Invasion of Privacy: A Deep Web Thriller #1 (Deep Web Thriller Series) (64 page)

“I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it, Jenny. He’s a good-looking guy.”

“It’s none of your business, Fiona.”

The lights changed to green and Jenny pulled off. They were nearly at the Flexbase headquarters in Docklands.

“I guess not. But for what it’s worth, I think you’re being a bit hard on him. I heard everything Harper said about him and even if it was all true, and the only reason he was helping us was to further his own ends; it doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy. Without him, we’d never have caught Keeble so quickly. Or saved Sarah McNeil. And if his only objective was to take down the website, then why did he stay on and help us identify Keeble?”

Jenny didn’t have an answer for that. 

“I’ll tell you why,” Fiona persevered, “Because of you.”

Jenny turned right and pulled up outside the Flexbase headquarters in Docklands. She turned off the ignition.

In the ensuing silence between them, she could hear the rain battering the roof of her car. 

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t change the fact that he lied to my face,” she said eventually.

“White lies at worst.”

“You’re too forgiving.”

“And you’re being too hard on him. And yourself.”

They sat quietly for a minute. Finally, Fiona spoke; bringing their thoughts back to the matter in hand. “I suppose we should head in. The sooner we seize the evidence, the sooner we can get home. At least it’s the weekend.”

Neither of them had exactly rushed out of Holborn to get down here, both feeling dejected that they had been excluded from the action currently occurring in Essex. After the week-long adrenaline rush, this sedate ending to the case seemed demeaning. Jenny knew full well that all cases became laborious after the initial enthusiasm, when they had to switch modes and formalise all the evidence, prepare everything for the CPS; dot every ‘i’, cross every ‘t’. But this was particularly galling.

On the phone earlier, the Flexbase CEO, David Dawson, had been shocked to hear one of his employees was implicated in the murder enquiry. He apologised that he couldn’t be there himself to help them, as he was in Austria, skiing with clients. He said he would arrange for Magnus Peggler, the CIO, to meet them. Apparently, he was planning to work late this evening, doing some system upgrades in the quiet period over the weekend. And, as Dawson pointed out, Peggler would be the best person to give them access to whatever Keeble had touched. 

Her phone rang again. It was Alan. She put him on speakerphone. 

“Did you get him?” asked Jenny, hoping that she and Fiona could soak up some of the arrest’s excitement from afar. 

“Yeah, we’ve got him.” Alan’s tone was dejected.

“What’s up, Al?”

“You should have been here for this. This is your collar, not his.”

“Thanks, Al. I feel much the same.”

“It’s worse. Da Silva only tipped off the bloody press. He even made us all wait inside Keeble’s home for them to arrive. They’re all outside now, waiting for him to lead Keeble out and into the police van.”

It would be the crowning glory for Da Silva. Only three weeks into his newly-promoted role as DCI, he’d already caught a double-murderer. He would go far.

“Look, there he goes. Television cameras and microphones. Fuck me.”

“Thanks Al. We’re going to finish off here at Flexbase. We’ll see you and Karim in The Dolphin later, yes?”

“As long as Da Silva’s not there. Yeah, okay Jen.”

She ended the call. There was nothing left to say.

They exited the car and ran through the rain into the main reception of the Flexbase building.

* * *

“Leroy? Danny? You here?” Brody flew into his apartment, shouting at the top of his voice. “Leroy!”

There was no answer. He rushed down the hall, burst into the living room and came to an abrupt stop, his heart jumping into his mouth.

Leroy and Danny were in the centre of the room facing him, on their knees, side by side, their hands behind their heads. Blood was dripping from a gash on Leroy’s cheek onto his t-shirt. Danny shook his head once in warning to Brody.

Brody rushed over and was immediately struck from behind. He fell flat to the floor in front of his two friends. He felt blood start to leak from the back of his head. Leroy reached over to help Brody.

“Leave him,” snarled a voice from behind.

Groggily, Brody pushed himself up and turned around.

He was facing the barrel of a sawn-off shotgun. 

