Cyber Terror Page 4

  Excited, Jordan pointed to each place name in turn. “Look. Kingston, Felixstowe, Ecuador, Edinburgh, Amsterdam, Manchester and Dublin. They’re all there.”

  “It’s a long list,” Raven noted. “That means it could be a coincidence. The bigger the list, the more likely all Short Circuit’s significant places will be on it.”

  Behind them, Angel butted in. “Sudbury, by any chance?”

  Jordan scanned the lyrics and then looked at Angel. “Yes, it’s there!”

  Angel nodded. “A new warning’s just come in,” he explained. “Something’s going to happen there tomorrow. That’s why I came to see you.”

  “What sort of something?”

  “Short Circuit didn’t say, but I want you in Sudbury.”

  “Where is it?”

  “There are a few, but he talked about the Suffolk version. I’ve arranged for you to spend the day with the emergency services. Kate will go with you. She’ll blend in because of her background.”

  Before Angel recruited her into Unit Red, Kate had been a firefighter. On duty at the time of the Thames Estuary explosion, she had found the severely injured Ben Smith in the ruins of his home. She had refused to give up on him. She had saved his life.

  “But what do we do?” Jordan asked Angel.

  “Keep your eyes open and wait for something to happen.”

  Victoria Truman’s high-tech home was an oddity among the bright pink Suffolk cottages. At its heart was a computer that monitored and controlled almost every aspect of living within the modern house. Modified to allow her to live independently now that her health had worsened, the building was stuffed with sensors. They controlled the temperature, humidity, hot water and light level. They alerted Victoria when she left the bath water running, the oven on, or a pan on the hob. They alerted a care company if she fell over and didn’t get up again. When she left the house, the sensors transmitted a message to her mobile phone to tell her if she’d left a door or a window open.

  Two years previously, she’d been a lively, talkative and popular sixty-year-old. She’d been a regular at dancing, swimming and hiking. Then her occasional absences became more than occasional. She’d simply forget to go to the old folks’ activities or she’d lack the energy, preferring to slump in her armchair. Increasingly, she became more absent-minded and less mobile. Worse, she didn’t seem concerned that she was missing out on the things she used to enjoy. It was as if she’d forgotten that she’d once had fun.

  Despite looking at friends as if she’d never seen them before, despite losing her enthusiasm for life, the neighbours still called, made cups of tea and talked to her. No one was mean to her, no one egged her house or called her names. Until someone did something much worse. Someone crashed her computer. Someone stopped the sensors alerting her to the fact that she’d not turned off the gas. Or maybe someone even had enough control over her computer to make it turn on the gas.

  On the way to Sudbury, Jordan and Kate listened to the version of “Ramblin’ Man” that Jordan had downloaded onto his car’s computer. Cleverly superimposed on a dance tune, a man’s sampled voice recited all of the places he had visited. But there was no obvious reason why Short Circuit might hijack the lyrics for a killing spree.

  When they reached the Suffolk town, they could have hung out with the police, the ambulance staff or the fire service. In the event of a disaster, all three would receive an emergency call at the same time. Jordan and Kate could be on the scene in the first wave. Angel had cleared the way for them to visit the fire station. It was obvious to Jordan that Kate relished looking round the place and chatting to the firefighters. He guessed that, for her, it brought back fond memories. For Jordan, the waiting was dull.

  No aeroplanes fell from the sky and landed on sleepy Sudbury. No bombs went off. There wasn’t even a power cut. There was a hoax call in the morning and a traffic accident in the afternoon. The fire officers had to cut an injured driver out of his car. It was nearly evening when a 999 call reported a house on fire.

  “Is this it?” Kate asked. “A house going up in flames?”

  Jordan shrugged. “Not exactly the end of civilization.”

  The officer on the phone shouted over her shoulder, “Neighbour says it’s an old disabled woman living on her own in a computer-controlled house.”

  At once, Jordan and Kate looked at each other and nodded. A home with that sort of technology could be a target for Short Circuit.

