BISENTIENT, page 21
Plater and Molly performed what they hoped would look like the typical circling and cruising of people new in town and potentially lost. In doing so they managed to locate the offices of the trading company owned by the CoR central to the tiny business district close to the Gunnison County Airport. It was slightly harder to find the Church building itself, but they eventually did, some two miles away. They also found the motel they'd selected off the internet and checked in.
Plater texted Bartholomew to let him know they had arrived and immediately realised how unnecessary that was since he would be seeing him in the realm within a couple of hours.
As Plater and Molly strolled away from their room to find a place to eat the rented 4x4 swung into the campground just to the North of the city and Erik began to erect the tent. Kathleen started a fire in the nearby firepit. A cool breeze nudged the trees about fifty yards away. Kathleen went to her rucksack and pulled on a sweatshirt.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
ZACH WAS SWEATING badly when he woke up. At first, his vision wouldn't clear properly. Aunt Dorothy's sitting room emerged from the darkness but then broke apart into a digital blur and he was in a strange place. Not the pub he remembered, but a darker place, with tall trees and a humming that seemed to be coming from inside his head. Then blocky blurring again, more glimpses of Aunt Dorothy's, then the pub, then the sitting room again. Zach covered his eyes with his hand, but the image was there as if he were looking right through his hand. He rubbed both eyes hard and blinked repeatedly, then tightly closed his eyes. He was relieved to not be able to see anything. As he slowly opened them, Aunt Dorothy's sitting room welcomed him with its tired wallpaper. Zach was half sitting up and he slumped back down, gratefully looking up at the ceiling.
In fact, he was still lying on the settee when Aunt Dorothy swept into the kitchen and began busying herself with cups of tea and breakfast. By the time Angie had come downstairs Zach was dressed and sat at the table with his second strong cup of tea. He was still replaying the weird dream he’d just had and seemed distant.
“That flash new bike of yours is certainly causing a bit of a stir.” said Angie looking out of the kitchen window.
It took a moment but Zach suddenly jumped up and crossed to the window. Two young lads were admiring the huge bike and one was carefully sitting astride it as it sat on the stand. Zach flipped open the back door and ran towards the boys, shouting:
“Hey, what are you doing?”
The two boys, whose combined age was probably less than Zach's looked startled and made off in a hurry. The one who'd been astride the bike caught his shin as he dismounted and limped away, still quickly enough. On no account did Zach want any attention drawn while he was resting at Aunt Dorothy's. He had no plan, no next move yet, he needed time to think. It seemed suddenly very bright outside and a sharp pain stabbed behind his eyes. For a moment he felt dizzy but then the pain stopped. It was probably just fatigue, thought Zach. He'd not been sleeping well, even before he broke out of the lab. As he trudged back to the cottage the sizzling of fried bacon and sausages made him think that a good breakfast might help. But he needed a plan, and fast.
The two boys were in the nearby woods now, cutting across the neighbouring farm to their houses. Ryan James was spitting on his hand then rubbing it over the gouge on his shin from the footrest. It hurt like hell but at least he had a picture of him sitting on the bike. As soon as he got home, he'd upload it to Facebook. He was sure most of his friends had never seen a bike like that in real life never mind sat on one.
The act of young Ryan James uploading the picture to Facebook effectively started a countdown. Within less than an hour of Zach bursting through the gates of the lab in Suffolk the underlying security level within the UK had been ratcheted up to Level 2. This was the highest that Braberson and Carver dare raise the level without drawing unwanted attention to their project. But even at this level, a number of resources were switched to specific activities to monitor, measure and observe. Of these resources was one of a pair of supercomputers at GCHQ in Cheltenham. This machine was really many thousands of machines all working in parallel. Custom built for the purpose. The purpose of selecting potentially important information from the vast tides of data washing around on the internet and through other telecommunications media.
Unfortunately for Zach, this computer was now running the latest version of Mycroft. Mycroft was the title bestowed on GCHQ's program suite for data collection and analysis. This was an obvious jibe at the Holmes program developed by the Home Office for collating data on crimes, Mycroft being Sherlock's smarter brother. This machine learning program sifted data from all email and social networking sites. With the addition of the latest image recognition software, Mycroft would eventually notice something. A picture uploaded to Facebook seemed to have a 79.5% chance of depicting a vehicle listed as missing and would flag the photo for human analysis. Events with a greater than 75% relevance as determined by Mycroft had to be examined by a human analyst within two hours, although most were checked within minutes. The registration plate of the bike was clearly visible in the picture, with only one character obscured.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
PLATER WOKE WITH a lurch into consciousness. It was disorienting and despite this becoming more common as he shifted between the realm and the physical world, he had not developed any strategies to cope better with it. He could feel most of his muscles were tensed and one leg was about to cramp which made him haul himself up so he could squeeze his thigh and try to prevent the uncontrolled tightening.
Molly wasn't in bed; Plater was not so distracted that he didn't notice that. As he wrestled control of his muscles he wondered if the realisation of what she was about to do had panicked her. Today she was to attempt to contact the CoR. It still seemed a high risk plan to Plater but there was no arguing with Molly. Her logic was sound, but Plater still didn't want her to do it.
