figured out how to make the thing work."
Phoenix stepped on the brakes and slipped the car into an empty parking spot along the sidewalk. They were in a part of town that was less busy with tourists and commuters. There were more hipsters there than anything, as evidenced by the clichés of long beards, knit caps, and drab clothing.
The buildings were mostly four stories tall, with shops, cafés, pubs, and other small businesses occupying the ground floors along the street.
"Where are we?" Philipe asked.
"Just picking up a friend," Zeke said as he opened the door. "Come on."
"You…want me to get out of the car?" The former prisoner seemed dubious at the request.
"You're not our captive," Zeke informed him. "Right now, you're a fugitive, though I'm not sure who knows about your…our escape. I doubt anyone knows we were there, although we had to sign in, so there's that."
"I hope everyone survived the attack," Phoenix said as he closed the door to the car. There was a hint of regret in his voice. "It sounded bad."
"The cops always win those fights," Zeke said. "They probably called in a bunch of backup, and they're likely swarming the entire facility right now, rounding up the troublemakers."
"Yeah," Phoenix said. "I guess you're right."
"If anyone in that building was left alive," Philipe pointed out in a subdued tone. The other two doubted if the man cared about the lives of the agents in the facility, and certainly not the criminals, despite the tone of his voice.
Philipe led the way up a short flight of stairs and then entered a four-digit code on a keypad. The lock on the door buzzed and then clicked. The men entered and stepped into a dimly lit hall with a black-and-white checkerboard floor.
The group continued on, passing several red doors on either side. Heavy bass thumped behind one. The sounds of gunfire and explosions seeped through another, signaling the occupant was playing a video game or watching an action movie. It was pointless to determine which.
They reached the end of the hallway and stopped at a door painted a bright, royal blue.
Philipe turned to the other two men with a serious look on his face. "Just let me do the talking, okay? He gets a little…jumpy when he feels threatened."
"What do you mean by that?" Zeke asked.
"You'll see. Oh, and don't stare. Vincent has…eccentric tastes."
"What?" Phoenix wondered. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Again, you'll see. But please, don't stare. And for the love of all things decent, don't bring it up. Okay?"
"Sure," the two said with a shrug and a few nods of their heads.
"No problem," Zeke said.
He didn't understand why Philipe was looking at him so strangely but blew it off as paranoia.
"Can we mention the oddly colored doors in this place?" Zeke asked with a smirk. "Did this place used to be a daycare or something?"
Philipe raised one finger, signaling his wardens to be on their best behavior.
Zeke merely raised both hands in surrender.
The Frenchman rapped on the door three times, then two more times, then once, all in a precise staccato.
"Hold on," a man's voice said from the inside in a sharp English accent.
A moment later, locks started sliding through their housings, and chains rattled, accompanied by several clicks. Then the door swung open, and the group was greeted by a short, skinny man in a black pinstripe zoot suit. The brimmed hat matched the suit jacket, while a white ribbon tied in perfectly with the pinstripes and the bright white, wing tips. On the walls at the very back of the apartment hung pictures displaying various performing artists from the 1930s, ’40s, and ’50s.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't my old friend, Zeus," the man said. "The prodigal son has returned."
"Vincent," Philipe said. "Good to see you again."
The two embraced in a firm hug while the two Americans continued staring at the indescribable leap in time they'd made from the modern era of technology to post World War II…Europe? America? It was difficult to tell.
"What have you been up to, mate?" Vincent asked. "I heard you got nabbed. Guess I heard wrong."
"No, you heard right," Philipe corrected. "These two were the ones who nabbed me."
A sudden look of concern swept over the host's face. Fear replaced it almost immediately as he followed the jerked thumb of his friend and stared at the two men behind Philipe.
"Are you off your rocker, mate? You brought two cops here to my place? What's wrong with you?" He included a few choice expletives that would have made the saltiest sailor in the world need a new pair of drawers.
"They helped me escape," Philipe said. "And we need a place to lie low for a while."
"Escape? You're on the run?" He almost sounded proud. "And why would the two men who arrested you help you escape? Is that bump on your head making you a tad loopy?"
"I'm fine," Philipe said, though he touched the bump on his skull again; it was still tender. "But can we come in? I'll tell you everything."
"Were you followed?"
"No."
"You're sure? I can't have any fuzz coming down on me right now."
"Trust me, I know you can't. We wouldn't have come here if we thought we would bring you trouble."
Zeke and Phoenix glanced at each other, curious about the man's terminology, but they held back…for the moment.
Vincent's eyes narrowed as he glowered at the two Americans. The indication of mistrust couldn't be ignored. "That right? You two didn't bring me trouble, did you? Because I'll tell you what, if this is some kind of setup to bring me in, it will not go well for you."
Zeke and Phoenix could barely hear the man's words, so intense was their focus on the man's outfit and behavior.
