Huntress Page 4

  Amy quickly lifted her leg up and kicked the table in front of her, causing the rest of the flimsy tables to disperse around the room. One hit Spiky, the others momentarily blocking his path and giving Amy the opportunity to run. She hurried out of the break room, throwing her backpack on. She exited the first set of double doors and spilled into the public area.

  “Fucking great.” She looked around at her would-be rescuers. A busload of pensioners all shuffling towards the toilets like penguins on the ice. In the distance was a group of French schoolchildren. “Perfect, just bloody perfect,” she mumbled.

  “Amy!”

  She spun around and saw Kerry walking towards her. She suddenly remembered that Kerry had offered to pick her up after work.

  “Are you practicing carrying your backpack, you weirdo?” Kerry asked in confusion.

  The doors to the staff area smashed open, and Spiky came out. He took a quick step back as he looked up at the ceiling.

  Amy looked up, too, seeing the CCTV cameras and realising that he didn’t want to be seen.

  “They are coming,” he told Amy seriously. “You don’t have much time.”

  “Who’s coming?” Kerry asked. She looked at Spiky. “Aliens? Right? I always knew we are not alone.”

  “Kerry, don’t, he has a knife,” Amy warned her friend, quietly to not cause a panic.

  Kerry took a few steps back, her hand on Amy’s arm to pull her back with her. As they stepped further into the middle of the concourse, Spiky walked around the edge of the wall, circling them but not daring to enter the main area.

  “Just hand over the USB,” he said to Amy. “The government are on the way here right now, and they are going to have more than just a knife. If they catch you with that USB, they will brand you a spy and throw you in a hole to rot.”

  “Is that what happened to Cara?” Amy asked.

  “Amy’s not a spy,” Kerry added. “She’ll tell them, she’s not a spy. Or they’ll take one look at her and deduce that for themselves. I mean, look at her.”

  “Thanks, honey,” Amy quipped.

  “You’re welcome, babe.”

  “You think they’ll listen? To you? When I’m done with your records, you’ll read like a couple of Jihadi Janes,” Spiky told them. “Your name will be mud. Both of you. But, if you hand it over now, I can make sure that all of this goes away.”

  Amy swallowed. She had no idea if he was capable of what he was saying. And if he was, did she really want to give him a USB packed full of God knows what?

  “No.” Amy shook her head. “No, I’m not giving this to you and that hair.”

  “How much gel do you use, anyway? It doesn’t even move.” Kerry vaguely pointed at his head.

  “I know, right?” Amy said.

  “Shut up!” Spiky shouted in exasperation. He looked up at the large glass frontage to the building and smirked. “They’re here.”

  Amy followed his gaze and saw three black SUVs and two black vans screeching to a halt in the car park. The backdoors of one of the vehicles opened and a stream of armed police in black ops outfits poured out.

  Pensioners in the car park were starting to point and stare at the sudden arrival. Luckily, most of them were also in the way and slowing down the progress of the officers.

  “Give me the USB stick now,” Spiky told Amy, “and I’ll make sure that you are left out of this. Don’t give it to me, and I will tell them that you are armed and carrying a bomb. Do you think your First and your Mensa membership can talk you out of that? You seem to like talking so much.”

  “Oh, you are so mean!” Amy told him.

  “Babe,” Kerry whispered. “I think we need to get out of here, regroup.”

  “Agreed,” Amy murmured in reply.

  In a move they had used many times over the years, both turned around and ran towards the ladies’ toilets, the obvious refuge for any given situation. The ladies’ toilets were the perfect place to escape anything. Except Amy’s mum. But Amy was pretty sure that she wasn’t about to be rescued by her mum.

  “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Kerry repeated under her breath as they entered the ladies’ toilet. She weaved around old women dithering in the cramped space.

  “What do we do?” Amy asked, fiddling with the backpack straps and seriously wishing she hadn’t packed Pocket Scrabble. The pack was damn heavy, and she hadn’t thought about the fact she would have to carry it at some point.

  “What is he talking about? What USB stick?” Kerry asked.

  “Short version.” Amy took a deep breath. “I looked at the CCTV, couldn’t find Cara’s car. Could see Cara. Every morning she tapes a USB stick underneath a table in the café. Like, some kind of stealthy shit.”

  Kerry gasped.

  “Every evening, Spiky out there comes in and gets it. Every day this happens. Until Monday. Cara didn’t come in in the morning. She came in the afternoon and put the USB under a different table. Spiky came in later and couldn’t find it.” She held it up. “And now I have it.”

  Taking another deep breath, she continued, “I plugged it in. I think it’s in code or something. The second I plugged it in, he came into the break room all whoosh whoosh with a knife. He said it had activated some kind of alarm. Said I had no idea who was coming. Now some government black ops shit is outside. With guns.” Amy pocketed the USB.

  “We don’t know they are the government,” Kerry pointed out. “I don’t think we can trust anything Spiky has to say.”

  “Whoever they are, they have guns. Like, a lot of guns.” Amy watched as an elderly lady waved her hands under the tap for the twentieth time to no avail. She leaned forward and pushed the button on the top of the tap. “We’re not that advanced here, still got buttons,” Amy told her kindly.