“Do not move.” The voice came from the man holding the gun and was directed at Leroy and Danny. Other than his dark brown boots, he was dressed completely in black. Black jeans, black woollen jumper, long black leather coat, black woollen hat pulled low. He was middle-aged, trim, with dark bushy eyebrows and emotionless brown eyes.

“Kneel next to the others.” The accent was Eastern European. Perhaps Russian. 

Brody quickly joined the dots and realised his fate. As he moved into place, his back to the hitman, Brody whispered, “I’m so sorry,” to the kneeling couple.

“Say nothing,” commanded the gunman. 

 Brody took his place next to Leroy. His head began to throb. His body began to shake uncontrollably. 

“Do nothing.”

He walked over to the dining table and pulled out one of the chairs with one hand and, with the other, kept the shotgun pointed in their direction. He lugged the chair over towards them and set it down about six feet away. Absently, Brody wondered whether he was about to sit down for some kind of strange chat. Instead, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a tablet PC. He swiped fingers, pressed something and then he positioned it upright on the chair, facing them.

A Skype video call was being made. Brody could see the vibrating icon and hear the ringing sound. Brody prayed that it wouldn’t be answered.

It connected.

A face filled the screen. Mid-twenties, short blond crew cut, nose ring, ear lobe rings, and studs in his blond eyebrows. The wings of a phoenix reached up from his neck, the tattoo reaching his ears. When he spoke, a barbell piercing in his tongue flashed occasionally.

“Three?” he said, surprised. “I was expecting only one, Yakov.” Definitely Russian.

The hitman, standing behind the tablet still holding the gun on them, grunted. “I kill all three.”

“Yes, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Brody and Leroy glanced at each other in shock. Dribble escaped Leroy’s mouth. Danny stared impassively out the window, ignoring the conversation.

“Which one of you is Fingal?”

Silence. 

“Yakov . . .”

Yakov sauntered around the chair, still pointing the gun at them. He booted Danny in the stomach, and he immediately doubled over in agony.

“I’m Fingal,” stated Brody. “Let them go. They’ve got nothing to do with this.”

Yakov returned to his former position. Danny coughed and spluttered, but rose himself up with dignity. He resumed staring out the window. 

“Ah, Fingal, it’s such a pleasure to finally put a face to the name. I do so like to see my rivals in the whites of their eyes before I execute them. I’m just sorry I cannot be there in person.” He slowly licked his lips, the stud protruding grotesquely.

“And who the fuck are you?” spat Leroy.

“Ah, yes, I forgot my manners. That’s so important to you English, is it not?” He leaned his head to one side. “I am known to Fingal as Contagion.”

“I know of you,” confirmed Brody.

Online, his name was written as Contag10n. He was a renowned black hat cybercriminal, very active in the darkest areas of the deep web. He was credited as being the architect behind some of the world’s most prevalent Advanced Persistent Threats such as Styx, SandWiper, and Machine_Gh0st, designed to attack commercial and government computer systems. Rumours conflicted as to his motivation. One minute he was credited with being a cyber-criminal for hire and the next he was state-sponsored, usually associated with Russia. 

“Good. But what you may not know is that I am the leader of Vorovskoy Mir.”

Everything fell into place for Brody. If it hadn’t been clear already, he now truly understood that he was a dead man. And worse, Leroy and Danny would die too.

Contag10n’s face moved downwards on the screen as he looked above their heads. 

“Yakov, show me the poster on the wall behind them.”

Yakov picked up the tablet and angled it at the poster on the wall. It was the framed blown-up printout of the Vorovskoy Mir Most Wanted site, offering rewards for information leading to the capture of any of the hackers listed. Fingal was third on the list, with a $1 million reward. Brody had mounted the poster to continuously remind him to take every step to remain completely anonymous online. 

“Hah, this is most poetic. Thank you, Yakov.” The hitman placed the tablet back on the chair. “It seems I do not need to explain why you are on your knees.”

“Yes, you fucking do,” demanded Leroy.

“Okay, for your friend’s benefit, Fingal. He should at least know why he has to die today.” Contag10n’s image turned towards Leroy. “Your friend Fingal has been a fly in the ointment of my organisation for many years. He has cost us many millions of dollars uncovering our networks of APTs. Has he done this for money, something I could understand and perhaps respect? No. Does he work for the police or the government? No. So why would he do these things? The answer is simple. In English, it is only three letters for such a big thing.
Ego
. He has done these things for nothing more than the adulation of his peers in the hacking community, none of whom he’ll ever meet face-to-face. This I have never understood.”