As he sat on the side of the bed waiting for the last vestiges of tension to ebb from his body the door opened and Molly came in.
“Finally.” she said. “It's a lovely day outside.”
“Where have you been?” asked Plater.
“Just walking.” replied Molly, standing at the window of their first floor room and looking out at the street below. Gunnison life was starting, and a couple of pickup trucks passed each other in opposite directions. She could see three pedestrians and a delivery van outside the general stores opposite.
Plater showered and they ran over the plan once more.
“Okay?” asked Plater.
“Okay.” said Molly, Plater thought he heard uncertainty in her voice but it was too late to change now.
They walked the half block to Rosie's Diner and slid into a booth around 07:36 and ordered coffee. Their waitress, Becky, seemed to be the only person serving and there was one other customer, an older man with a bushy beard and tatty baseball cap on the other leg of the L-shaped diner. They'd seen two people from the CoR office visit Rosie's each morning they'd been in Gunnison. One was a tall skinny boy of no more than late teens and the other was an older woman, perhaps in her late thirties.
The plan, which seemed to Plater to come right out of a low budget film, was for them to stage a loud argument, for Plater to storm out and leave Molly, visibly upset, behind. Members of organisations like the CoR were trained to recognise potential new recruits and new recruits usually had emotional problems. Erik had been very confident that this would work; he had seen it or heard firsthand stories of how people were recruited so many times.
Right on cue the skinny boy and the woman came into Rosie's. They liked to sit by the window that was on Main Street, so they ended up sitting two booths from where Plater and Molly had deliberately chosen to eat. After waiting long enough for the other two to order and receive their breakfasts Molly and Plater began their charade. They'd rehearsed a few lines and things to 'disagree' on and occasionally they were sure to raise their voices but not too much. Molly, who was facing the other two could see when the woman began to take notice. Molly touched Plater's hand as a signal. They could now move to the next stage. After one particularly venomous exchange Plater stormed off to the Men's Room which allowed the woman to see clearly that Molly was crying. When he came back Plater tossed two $20 bills rather theatrically onto the table and walked out. Molly sat hunched, with her head bowed, sobbing. Becky came by and asked if she wanted more coffee and Molly nodded.
It was a little over five minutes, Plater reckoned, from his position back in their room, binoculars in hand, until he saw the woman approach Molly. They exchanged a few words and the woman sat down in Molly's booth. They talked for a few minutes and then the woman beckoned the skinny boy to join them. They talked some more and before Plater knew it, an hour had passed. Eventually the three of them got up and left Rosie's. They headed West and turned down a sidestreet in the direction of the CoR's offices. So far so good. Just as they disappeared from Plater's sight his phone chirped. A text message from Molly with just the number '1'. This was at the suggestion of Erik, who recommended using a very simple code in case the cult took Molly's phone, which they would almost certainly do at some stage, depending on how quickly they managed to convince her to stay. The number '1' just meant that everything was ok, but also confirmed that Molly still had her phone. If asked she could deny knowledge of the message and claim it had been sent accidentally.
Plater was pleased that the plan seemed to be working but the reality of Molly being out of his reach and with what he believed to be murdering pseudo-religious fanatics hit home. He texted Erik the news. The next part of the plan depended on Molly.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
ZACH HAD NEVER considered himself particularly lucky. As he pushed Angie's scooter up the slight incline towards the centre of the village and Brian's Autos to get a puncture repaired, he didn't consider it lucky at all. Brian explained that it would take at least two hours to fix as he was backed up with other work. Zach glanced around a cluttered but quiet workshop but decided not to argue.
To fill time, they visited the library, where Angie was fascinated that Zach could actually connect to the internet, let alone to the World of Warcraft online game from the antique computer he'd been using there. Zach checked some messages and quickly scanned a few news sites to make sure nothing was being mentioned about the events in Suffolk. By this time the local pub, the Plough, had opened for lunch so they decided to stop off and ended up discussing old friends which distracted them, at least superficially, for an hour or so.
On returning to Brian's Autos they found the scooter with its wheel still off and it was probably only their actual arrival that triggered activity on it. Eventually, it took another half an hour before they wheeled the scooter to the kerbside and rode back towards the cottage.
Zach was just beginning to enjoy holding Angie's waist as they weaved through the lanes when his senses flashed a warning to him. They were approaching a triangular grass island that is a common sight in East Anglia where lanes meet when Zach noticed a man standing casually on the triangle. He was wearing a suit and looked distinctly out of place. Zach tapped Angie vigorously on the shoulder and indicated she should slow down. Eventually she stopped about 200 yards from the man on the verge. Zach jumped off the scooter and dodged close to the hedge, pushing himself into it to reduce his profile.
Angie pulled off her helmet.
“What's wrong?” she asked.
“That man, up ahead, on the grass island, he's Security Services.” said Zach.
