CHAPTER SEVEN

The Drawbridge

“Very good of you, Holmes, to invite me along for the ride.”

“How could I not, dear fellow? After all, I have heard you reminisce about Chomply Saint Anne’s countless times over the years.”

I looked with pleasure out of the window at the green and occasionally bright yellow pastures that sped by. For once the skies had cleared, casting a pale and watery evening illumination upon the fields.

“Do you suppose that it has changed much, Holmes?” I pondered. “It was once the finest market town in the entire Garden of England. Chaucer gives it a mention.”

“So I believe.”

“I caught my first trout in the brook beside the old Norman church.” The train rattled along. The thick verdant greenery of the passing embankment gave me the childlike sensation of travelling back through time down a hazy and melancholy tunnel.

“I believe you spent your school holidays with your mother’s eldest brother, is that not right, Watson?”

“Good Old Uncle Henry.” I had to chuckle. “He has the Manor House, or rather he did have. It would be interesting to see the old place again, to see who has it now.”

“We may find the time yet.”

“I had my first-ever pint in the Bull Inn,” I smiled at the memory.

“Now there is an idea, old chap.”

“Then I have the perfect hostelry for you, Holmes,” I enthused. “Horse brasses everywhere. Nice roaring fire. Old Charlie Lavender – his face a mass of whiskers – propping up the bar in the corner and nursing his stout. The ever-jovial Archie Marley pulling the pints.”

“Good food, Watson?”

“The best. Lovely rich pies. A jugged hare I shall never forget, Holmes.”

My friend consulted his watch. “Then brace yourself, Watson. Chomply Junction in two minutes.”

I stood aghast as Holmes referred to his Android. “Right we are, Watson. Turn left out of the station, count the kebab shops on the right-hand side until we reach the third one and our Airbnb apartment is just above.”

“Holmes,” I shook my head. “Holmes?”

My friend rested a firm arm across my shoulders and peered down at me. “Just my little jest, Watson. There is only the one kebab shop. Let us press on so we can dress for dinner.”

 

“I am reliably informed, Watson, that the Bull Inn is now a franchise operation within the Witherspoon Corporation pub chain. I imagine, also, that both the redoubtable Charlie Lavender and ever-jolly Archie Marley are long gone.”

“I should hope so, too.”

“Cheer up, old chap. Get this down you.” Holmes placed two foaming pints onto the table. “Old Speckled Hen. Good head, I must confess, and surprisingly inexpensive comparatively-speaking.”

Holmes drained the first four inches and sank back into his alcove bench seat while his beady, bird-like eyes absorbed every detail of our sterile environment.

Some time later, after our unassuming repast was at an end, Holmes and I settled down to examining our respective smartphones. In time, my friend delved within his Inverness cape and extracted his notebook computer which is even more compact than my own iPad Air Mini.

Time passed and then, suddenly – as if from almost nowhere – Holmes vehemently declared, “Confound that whining music; it gets on my nerves.”

Often, one is only aware of a background sound once it stops. This happened now. The depressing muzak came to an abrupt finish. The room was suddenly basked in silence the way a room suddenly might be when one utters a stupid remark and everybody instantly turns and looks at you.

Holmes had a self-satisfied smirk to his sharp, chiselled face.

“Am I missing something, Holmes?” I asked.

Rather than answering my question directly, my friend leaned across the table and held the screen of his notebook up for my inspection. “Here is a suspicious fellow if ever I saw one,” declared Holmes. “What do you make of him, Watson?”

“If anything,” I peered close. “He is over-weight, his hair is receding which may be an indicator of a stressful life as well as advancing age. He has an air of the woebegone about him. Who is he, Holmes, and should I care particularly?”

“Care, Watson.” Holmes came over all mysterious and nodded his head backwards and upwards. I followed his directions but remained nonplussed.

My friend leaned closer now and lowered his voice. “Act nonchalant, old chap, but we are in control. Watch this.” Holmes grasped back his notebook and flicked repeatedly at the screen.

