Part Ten: I'll whisk them up in no moonlight.
In the blue room at 27A, Omni was watching Gary type. It was the first time in weeks that they'd been alone together in the flat.
"What are you doing?" she asked. He glanced up at her.
"Chasing a ghost, I think. Oh, and setting myself a thesis topic for when...if...any of this ever gets normal again. I'm sorry, I'd forgotten you were still here. Do you need to get home? I've got the Suzuki parked round the back and a spare crash helmet..."
"It's fine," said Omni, "I was going to tidy up a bit before Sasha gets back."
"That may be quite a while," sighed Gary, leaning back from the laptop. "Hans seems to think they're all going on a destiny special today, which is why I'm stuck with the Cade intrusion brief." He laughed. "A ghost chasing a more experienced ghost in and out of a defective haunted house. That's not a thesis topic, it's a fucking Hollywood 'B' movie."
Omni pulled up Hans' chair and joined him at the makeshift desk.
"I'm not going to pretend I understand what's going on right now, Gary, but consider this me taking an interest. I know you and Hans have made Sasha a fuckload of money lately."
Gary nodded.
"Just shy of a quarter of a million, give or take, in nine days. But this is different. You saw the video. This is something else. It's a challenge, and I'm not sure anyone really gets it, y'know?"
Omni reached out, almost making contact with Gary's thigh, but then held back.
"I get it, Gary. To an extent you would hardly believe. Do you know how many North Koreans there are in London right now? Fewer than fifty. Sasha took me in, like she takes in anyone who intrigues or surprises her, but in the months I've known her I've never seen her this...distracted. Mick's really put a cat in her pigeon coop."
"Well," said Gary, "She has a bit of history with Mick Routledge, that's for sure. You remember Gomez from that trade fair we crashed in April? He put me straight on a few details about them, and yeah, they had a pretty serious relationship going for a while there. It kinda makes sense he'd bring her this, especially given her connections, but...you were right last night. It's the levels beyond the subtext. And that's all encoded in the data, which is pretty damned awesome."
Omni broke the final barrier, and gripped Gary's thigh.
"Tell me about the ghost," she said, leaning towards him conspiratorially.
Gary stared at her, both flattered and astonished.
"Phylos Cade. Kind of a legend. Seems he followed-up Hans' intrusion at AktionHive with his own, but masked his entry point as something internal. But then he blew it by adding his initials to the IP code. I've tracerouted it, and it's total bullshit, so bonus points to him for sheer...chutzpah, I guess. But there's something else."
Omni was fishing in her pocket for something.
"Go on,"
"Well, I can't confirm it yet, but I think Cade's hit AktionHive's servers with a Zero Day exploit. I mean, a really clever one. Just not sure what it's supposed to do. The code's..."
Omni shoved the hypodermic into his leg and pushed home the plunger.
"What the fuck?"
"Sleep well," she said, "I think you've earned it." She pulled the keys out of his pocket and left him spinning in his chair. Four and a half minutes later, she was donning a crash helmet and composing a text message as she started Gary's Suzuki.
To be continued...
Tuesday 23 August 2016
Thursday 11 August 2016
Tempus Clausuris (9)
Part Nine: Running before time took our dreams away.
Sasha Marx was behind the desk, conducting a cursory websearch focused on the man who was now effectively her prisoner.
"Your tweets are quite political, David," she observed. Her tone was neutral, so initially Cutter wasn't sure how good or bad that was. He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa.
"Yeah, well, it's been a bit of a year, hasn't it?"
She shook her head.
"Everything is politics. Thomas Mann. But your own leanings seem curiously...ambivalent. Tell me, were you one of those very public remainers who secretly voted for Brexit anyway?"
He stared at her.
"Why the Hell should you care how I voted?"
"I don't." She shrugged. "But that's an interesting answer. Something else is puzzling me, though."
"If it's the stuff about theme parks, blame my wife and daughter."
"No," she said. "What I don't understand is how a man who doesn't seem to care less about technology becomes the CTO of AktionHive."
David Cutter laughed.
"Oh, great. I suppose you're going to hit me with a ton of glass ceiling bullshit. Fair enough, then. You're right. I shouldn't be here. My job should've gone to...I dunno...Celia Fuckpants. Truth is, I've been here just over a year, barely have a clue what I'm doing most days, and would jump at the chance to hightail it out of here. Especially today."
Sasha raised an eyebrow at him.
"That's fascinating. You're possibly the second most ineffectually tortured man I've ever met. In different circumstances, I'd probably headhunt you myself, and keep you as a pet."
Hans came back into the office, making Cutter twitch.
"We've got a lead," he said.