Contag10n turned back to Brody. 

“What is the point of doing what you do if you cannot bask in its glory in the real world? Please, tell me, I am interested.”

Leroy and Danny both turned their heads to hear his answer. It was a version of the argument he and Leroy had had many times. What was the point of doing anything online when everyone he talked to were nothing more than letters and numbers on a screen?

“I do what I do because I can,” answered Brody. “Could I have done it all without taking any credit and have avoided all this? Yes, of course.” He turned to face his best friend and his boyfriend. “And right now I wish I had. But Contag10n is right. I always sought praise for what I’ve done. The applause.”

“Bravo, Fingal. Yes, we all have egos. Perhaps even me. Yakov could have eliminated you without our little chat. But I wanted you to know that I am the reason you die today. And not just my name, Contag10n. But
me
. This face.” He leaned into the camera, his nose ring prominent. “Goodbye, Fingal.”

Yakov moved from behind the chair and stood behind them.

“Ah, very good, Yakov. I will see everything from there.”

“Which one first?” asked Yakov.

“Start with the pretty one. Then the big black one in the middle. And then Fingal.”

Leroy and Danny held each other’s hands.

Brody bowed his head in shame.

Yakov placed the gun behind Danny’s head.

* * *

It was strange being in a modern office building after working hours on a Friday evening. No atmosphere of business being done. No people striding about purposefully. No hum of noise, except the air conditioning. 

The security guard on the ground floor had looked insignificant within the empty atrium. He had been told to expect them, checked their warrant cards and ushered them through to the lift lobby.

On the twentieth floor, it was the same. Quiet and empty. The lights were dimmed but not off. The low lighting drew Jenny’s attention to London’s breathtaking night-scape visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows, millions of lights spreading out in every direction as far as she could see, the view from this high up making the torrential rain seem inconsequential.

“What now?” asked Fiona.

“I’m sure the guard will have phoned through. If not, David Dawson gave me Magnus Peggler’s mobile. Let’s give him a minute.”

As if on cue, Peggler arrived. He held up his pass that had been hanging around his neck to the internal security doors and pushed them open.

“Oh, there’s two of you.” His high-pitched voice was shrill with confusion. “David just said it would be you, DI Price.”

“Well, I guess that makes me the official gooseberry,” joked Fiona. She held her hand out and introduced herself. “DC Fiona Jones.”

He shook it briskly. Before Jenny could offer her own, he turned and said, “This way.” 

They followed him. He made no small talk.

He walked them down a corridor, through a set of double doors and across an open plan office. Jenny recognised the secure door with the small glass window that led up to the CCTV control and the computer floor. He flashed his pass at the sensor and entered a code. They followed him up the private flight of stairs.

When they reached the hallway on the floor above, Peggler asked them to wait there. He stepped into the CCTV control room, leaving them in the hallway. Through the window, they watched him enter the inner office.

“Don’t think I’ve ever felt so unwelcome,” whispered Fiona. “And what’s with the soprano voice?”

“Yeah, he’s a bit odd. He was the other day as well.”

Peggler returned holding two white plastic passes and handed them one each. 

He pointed to the sensor next to the transparent circular tube with its double door system. “Just hold it to the sensor and the first door will open. They’re one-time-use visitor passes so you don’t need a code. Leave your mobile phones on the table, we can’t have them interfering with the computer equipment.”

“But we’re only here for Ronald Keeble’s PC.”

“Oh, I thought David said you were here to interview him?”

Jenny and Fiona looked at each other.

“He’s here?” Jenny felt her mouth dry up.

“Yes, of course. He’s helping me upgrade the CCTV control system.”

“But he’s at his home in Basildon. David Dawson told us he left for home around five.” 

“And we’ve just arrested him,” added Fiona.

“Well, you must have arrested someone else. He did pop out at five, but that was to get sandwiches for later. It’s going to be a late night.”