“These are the toilets, Watson. I am not entirely sure if this is legal.” He held the screen up. I was looking at a row of urinals and a person in a ‘hoody’ who was obviously the worse for wear. I gave Holmes my flummoxed face.

“The Wi-Fi router, Watson. I am ‘in’ and now I have total control. You see that camera up there in the corner? Give a wave. Smile for the camera.”

And, of course, the penny eventually dropped. I was the woebegone fellow with the receding hairline. I felt violated. Suddenly I wanted to be at home in my own bed but I had to play along for form’s sake.

“Good heavens, Holmes,” I declared. “Are you hacking and – if so – how in the name of all that is good have you managed such a thing?”

“Simplicity itself, my dear fellow. In this instance I have logged in to the free Wi-Fi whilst forgoing any VPN such as Hotspot Shield as I wish to identify the Internet Protocol Address at this location.”

I sighed inwardly and enacted a theatrical yawn that failed to deter my friend now he was on ‘a roll’.

“See here, Watson, I am employing the Angry IP Scanner, a free and open-source program for all operating systems. Armed now with one local IP address, I allow the program to seek out other addresses within a certain range and, behold, there are many.”

I had to agree.

“I am looking for connected devices that have not been secured, those with open ports. You would be astounded, my friend, to learn that very few people ever bother to institute basic security and change the password on their Wi-Fi routers or connected devices. Let me show you how I can now control the cameras.”

Holmes tilted the screen allowing me a better view. “Here we have a comprehensive list of all locally connected devices. I seek out the IP cameras such as the one pointing at you now.”

Holmes stopped to quickly sup his beer. “Those marked with a green dot are open. I note their particular IP address, type it into any browser and up pops a box asking me to input the Username and Password for the camera.”

“But you cannot possibly know the passwords, Holmes.”

“I do not need to. I can look them up. I see here on the screen the precise make and model of that camera. I go to the manufacture’s Internet page and look up the default password. In this instance, I type in admin for the username and admin for the password. See, I am now controlling the camera in the kitchen.”

“Well, I am flabbergasted. You mean to tell me that these devices are wide open?”

Holmes chuckled. “Thanks to the general apathy of most people, combined with their limited technical know-how, so many connected devices are open to all and sundry.”

I looked around the poorly-lit bar and realised that almost everyone was either updating their Facebook status or playing that amusing game with the chickens.

“We were fortunate in this instance, Watson, that we have stumbled upon just such a location. Be so good as to get in another round and when you get back I shall introduce you to the world’s most dangerous search engine.”

“Bishop’s Finger,” I announced placing two amber pints on the table and slipping back into my chair. “I think you have the bar staff in something of a tizz, Holmes. People are complaining that the music has stopped and everyone appears at a loss how to switch it back on.”

“All in good time, Watson, but first I want to demonstrate the Shodan search engine.”

“Fire away.”

“Picture this, Watson. You are a spotty, solitary teenager new to the world of hacking. You do not have a specific target in mind but you want something easy – a vulnerable and easy to hack objective. It might be anywhere on the planet. Therefore, imagine if you had a search engine rather like Google but one that would help you seek out your first helpless victim. Welcome to Shodan.”

“Really?”

“These days, Watson, you go to a shop and buy a new refrigerator. The chances are that it will connect to the Internet once you get it home. It will manage your groceries and even order up fresh supplies from your friendly online supermarket, such as Ocado.”

“I’ve had the same fridge for over ten years,” I huffed. “I had no idea these things were available, let alone even possible.”

“Increasingly all modern products are becoming ‘connected’ and every one of these devices has its’ own unique Internet Protocol Address, the IP address, and this is what Shodan searches for. If it is connected to the Internet, then Shodan will find it. It is then up to the hacker to seek out the vulnerable ones and have a little fun.”

“Shocking, Holmes. But how is it that such a portentous tool is allowed to stay up there?”

“Because, my friend, much like everything else, it can be used for the purpose of good and for the purpose of evil. Developers uses Shodan to test vulnerabilities, keeping us all ultimately safer. It has many positive uses.”
“But it just so happens to be a hacker’s delight, eh?”