"Ryland or Cade?" asked Sasha.
"We think Ryland, but she's mobile. And Cade followed our intrusion here with one of his own. I've called Gary, he's on it now."
"What?" asked Cutter. "What's going on?"
"Time for some choices," said Sasha, shutting down Cutter's PC. "Was Taylor useful?"
"Very," nodded Hans, "But Mister Routledge is something of a spare wheel, I think."
"Agreed," said Sasha, smiling. "Something he'd be the first to admit." She turned to Cutter. "For reasons you won't immediately appreciate, we're going to move your first meeting with your new intern up the schedule. For a carrot, we can promise you some answers, and a field trip."
David Cutter had already decided that he didn't want to know the nature of the stick.
Sara Ryland paid the taxi driver and joined Dikas at the front door.
"You said a cottage,"
Dikas put the bags down, and fished in his pocket for the keys.
"Did I exaggerate? It's a conversion. The owner warned me he'd had some work done."
Sara turned slowly, taking in the full extent of the landscape.
"My God, you can even see the white horse from here!"
"Indeed. The view has not changed. I believe we have close on a thousand acres, if exploration's on your mind."
She tapped him on the shoulder, making him turn.
"There's a keypad," she said.
"Yes. Don't worry, I have the code." He found the right key and turned it twice in the lock, making the keypad light up. "Here goes." He punched in a six digit sequence then pressed the enter key twice. "We have thirty seconds," he explained, pushing the door open.
"To do what?" asked Sara, following him in.
"To enter the next code." He pointed at the panel on the inside wall.
"What happens if you don't?"
"Three very negative things," he said, entering the new digits. "Including..." He paused as the lights came up and various doors automatically unlocked. "Well, never mind."
Sara shut the front door and stared at the building's interior.
"You know I'm going to ask, right?"
Dikas hefted the bags.
"He's not here, Miss Ryland."
"Is he en route?"
Dikas led the way through to the next level of the property.
"In a way, Miss Ryland, we all are, don't you think?"
To be continued...
Sasha Marx was behind the desk, conducting a cursory websearch focused on the man who was now effectively her prisoner.
"Your tweets are quite political, David," she observed. Her tone was neutral, so initially Cutter wasn't sure how good or bad that was. He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa.
"Yeah, well, it's been a bit of a year, hasn't it?"
She shook her head.
"Everything is politics. Thomas Mann. But your own leanings seem curiously...ambivalent. Tell me, were you one of those very public remainers who secretly voted for Brexit anyway?"
He stared at her.
"Why the Hell should you care how I voted?"
"I don't." She shrugged. "But that's an interesting answer. Something else is puzzling me, though."
"If it's the stuff about theme parks, blame my wife and daughter."
"No," she said. "What I don't understand is how a man who doesn't seem to care less about technology becomes the CTO of AktionHive."
David Cutter laughed.
"Oh, great. I suppose you're going to hit me with a ton of glass ceiling bullshit. Fair enough, then. You're right. I shouldn't be here. My job should've gone to...I dunno...Celia Fuckpants. Truth is, I've been here just over a year, barely have a clue what I'm doing most days, and would jump at the chance to hightail it out of here. Especially today."
Sasha raised an eyebrow at him.
"That's fascinating. You're possibly the second most ineffectually tortured man I've ever met. In different circumstances, I'd probably headhunt you myself, and keep you as a pet."
Hans came back into the office, making Cutter twitch.
"We've got a lead," he said.
"Ryland or Cade?" asked Sasha.
"We think Ryland, but she's mobile. And Cade followed our intrusion here with one of his own. I've called Gary, he's on it now."
"What?" asked Cutter. "What's going on?"
"Time for some choices," said Sasha, shutting down Cutter's PC. "Was Taylor useful?"
"Very," nodded Hans, "But Mister Routledge is something of a spare wheel, I think."
"Agreed," said Sasha, smiling. "Something he'd be the first to admit." She turned to Cutter. "For reasons you won't immediately appreciate, we're going to move your first meeting with your new intern up the schedule. For a carrot, we can promise you some answers, and a field trip."
David Cutter had already decided that he didn't want to know the nature of the stick.
Sara Ryland paid the taxi driver and joined Dikas at the front door.
"You said a cottage,"
Dikas put the bags down, and fished in his pocket for the keys.
"Did I exaggerate? It's a conversion. The owner warned me he'd had some work done."
Sara turned slowly, taking in the full extent of the landscape.
"My God, you can even see the white horse from here!"
"Indeed. The view has not changed. I believe we have close on a thousand acres, if exploration's on your mind."
She tapped him on the shoulder, making him turn.
"There's a keypad," she said.