  They hitched a ride to the emergency. When they got there, broken glass was falling from the windows of the house and flames were flashing from the holes. In Jordan’s sensitive ears, the fire roared. Horrified neighbours were standing around with their hands over their mouths. By the time the firefighters directed their hoses at the blazing house, the door and window frames had blackened completely. The right-hand side of the roof had caved in and tiles were collapsing into the hole.

  Jordan turned away. The temperature was so high that the whole place glowed intense yellow in the infrared part of his vision. The brightness was too much for him.

  A sudden explosion made him turn back. The solar panel on the left-hand side of the roof had shattered and a large glass tube was hurtling like a javelin towards one of the firefighters. Its edge was a circle of jagged glass. The fireman had frozen, terrified. The tube would not just pierce him. Like a rapidly moving bullet, it would go straight through him. A neighbour screamed as Jordan launched himself in front of the officer. His artificial arm intercepted the deadly arrow, clipping its side and deflecting it from its course.

  Jordan hit the ground and rolled over twice before he could look back. The glass javelin was poking out of a flower bed and the firefighter was blinking, recovering from the near miss. He looked down at Jordan and said, “Are you okay?”

  Jordan got to his feet. “No problem. Are you?”

  The officer took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes. Thanks. I’ve...er...”

  “Got a job to do?”

  “Yes.” Before he made for one of the fire appliances, he said, “Thanks again.”

  Once the hoses had done their job and the heat was bearable, a firefighter in full protective gear went inside, but he was too late to save the life of the only occupant. Victoria Truman had succumbed to toxic fumes well before the fire had reached her body.

  What else could Jordan do? At the scene, there were only shocked friends and neighbours. There was no sign of a bad guy running away. If Short Circuit had hacked into her computer, he could have been on the far side of the planet but, according to Raven, if he’d used an e-bomb or hardware Trojan, he’d have needed to be quite close. Then, if the fire really was his handiwork, he would probably have left the area well before the emergency services arrived. There was no one to chase, nothing requiring the power of a bionic agent.

  Jordan and Kate talked to some of Victoria’s neighbours, gathering information about her, but they heard nothing that helped them to understand why Short Circuit might attack her. They hung around in Sudbury until late, yet there was no spectacular show of strength. If Short Circuit had struck, he’d destroyed one house and one elderly life.

  To Jordan, it seemed pathetic and pointless. But he remembered Short Circuit’s message. He could almost hear the voice announcing that he was going to target some individuals before he targeted everyone.

  Jordan also had his mum’s words of wisdom in his head. “People who fail don’t plan to fail, they just fail to plan.” What was Jordan’s plan for catching Short Circuit? He didn’t really have one. He knew only that he needed more links between Short Circuit’s attacks. The big attacks and the small ones. There had to be a reason for both.

  Using his wireless connection to the Unit Red computer, he checked the police records again. The investigating team had put all of the names of the victims from the Quito tragedy alongside the list of everyone onboard Flight LH6681 from Edinburgh to Heathrow and cross-checked the two files. There were no obvious links, like family or business partners. Ther
e were bankers, nurses, teachers and power company workers on both flights. One person on each flight worked for Apple. Thirteen people on the flight from Ecuador and thirty-seven passengers boarding at Edinburgh lived in London. All of these possible connections had been investigated and considered insignificant.

  But now, Jordan had more names. Short Circuit had warned them that he’d strike in Sudbury, so Victoria Truman was almost certainly one of his victims. Paige Ottaway from Felixstowe could have been another.

  Driving back to London, he contacted Raven on the car’s secure hands-free phone. “I think you should add Victoria Truman to the mix,” he said. “Does the computer come up with anything now?”

  “Okay,” Raven said slowly, as she entered instructions at her terminal. “Hang on. It’s trying... No. There’s nothing obvious. It’ll need more time to look for anything more subtle. I’ll let you know.”

  Jordan overtook a lorry with an easy burst of speed. “Why don’t we throw Paige Ottaway in as well?”

  Raven’s voice was clear above the low drone of the engine. “I know Felixstowe’s in that song, but it’s not certain she’s got anything to do with Short Circuit.”

  “Just try it and see, maybe.”