"No, we understand," Phoenix said. "We won't cause any problems."
"Right," Zeke added. "Just trying to reel in this big fish, is all."
"What did you just say?" Vincent asked.
Phoenix slapped his friend on the shoulder and grinned broadly. "He said we aren't here to arrest anyone. We're GIC, but we're working on another case, a cyberterrorism deal. Would be a riot if we don't stop them."
Zeke pouted his lips and nodded at his friend. "Okay, yeah, I see that one. Subtle, maybe a reach, but I'll allow it."
"What, did you bring me a couple of wise guys, Zeus?" The short man stepped forward, edging past his acquaintance toward the two agents. He was a good six inches shorter than both of them, but the menace in his eyes told them he wasn't one to back down from a fight. In fact, the nearly healed shiner under his eye told them both that he'd been in a brawl recently, probably at a local pub or nightclub. And there was something weird about one of the guy’s ears. It looked like someone had long ago tried to rip it off his head.
"No, no. They're cool. Please, can we just come in for a minute?"
The host continued glaring at the two Americans. "Are you two insulting me?"
"No, sir," Zeke said, flattening his shirt and putting on his best sincere face. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I do love this hallway and the doors, though. And from the looks of it, your apartment is really cool."
Vincent eyed the two suspiciously, unsure whether he should trust them.
"Sorry," Phoenix said. "It's just that…well, we need a safe place for Philipe…Zeus to hide for an hour or two so we can go pick up our communications guy. In fact, we need to get going soon. He's probably freaking out right now if he heard about the attack on the Interpol facility."
"Attack?" Vincent's tone changed to one of intense concern. "What attack?"
"Can we talk inside...please?" Philipe insisted.
Vincent narrowed his eyelids at the two men again. The suspicion oozed out of his eyes, but he finally relented. "Fine. Come in. But if you two keep it up, I'll feed you to the pigs."
Phoenix furrowed his brow as they followed the other two into the apartment. "Pigs?" he muttered to his partner, but Zeke simply shook his head silently and stepped into the foyer.
The host shut the door hard behind them and reset all the locks, seven in total. There were deadbolts, chains, and a knob lock to keep out intruders.
Once inside, the Americans took a quick look around, inspecting their surroundings with quick eyes. They were astounded at how clean the place was. After all, most of the hackers they'd met lived in sloppy, sometimes derelict, conditions. They'd expected to find empty pizza boxes and burger wrappers on the floor next to soda cans and paper cups. What they found, instead, was a pristine apartment.
The kitchen to their right looked newly furnished, adorned with modern black cabinetry and steel appliances. A wide ventilation fan loomed over the stove, much like Zeke and Phoenix had seen in famous chefs' kitchens. A bamboo cutting board rested on the counter with a fresh cucumber splayed out on it next to a cutting knife. Next to that sat a loaf of freshly baked bread.
Beyond the kitchen, the living room opened into a wide space with a flatscreen hanging in the corner. A gray-upholstered sofa and matching chairs wrapped around in a U shape to provide all visitors with an equally good view of the television. A balcony extended beyond a pair of double doors. It was furnished with a small bistro table and matching teak chairs. To the left, a short hallway led to opposing bedrooms, a single hallway bathroom, and an alcove with stacked, front-loading washer and dryer.
The dark, hardwood floor looked almost black and created a beautiful contrast with the white countertops around the kitchen's island sink.
Of course, those were the modern furnishings. The walls were covered in art, posters, and even some vinyl records from the swing era of the 1930s and ’40s. There were images of men and women in speakeasies, raising glasses of liquid that may or may not have been potable alcohol, depending on who’d made it.
"This is…a really nice place," Phoenix commented.
"Not what you expected, eh? Thought I was one of them fellas that lives in trash?"
"Well, I mean, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy would love it," Zeke cut himself off when he saw the chastising look from Philipe.
"Thank you for your help," Philipe said before Zeke could make a bigger spectacle of himself. "I truly appreciate it, my friend."
"Not a problem," Vincent said as he rounded the counter and picked up the knife. He held it menacingly toward the two Americans for a moment and then began slicing the cucumber into thin discs. "So, what's the story with the two yanks from the GIC? Why are they helping you? You said they arrested you?"
"They did, sort of. It's lucky they caught me, though."
"Lucky? Doesn't sound lucky?"
"Someone else was after me. If they hadn't caught me, that man might have."
Vincent looked up from his cucumber long enough to offer a quizzical look at his friend. "Who was this other man?"
"I'm not sure, but I think he works—or worked—for someone who calls himself Perses."
Vincent scowled at the moniker. "Perses? That's an odd name. Never heard of him."
"I hadn't either until he approached me about a job. Wanted some code I'd been working on. I honestly don't know how he knew about it, but I think I know why he wants it."