"Yes. Don't worry, I have the code." He found the right key and turned it twice in the lock, making the keypad light up. "Here goes." He punched in a six digit sequence then pressed the enter key twice. "We have thirty seconds," he explained, pushing the door open.
"To do what?" asked Sara, following him in.
"To enter the next code." He pointed at the panel on the inside wall.
"What happens if you don't?"
"Three very negative things," he said, entering the new digits. "Including..." He paused as the lights came up and various doors automatically unlocked. "Well, never mind."
Sara shut the front door and stared at the building's interior.
"You know I'm going to ask, right?"
Dikas hefted the bags.
"He's not here, Miss Ryland."
"Is he en route?"
Dikas led the way through to the next level of the property.
"In a way, Miss Ryland, we all are, don't you think?"
To be continued...
Tuesday 2 August 2016
Tempus Clausuris (8)
Part Eight: Tonight they hunt for you.
"Well," said Mick Routledge, joining Bernie at his desk, "This is all a bit fucked up, isn't it?"
Bernie Taylor nodded, and swept aside a pile of magazines.
"You should've been here an hour ago. There were guns and everything. Actually, I think Cutter might've shat his pants."
"Yeah," said Mick, perching on the cleared desk space, "Sasha can have that effect on people. Look, mate, I'm sorry this has gone nuclear but, in my defence, I really thought she might provide a shortcut."
Bernie stared at him, incredulous.
"Your ex-girlfriend...a shortcut? To what, oblivion? Armageddon? Think you might be right, there. What the Hell possessed you, man? I mean, she was always...I'm trying to think of a nice word."
"Toxic?"
"Sure, that'll do. And God knows she definitely kept freaky company, but your new pal Hans is really something else. I don't mean to judge, but I'm guessing he might be a friend of my would-be girlfriend's ex."
Mick frowned.
"Remind me. Is that the date your sister set up? That whole Victims-R-Us number?"
"Deralyn, yeah. I was going to call her when all this kicked off." He paused, remembering the text he'd received, allegedly from Cutter. "Hang on, if Hans and Sasha are right, how did he know so much?" He fired-up another tab on his desktop browser and launched the Intrusion Detection System Test. "More worrying, I suppose, is that he knew you were out for the count."
Mick grabbed a chair and joined Bernie at the computer.
"I thought you were supposed to be researching Sara Ryland."
"Been there, done that. No Facebook, no Twitter, not even Google bloody Plus. Let's just say she's not keen on exposure." He sighed, waiting for the IDST to finish scanning. "Only a slightly different scenario with the guy who might be behind her bloody video."
"Phylos Cade?"
"Yeah, and quite how that name has become common currency all of a sudden is an effing mystery to me."
"You're right," said Mick, "There's nothing but a few random blog posts, but I don't think that's it. Something in that video works like a...a referential trigger. It's subtle, but precise. Hell, it sent me on a Google search that basically led nowhere, too."
Bernie checked the countdown timer on the IDST. Forty eight seconds to go.
"Look, I get it, okay? Psytrophic animensis. It's the 21st century's version of those damned Magic Eye pictures of the '90s. Growing up, my sister had those posters on her walls. All I saw were jazzy messes. I tried 'em with glasses, and without. Nothing. She laughed at me, Mick. Welcome to my fucking childhood."
Mick Routledge tried not to laugh, but failed.
"Sorry, man, but I'm kind of picturing it. Explains a lot, it really does."
Bernie shrugged. Eight...seven...six...five...four...three...two...one.
"Oh, shit," he said. "Not just one hack, but three. Our system's compromised."
Hans Ollen came forward from the doorway, where he'd been stood for the past two minutes.
"That is unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected news, Mister Taylor. You can blame us for last night's intrusion, but I'm curious to know the details of the other two."
Mick involuntarily gulped and swivelled round in his chair.
"Been there long?" he asked. Hans patted him on the shoulder and smiled.
"Never long enough, I suspect."
"Okay," said Bernie, checking the intrusion reports. "First hack triggered at 18:36 yesterday, source re-codified from a baseline algorithm via multiple hosts...from Bolivia?"
"That's us," laughed Hans, "I've got a cousin there. Total arsehole. I'm always trying to set him up."
"Second intrusion at 20:12 yesterday, source...unknown?"
"What?" asked Mick. "Surely there's an IP trace, even if it's bullshit?"
"Nope," said Bernie. "It's showing a standardized entry point at 21.04.007.212.PC, but that's been re-flagged as internal, which is...nuts."
"No," said Hans, leaning in towards the monitor, "No it isn't. It's demonstrating his craft. He even signed it. That's...talent." His apparent admiration was undeniable.