“Watson, Shodan is no more than a beautifully-indexed map of the known Internet. That is hardly a crime.”

“Show me something nice, then?” I suggested.

“Bear with me, Watson.” Holmes tapped frantically at the screen. He pulled up page after page. “This is a bird table in the Paddington district of Brisbane. See, I can zoom in and out and pan right and left. I believe this is a kookaburra.”

“Very nice.”

Holmes opened another page. “These are the security cameras for Boulder Municipal Airport in Colorado. Again, I can move the cameras around and zoom in and out. Look how deep that snow is, Watson. A picture postcard.”

Holmes let out a sharp laugh. “And here, Watson, is why I recommend you tape up your computer camera. Here is the view from a person’s webcam somewhere in Pretoria. We can see the living room stretching out to the darkened veranda and the stars twinkling in the distance over the veldt.”

I shook my head. “You are making me feel rather queasy, Holmes. This is like having a RAT but without all the trouble of Social Engineering the victim.”

Now Holmes yawned. “What say we finish our drinks and then head back to the apartment? We have a long day ahead of us.”

“Yes, please.” I knocked back the last of my pint and rose out of my chair. “My old Nan use to say ‘bed is the best place’ and I am inclined to agree with her, Holmes.”

‘So right she was, my friend.”

“Ah,” I announced while negotiating our way to the exit. “They have managed to get the music back on again.”

“So they have.”

“Can’t imagine that Das Rheingold from Wagner’s Ring Cycle would be their cup of tea.”

“Is it too loud, Watson?” I had to strain to catch his words.

“Just a tad.”

 

“This is Poppinghole Lane here, Holmes.” I stood to catch my breath. “The old Manor House is about half-a-mile this way.”

“I think I see it now, Watson. Up on the hill there.” Holmes shaded his eyes from the low and sickly morning sun. “What a delight, and in the style of James Gibbs. Let us press on.”

Some little while later Holmes and I came to an abrupt halt at the imposing entry gates. “Nobody at home it would seem,” announced my friend.

“Are you sure?”

“Elementary. There are no motor vehicles on the drive. The manor is a considerable walk to the main road and I imagine that even domestic servants have their own cars these days.”

Holmes nudged me gently. “Besides, the security cameras confirm my notion.” He showed me his notebook’s screen. He held it horizontally and I could see a bank of eight black and white monitors depicting the horseshoe-shaped driveway, the imposing entrance hall with sweeping staircase. There were bedrooms, bathrooms, utility areas and the old basement kitchen.

“There’s more on this page,” said Holmes.

“Holmes, please tell me that you have not hacked into my old summer home, the castle of my youth?”

“A piece of cake, too, Watson. Theirs is the only Wi-Fi signal for miles around. Given the thickness of the walls of this Georgian delight, they have been obliged to install numerous boosters. As luck would have it, they are employing a Netgear router. I do not even need to look up the password. I simply type admin as username and password as the password and we have breached the drawbridge.”

“Holmes,” I put in suddenly. “Watch out. Somebody is opening one of the blinds – up there.”

But my friend just laughed. “What we have here, Watson, is a prime example of more money than sense. This entire house is part of the Internet of Things – the world of connected devices all with their own IP addresses. I can open and close the blinds. I can switch on the lights of an evening while riding the train home. All with a simple application on my smartphone. I can run myself a nice deep bath while sitting on the sofa and catching up with Eastenders.”

“But do you have the necessary applications?”

“I do not need to, Watson, for I already have the main control panel in convenient HTML format here at my fingertips.” He waged his notebook and the screen briefly reflected into my eyes.

“Holmes, we are intruding. I think we should leave now.”

“Not on your life, Watson. I want to run a scenario by you.”

I watched as the blind rolled back down. I looked briefly all around me and reluctantly indicated that Holmes should carry on.

“Visualise this, Watson. You are an attractive woman in early middle-age. You are in your delightful en-suite bathroom. The lights are low and emitting a calming pink aura thanks to the Philips HUE lighting system that can also be controlled by a smartphone app.