  “Oh, thank you, dear!”

  “You’re welcome,” Amy replied. She grabbed hold of Kerry and walked to the end of the toilets. “What do we do?”

  “Regroup,” Kerry replied.

  Amy indicated their location. “I thought this was us regrouping?”

  “I don’t know about you, but there is only so much regrouping I can do in the ladies’ toilets with, like, twenty men with guns about to burst in.”

  “Right, you’re right. We need more time. We need space.”

  Kerry looked at the fire exit thoughtfully. “I’m parked near this exit.” She looked at Amy. It was obvious what she was suggesting. It was crazy. Running away. From armed men. But then Amy didn’t know what else to do. She didn’t know who to trust and who to believe. And she sure as hell didn’t want to be shot. She had a two-part Casualty special recorded and she wanted to know what happened. Dying today was out of the question.

  “Okay. We open this door. We run to your car and we... we just go,” Amy said. “Right?”

  Kerry swallowed hard. Probably also considering the gravity of what they were about to do.

  “Because, I don’t know if I trust this...” Amy used her finger to draw a circle around her face, “... to be able to explain without getting us killed. I need some time to process this. To think about the best thing to do. The best thing to say.”

  Kerry slowly nodded her head. “We open this door and run to the car... and go. Go where?”

  “Out of here. Fast.”

  They looked at each other for a few seconds before nodding agreement.

  “One...” they counted together, “two... three!”

  They burst through the door and started screaming loudly as they ran towards the car park. Amy looked around as she ran.

  Amy paused her screaming to shout, “Where’s the car?”

  “Shit,” Kerry shouted back. “It was the other door!”

  “What?” Amy stared at her, still running but now apparently not towards the car.

  “Other door!” Kerry pointed to another fire exit in the distance.

  “Shit!” Amy shouted.

  They both turned and jumped over a flower bed before starting to scream again. They ran across the
car park, around the building, and towards the back of the services. They weaved in and out of parked cars, panting in exhaustion as neither of them had run anywhere in about ten years.

  “You said you parked here,” Amy complained loudly.

  “How am I supposed to know every fucking fire exit?” Kerry returned over her shoulder. “Anyway, there it is!”

  Without the added weight of the backpack, Kerry arrived at the two-door car first. She unlocked the driver’s door and threw herself into the seat.

  “Hurry!” Kerry called out of the open door.

  Amy opened the passenger door and saw Kerry’s own enormous backpack taking up the seat. She pulled on the catch to lift the seat forward so that she could climb into the back. The seat moved halfway, stopped due to the bulk of the bag. Amy attempted to throw herself into the back but was stopped by the size of her own rucksack. She tried again to squeeze in, but it was wedged in the doorway. She knew she shouldn’t have brought the painting by numbers kit.

  “Shit.” She climbed out and slammed the door shut again. She rushed to the back of the car, opened the boot, and started to fiddle with the straps of her bag. Attaching it firmly to herself had made running with it easier, but she was now wondering if she would ever be able to get out of it.

  “Come on!” Kerry shouted as she revved the engine.

  “You try hurrying with all these fucking straps!” Amy yelled back.

  Eventually, she managed to unhook one strap, but the other clasp blew around in the breeze. She completed two full circles on the spot just trying to catch it.

  “Fuck it,” she muttered. She threw the backpack, still attached to her body, into the boot of the car. Her legs and arms were still outside, but she was weighed down by the backpack. She realised that she was as in the cramped space as she was going to get, and slammed her hand against the boot to get Kerry’s attention.

  “Go, go, go!”

  5

  Mi5

  Andrew Barr looked around the briefing room at the assembled group. Seventeen people. Supposedly the best of the best. Not that anyone would have been able to tell by their performance to date. A fact that weighed heavily on his shoulders.

  He tilted his neck from one side to the other to release the pressure that had been building over the last six months and now threatened to turn him to stone. He looked down at the documents in front of him. The crisp foil seal of MI5 intelligence glittered in the dim light of the room. The importance of the black and white imprint of the royal coat of arms surrounded by a ring of the words ‘Her Majesty’s Secret Service’ weighed as heavily today as they had when he joined the service thirty-three years ago.

  He rubbed his eyes. Logically, he knew why the MI5 briefing rooms were in the middle of the building and, therefore, without access to natural light. What he didn’t know was why the damn lighting always had to resemble the rig used to film The X-Files. Surely, they could find bulbs that actually gave out light, rather than the pathetic glow he was now bathed in.

  He looked around the assembled company and wondered if they struggled as much as he did. Or if it was simply his age. Not that fifty-eight was that old, he reminded himself. But more and more, it felt old. As the bad guys got faster, he felt himself getting slower. The intelligence service was becoming a young person’s game. But, looking around at some of the youngsters gathered, he didn’t fancy putting national security into their hands just yet.

  The final attendee entered the room, apologised, and closed the door behind her before hurriedly taking her seat.

  Andrew stood up. “Thank you all for coming. Most of you know why we are here, but you’ll forgive me for repeating the pertinent facts for those who are new to this particular investigation.”