"What about the third hack?" asked Mick.
Bernie Taylor clicked on the link.
"That can't be right."
"Why? What's the source?"
"It's a dynamic unshielded IP. I know this, it's Virgin bloody Trains, this morning!" They both stared at him. "Long story," he said, "But I can definitely trace this."
Hans leaned back, and took his mobile 'phone from his pocket.
"Gentlemen, I believe some sort of road trip may be in order."
To be continued...
"Well," said Mick Routledge, joining Bernie at his desk, "This is all a bit fucked up, isn't it?"
Bernie Taylor nodded, and swept aside a pile of magazines.
"You should've been here an hour ago. There were guns and everything. Actually, I think Cutter might've shat his pants."
"Yeah," said Mick, perching on the cleared desk space, "Sasha can have that effect on people. Look, mate, I'm sorry this has gone nuclear but, in my defence, I really thought she might provide a shortcut."
Bernie stared at him, incredulous.
"Your ex-girlfriend...a shortcut? To what, oblivion? Armageddon? Think you might be right, there. What the Hell possessed you, man? I mean, she was always...I'm trying to think of a nice word."
"Toxic?"
"Sure, that'll do. And God knows she definitely kept freaky company, but your new pal Hans is really something else. I don't mean to judge, but I'm guessing he might be a friend of my would-be girlfriend's ex."
Mick frowned.
"Remind me. Is that the date your sister set up? That whole Victims-R-Us number?"
"Deralyn, yeah. I was going to call her when all this kicked off." He paused, remembering the text he'd received, allegedly from Cutter. "Hang on, if Hans and Sasha are right, how did he know so much?" He fired-up another tab on his desktop browser and launched the Intrusion Detection System Test. "More worrying, I suppose, is that he knew you were out for the count."
Mick grabbed a chair and joined Bernie at the computer.
"I thought you were supposed to be researching Sara Ryland."
"Been there, done that. No Facebook, no Twitter, not even Google bloody Plus. Let's just say she's not keen on exposure." He sighed, waiting for the IDST to finish scanning. "Only a slightly different scenario with the guy who might be behind her bloody video."
"Phylos Cade?"
"Yeah, and quite how that name has become common currency all of a sudden is an effing mystery to me."
"You're right," said Mick, "There's nothing but a few random blog posts, but I don't think that's it. Something in that video works like a...a referential trigger. It's subtle, but precise. Hell, it sent me on a Google search that basically led nowhere, too."
Bernie checked the countdown timer on the IDST. Forty eight seconds to go.
"Look, I get it, okay? Psytrophic animensis. It's the 21st century's version of those damned Magic Eye pictures of the '90s. Growing up, my sister had those posters on her walls. All I saw were jazzy messes. I tried 'em with glasses, and without. Nothing. She laughed at me, Mick. Welcome to my fucking childhood."
Mick Routledge tried not to laugh, but failed.
"Sorry, man, but I'm kind of picturing it. Explains a lot, it really does."
Bernie shrugged. Eight...seven...six...five...four...three...two...one.
"Oh, shit," he said. "Not just one hack, but three. Our system's compromised."
Hans Ollen came forward from the doorway, where he'd been stood for the past two minutes.
"That is unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected news, Mister Taylor. You can blame us for last night's intrusion, but I'm curious to know the details of the other two."
Mick involuntarily gulped and swivelled round in his chair.
"Been there long?" he asked. Hans patted him on the shoulder and smiled.
"Never long enough, I suspect."
"Okay," said Bernie, checking the intrusion reports. "First hack triggered at 18:36 yesterday, source re-codified from a baseline algorithm via multiple hosts...from Bolivia?"
"That's us," laughed Hans, "I've got a cousin there. Total arsehole. I'm always trying to set him up."
"Second intrusion at 20:12 yesterday, source...unknown?"
"What?" asked Mick. "Surely there's an IP trace, even if it's bullshit?"
"Nope," said Bernie. "It's showing a standardized entry point at 21.04.007.212.PC, but that's been re-flagged as internal, which is...nuts."
"No," said Hans, leaning in towards the monitor, "No it isn't. It's demonstrating his craft. He even signed it. That's...talent." His apparent admiration was undeniable.
"What about the third hack?" asked Mick.
Bernie Taylor clicked on the link.
"That can't be right."
"Why? What's the source?"
"It's a dynamic unshielded IP. I know this, it's Virgin bloody Trains, this morning!" They both stared at him. "Long story," he said, "But I can definitely trace this."
Hans leaned back, and took his mobile 'phone from his pocket.
"Gentlemen, I believe some sort of road trip may be in order."
To be continued...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)