Angie looked back towards the man and Zach called:
“Don't stare! Pretend you have a problem on the scooter or something then turn around, I'll meet you back up the road about 100 metres. The road bends so we'll be out of sight.”
Angie couldn't help looking at the man on the grass again. Zach was right, he did look odd, just standing there in the middle of the country, dressed as if he worked in a bank. She wheeled the scooter around in the narrow lane and replaced her helmet. She slowly moved off and caught sight of Zach running bent over in the ditch between the lane's tarmac and the hedge. When he thought it was safe, Zach waved and Angie stopped allowing him to get back on.
“Just ride!” shouted Zach. “I'll direct you.”
On this occasion the event spotted by Mycroft had been checked by an analyst within ten minutes of it being logged; there were extra analysts on shift for the elevated security level. Braberson had been informed, as per protocol. He however had not followed protocol, which would have dictated that he inform local police and liaise with them to investigate. Instead, it was Braberson's own security team that made the dash across the Anglian countryside but apart from the bike, which was clearly the vehicle Zach had escaped on, there was no sign he had been there. No personal items in the cottage. Aunt Dorothy omitted to mention that her nephew had been with a young woman when he'd left the cottage that morning. She also seemed to have no idea where he might have been going.
“You should go home.” said Zach.
He was looking down at the formica table of the booth and toying with a slim unopened packet of sugar. Angie was warming her hands around her mug of chocolate in silence. They were the only two customers in the tiny cafe.
“I should never have contacted you; they probably know all about it and now you're involved too...” Zach's sentence trailed off.
“It's okay.” said Angie. “What do we do now?”
“We? No, no, you have to go home.”
“But you said they probably know I'm involved now, so won't they be waiting for me? Besides they can't be allowed to get away with what they've done to you. We need to tell the papers or something. What about Facebook? Twitter?”
Zach placed the sugar pack carefully in the bowl with the others and looked at Angie.
“All social media traffic is examined by the Cheltenham spooks; they'll have flagged our IDs immediately and any newly created ones as well. We'd never be able to upload.”
“What about somewhere to stay?” asked Angie.
“London.” pronounced Zach.
“That's mad.” said Angie. “Isn't it? I mean they have cameras all over and shouldn't we try to get as far away from these people as we can?”
“People have hidden in cities for centuries.” Zach was smiling as if he was happy to have formed a plan. “Plus, I know a bit about their tech, maybe a bit more than they'd like.” He winked and slid out of the booth.
They took the country roads towards London and managed to find two petrol stations with no apparent cameras. The first was too busy but the second seemed ok. The scooter was probably running on fumes by then. It was dark as the buildings reared up around them and swallowed them into the boiling, growling, swarming metropolis.
Angie hadn't wanted to sell her scooter. It was like her first child; she'd saved so hard to get it and had even waited six weeks for the particular shade of purple, but they needed some funds. By the time the paperwork, or online change of ownership had been processed, they'd have vanished into the smoke.
Angie noticed that Zach kept referring to what looked like a smartphone but wasn't. It could have been a hand-held GPS but had some added features.
“This way.” said Zach and turned down a quiet street that seemed to go nowhere.
“Where are we going?” asked Angie.
“Like you said, London is full of cameras right? Well Meek and I didn't like that so we built a little box that maps the known locations of all security cameras, look..”
The handheld screen showed a familiar small map of where they were but had four pulsing red dots on the main road that ran almost parallel with the street they were on.
“Okay, but how do you know it's right? They add cameras all the time.”
“Same way the spooks know, they have a database, accessible online. But they monitor accesses so we can't use that one, so Meek and I use their backups. The data's a day old but hey, that's a chance we'll have to take. We use a basic shell account in the US to bounce it back via an old server at an estate agent's that I did some work for years ago. They'll have to make some leaps to pick up that trail. The hand-held piggy-backs on BT's network.”
“You mean the BT Infinity thing where everyone gives up part of their bandwidth to passersby?” said Angie.
“Yeah.”
“Epic!” she said.
They laughed at the beauty of being able to move around in London and be confident of avoiding CCTV.
After walking for twenty minutes, they turned back towards the main road. On the corner of the street was a small mini-cab office. They got a cab to Wembley. As they passed by the stadium, with its landmark arch glowing, Zach showed Angie his CCTV map. There were twelve dots on the screen but seven of them had yellow 'X's across them.
“That means they're down.” he said.
“Why so many?”
“Seems the locals here don't like being watched so much.”
Zach grinned.
“It's been this way for at least two years.” he went on. “Meek and I noticed it after a while, we agreed it'd be a good place to lie low.”
The cab dropped them off and Zach set off walking.
“Now where?” asked Angie.
“Just a precaution, we have a bit of a walk.”
“So, was I the only one?” asked Angie.
Zach looked puzzled.
“Was I the only one that saw your messages?” she went on.
“No.” said Zach. “Rick replied as well but he’s kinda ‘offside’ when it comes to actual help. He’s in California.”
“Really? I didn’t know. Stuck with me then.”
They exchanged a look of sardonic humour and Zach rolled his eyes. Angie elbowed him playfully.