  Raven hesitated but, after a split second, she agreed. “All right. If that’s what you want. I’ll get back to you if it turns anything up.”

  “Thanks.”

  Twenty minutes later, just as Jordan and Kate were going under the M25, Raven returned his call. This time, there was tension in her voice. “The computer’s finished churning through the data,” she said, “and it could be onto something.”

  6 POWER FAILURE

  Jordan and Kate returned well after midnight. Even so, Angel called the team together in the bunker. He looked first at Raven. “Okay. Tell us what you’ve got.”

  “We know Victoria Truman’s from Sudbury in Suffolk. Lived there all her life. Phil Lazenby – captain of the Edinburgh flight – lives in Long Melford, on the rare occasions he’s at home. That’s just up the road from Sudbury. He was born and brought up round the corner in Ipswich. One passenger on the Quito flight came from Woodbridge in the same area. His name was Carlton Reed.”

  “Carlton Reed,” Jordan muttered to himself.

  “What is it?” Angel asked.

  “I thought I recognized...” Jordan shrugged. “No. It doesn’t matter.”

  Raven finished by saying, “And there’s Paige Ottaway – the one who died in hospital at the end of January. She lived just outside Felixstowe, Suffolk.”

  “We can’t put her down as a certain Short Circuit casualty, can we?” Angel replied.

  “No,” Raven admitted.

  “But there’s still a Suffolk connection,” Jordan said.

  Angel nodded slowly. He wasn’t agreeing. He was thinking. “It would mean we’re prepared to believe Short Circuit brought down an entire plane to kill one man from Suffolk: Carlton Reed. We’d also have to believe he tried to repeat the performance to murder Captain Lazenby.” He analysed their faces, one after the other. “Like me, you’re finding that hard to swallow, Kate.”

  “Yes.”

  “Raven isn’t sure and you, Jordan, think there’s something in it.”

  At the same time, Jordan and Raven both said, “Yes.”

  “So, we have a difference of opinion. But it’s possible Suffolk’s just a coincidence. Yes?”

  Jordan sighed. “I suppose.”

  “By the same token, it’s possible it isn’t,” Angel continued. “So we need to look into it. Since you believe in it most, Jordan, you check it out.”

  “Okay. But...”

  Angel smiled, anticipating his question. “You should consider yourself lucky that Short Circuit didn’t manage to destroy the Edinburgh plane and its pilot. You have a witness. It’d be interesting if Captain Lazenby knew Victoria Truman, Carlton Reed and Paige Ottaway when they were alive, wouldn’t it? If he did, you’d convince us all that Suffolk’s the common denominator.”

  Jordan nodded eagerly. “I’ll go and find out.” He hesitated before adding, “I’ll get photos of them – in case he only knew them by sight.”

  Using the laptop on Angel’s desk, Raven soon located Captain Lazenby. “He’s just landed in Stockholm, Sweden,” she reported, “but after an overnight rest, he’s flying into Heathrow. He’s got to be here tomorrow.” She looked up at Jordan and said, “What’s up? You look...”

  “Stockholm’s one of the places in that song.”

  “You think he’s in danger?” Kate asked.

  Jordan nodded.

  “I disagree,” Angel said. “Short Circuit won’t attack another plane piloted by Lazenby. If he did, we’d know for sure who he’s after. That’d be revealing too much about himself.”

  “Does he care?”

  Angel thought for an instant. “He enjoys being mysterious. He enjoys the fact that we don’t know where he is and why he’s doing what he’s doing. He likes us to know only what he tells us in his messages.”

  Jordan shrugged.

  “What could we do anyway?” said Kate. “Tell Lazenby to be careful, or not to fly back?”

  Raven stifled a yawn. “He’s booked to be in Ipswich Town Hall tomorrow night.”

  “Why?” Jordan asked.

  “Apparently, his home town’s giving him an award for bravery. He’s already been given the Freedom of the City of Edinburgh. He’s become something of a celebrity since the crash, but a reluctant one. He’s never talked about it. Not in public. Tomorrow, it’s a private ceremony. No cameras, no press. Just a council photographer to snap the occasion.”