  He picked up the projector remote control and pressed a button. Two large screens at the head of the table sprung to life. Copies of the briefing documents were displayed on the screens for all to see.

  “As you probably know, our senior analysts have reported significant chatter regarding confidential government information being stolen.” He pressed a button, and the screen changed to display screenshots of online forums with coded messages being sent back and forth.

  “Over the last several months, the information being stolen and sold on the dark web has increased in both frequency and in security level. It remains unclear exactly what this data is. The code the seller uses changes on a frequent basis, and we have yet to identify a cipher.”

  “Have we attempted to purchase this data from the dark web ourselves?”

  Andrew looked up into the darkened room for the location of the question. Miranda Haynes. Of course, he thought.

  Miranda was the lead analyst responsible for gathering information leading to the capture of the 7/7 bombers. Miranda was known to be argumentative and strong-willed, which was presumably why the higher-ups had brought her into the investigation.

  “We have. Our attempts to establish communication with the seller have been unsuccessful,” he replied. He hit the button on the remote again. He gestured to the screen with a tilt of his head.

  The screen changed to display a series of conversations aimed at the seller with no replies.

  “So, they are probably sophisticated enough to crack through our encryption protocols, and presumably know it’s us,” Miranda surmised. “I have said again and again that we need to tighten up those protocols if we are to win this so-called war on terror.”

  “That may be so,” Andrew soothed. He was in no mood to get into a technical debate with the woman. He knew his knowledge in the area was limited, and he had no desire to make himself look a fool. “However, following the lack of response with the seller, we turned our attention back to identifying the source of the leak.”

  He looked towards Miranda, pleased that she seemed happy to remain silent. For the time being at least.

  “Following an interdepartmental briefing yesterday evening, it is believed that this initially minor data breach may now be tied to a suspected upcoming attack planned by a terrorist agency or agencies. Similarities in the language and codes being used are consistent with a group calling themselves Green Falcon, who have been very active recently.”

  He clicked the remote control and comparison documents filled the screen. He gave the agents time to read the information.

  “If these two are working together, I don’t need to tell you how potentially dangerous that could be.”

  “I’ve worked cases with Green Falcon,” Miranda spoke up. “They are indeed very dangerous and extremely slick. We know of them, but we’ve yet to see them make a mistake. How can we be sure that they are working with the individual selling the stolen government data?”

  Andrew stood up straight and grasped his wrists behind his back. “It is our belief that the sale of the information on the dark web is simply a mistake. Probably made by someone lower down in the chain of command. Or by the person obtaining the data themselves. As you say, it seems unlikely that anyone within Green Falcon would be stupid enough to flag up their access to this information.”

  “I’m constantly amazed how lucky we are by terrorists’ stupidity,” Miranda quipped. “God help us when someone who knows what they are doing steps up.”

  “The IT boffins have made a network-wide change to a number of government facilities which we believe may be the source of the breach,” Andrew changed the subject. “They have added a sophisticated virus which will be attached to all pieces of data leaving the system via any means.”

  “So, we know where this breach is?” Miranda asked.

  “Not exactly. We have narrowed it down to one of six government offices based upon the type of data we believe is being sold.”

  “Wait a minute, let me get this right,” Miranda said with a chuckle. “We think information is being stolen from a government office. But we don’t know which one. And we don’t know what data is being stolen. We’ve narrowed it down to one of six data centres, but I believe we only have nine, so
we’ve only managed to rule out three.”

  Andrew coughed discreetly. He pressed the remote control button to change the slide.

  “The virus will signal back to us when any file is accessed either outside of government offices or on a non-government piece of equipment. I don’t need to tell you that when that happens, we must strike quickly,” he explained.

  “Wouldn’t the public be horrified to know that this fumbling in the dark is how we keep them safe?” Miranda spoke up again. “We’re hoping that someone doesn’t know how to disable this virus, I presume? Hoping that they will steal information and then access it on... what? A networked machine I suppose? Which isn’t exactly in the terrorist handbook, for a start.”

  Andrew let out a sigh. Miranda wasn’t going to be silenced easily. To be honest, he didn’t blame her. He knew as well as she did how incompetent the agency could be. But it was his job to defend it.

  “That’s not entirely fair, Miranda. This is a particularly sophisticated breach of our systems. The information being stolen is not that sensitive in nature and so it was not identified immediately. I would like to stress that highly confidential information has not been obtained.” He looked around the room, ensuring that the message sunk in to each person on this new task force.

  “It is through working with other departments that we have identified a potential connection between this data breach and Green Falcon. This case has been investigated by several departments, and we do have a lot of information. Just nothing actionable yet. As I say, they are very advanced.”

  “How advanced do they need to get before we become advanced, too?” Miranda asked. “By the time we find out who they are, they’ll have gone to ground.”

  Andrew had known that point would be made. MI5 had a long and painful history of arriving too late to the party. By the time they had the information they needed, the perpetrators had vanished into thin air. The secret service was so tied up with red tape, everything took an age. And it was destroying morale. But Andrew had a solution, and, for once, he was glad that Miranda had brought up the subject so he could play his ace.