“You are luxuriating in a deep roll-top bath with some of the finest products of the Body Shop. You are alone. Your husband is away on business in Dubai and is not expected back until the weekend.

“The husband, who is enthral to most new technology, has wired the house from top to bottom. Everything around you is connected to the Internet of Things. You have another sip of vodka and settle back in the bath, letting the suds crackle and pop about your ears.

“And then, Watson – all of a sudden – you are aware of a change. You cannot put your finger on it at first. Are the lights dimmer now? Are they no longer so pink and cheerful but rather grey and sinister? Is it you, Watson, or is it colder in the room now? You shiver and lower yourself deeper into the all-encompassing warmth of the bath water.

“Just then your Michael Bublé album being played out of the Bluetooth speakers cuts dead. The lights immediately go out. You could not even see your hand before your face. Then, Watson, ice-cold water bursts forth from the tap at your toes. You scream, Watson. You scream but nobody can hear you.”

“Good heavens, Holmes. What are you getting at? I won’t sleep properly for a week now.”

Holmes slipped the notebook back in his pocket and pulled the collar of his cape tight around his neck as turned to me. “And the moral of this story, my dear fellow, is that people who do not bother to change the passwords on their connected devices – and in particular the home or office Wi-Fi router – are inviting every Tom, Dick and Harry to come spy upon them.”

“Even so,” I protested.

“Watson, there you are in a pitch-black, ice-cold room, immersed in freezing water that is now gushing over the roll-top at an alarming rate and you are immobilised and powerless.

“The lock to the bathroom door is also controlled by an app, should one wish. Now, Watson, the door clicks and clacks as if someone were trying to get in.

“Then, rather like a bad dose of tinnitus, the sound system is emitting a most distressing wail. It gets so loud that you are now deaf as well as blind and fast approaching paralysis from the sheer cold. What do you do, Watson?”

“Scream some more, Holmes. But is this a home invasion? If I were to get out of the bath and fumble for my robe, what might I encounter on the other side of the door?”

“Precisely, Watson. Is it some demented fiend in a terrifying clown mask clutching a pounding chainsaw or is it some pimply and insular youth somewhere on the other side of the planet having a little fun?”

“This is so utterly shocking, Holmes. I simply cannot imagine anything worse than people penetrating my personal fiefdom in such an underhand manner.”

“Come, come, Watson. Comparatively-speaking, this is just the tip of the iceberg. Greater dangers lurk beneath.”

We turned and began to make our way back down the lane.

“For reasons – which in future days will appear the height of foolishness – Watson, there is a comprehensive impulse to connect every single thing to the Internet.”

“So I am learning, Holmes.”

“Suddenly, we have cars that are controlled by AI, artificial intelligence. Every traffic light and security camera. But it gets worse than that. The very satellites circling above our heads are Internet connected. Power plants, nuclear and otherwise. The entire supermarket delivery chain, the cash that flows from the ATMs.”

“We are leaving ourselves vulnerable.”

“Indeed we are. All of these things can be hacked, Watson.”

“And it is too late to wean ourselves off our dependence, I suppose, Holmes?”

My friend looked to the sky. Dark and ominous clouds were forming. Rain was already breaking out along the horizon, obscuring Uncle Henry’s fine home in feathery drizzle.

“Two minutes ago, Watson, you witnessed what one acned teenager can do with a basic computer, a little skill and know-how, and an encrypted Internet connection.

“Now imagine what big government budgets can buy. Imagine what the Russians and Chinese are capable of. The Brits. The Yanks. Look what they and the Israelis did to the Iranian nuclear program with the Stuxnet virus. The world is changing, Watson.”

I unclasped my umbrella and popped it open, allowing Holmes to stoop inside. From within our gloomy little tent, Holmes looked into my eyes with a fierce intensity.

“When Clausewitz remarked that ‘war is the continuation of politics by other means’ he had no idea that there was another element yet to come, Watson. To his sage observation we must now add the Internet – the twenty-first century battleground where a nation can be brought to its knees with the click of a mouse.”

“I think we can just make the two-forty-three back to Town if we hurry.” I picked up my pace.