  “Was Ipswich in the ‘Ramblin’ Man’ lyrics?” Kate asked.

  “Ipanema, yes, but not Ipswich,” Raven replied with a grin. “Brazil or Suffolk. I know where I’d rather be.”

  “You don’t have a choice, Jordan,” said Angel. “Make your way over to Ipswich tomorrow. I’ll get you a pass into the award ceremony. And I’ll tell a contact in the local police what’s happening. They can prime Lazenby so he’s expecting to talk to you.”

  Jordan felt relieved. His fears about the Stockholm flight had come to nothing. There hadn’t been another aeroplane disaster so he could speak to Phil Lazenby after the pilot had received the Freedom of the Borough of Ipswich. The task was important but easy.

  The paved square outside the gothic building was alive with people. Some gathered in small groups, some strode past on their way to somewhere else, some went up the steps and through the Town Hall’s imposing arches below the clock tower.

  A steward eyed Jordan suspiciously and checked his pass carefully before welcoming him into the Town Hall. “Good evening, Sir. Can I remind you that we’re not allowing cameras or phones that take pictures tonight? You can leave any such devices with the cloakroom staff. Then you can go right in and take your seat.” He waved his arm towards the ground-floor chamber.

  Jordan nodded, but he had no intention of handing over his mobile. He might need it in an emergency. He asked, “Has Captain Lazenby arrived?”

  “I believe so, Sir. I imagine he’s being treated to a glass of champagne.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jordan cringed. He didn’t like being called sir. The whole occasion was far too formal for his tastes. Looking round at the other male guests, he realized that he was the only one without a suit and tie. He stood out in his black trousers, black sweatshirt and leather jacket. When people turned and glanced disapprovingly at him, he told himself that they were merely guests of the council while he was on an important mission. He also smiled internally at the thought that he owned the most expensive car parked in the area.

  Jordan went straight into the windowless chamber because he thought people would not stare so much if he made himself less visible by sitting down. At the front of the room was a raised row of ornate wooden seats for about eight people. That’s where the Lord Mayor and Phil Lazenby would sit, no doubt. Facing them were several rows of semicircular benches for
the guests. Jordan took a seat at the end of the first row.

  When everyone had assembled, a door on Jordan’s side of the chamber opened. The room hushed as the dignitaries filed in and glided towards the thrones at the front. When they’d settled, the mayor leaned towards the microphone and said, “Welcome to the Town Hall on this auspicious occasion as we celebrate an outstanding achievement by one of our own sons. I am delighted...”

  Reminded of his old school’s speech day, Jordan took a deep breath. It was going to be a long dull evening, full of never-ending lectures. He turned down his hearing, studied the weird wooden carvings in front of the panel of speakers and then focused on Captain Lazenby. The fifty-year-old was dressed in a neat pilot’s uniform, but, outside of an aeroplane’s cockpit, he looked out of place and embarrassed. He wore a fixed grin. It was probably an attempt to hide his discomfort.

  The Leader of the Council talked at length about pride in Ipswich and its people. Then someone else went through the events of Monday 5th March. Behind the speaker, on the bland wall, was projected the news coverage of Captain Lazenby’s amazing life-saving splash-down in the Firth of Forth.

  Without warning, the film flickered and died. At the same time, the announcer’s amplified voice was replaced by her natural quiet tone and all of the lights went out.

  There were gasps of surprise, shock and annoyance. From the front, an authoritative voice boomed. “Ladies and gentlemen. It seems we have a power cut. Please remain calm. Stay exactly where you are – we’re all perfectly safe as long as we don’t start stumbling around – until the stewards can provide emergency lighting or someone replaces the fuse. I’m sure it’ll only be a moment.”

  Jordan was having none of it. Immediately tense, he guessed that the failure of the electricity supply was the work of Short Circuit. He imagined that Phil Lazenby was in imminent danger. Ignoring the announcement, he decided to act without hesitation. The room might be a blackout to everyone else, but not to him. Switching to infrared vision, all of the nearby people were recognizable. Further away, they were yellowy blobs. The chamber was various shades of rippling grey.