CHAPTER NINE

An Inspector Calls

I experienced a sudden wave of annoyance when I stepped back into the living room in Holmes’ Baker Street lodgings. The opera had left me feeling invigorated, washing away my cares and anxieties.

I was looking forward to a nightcap in front of the fire before making my weary way home. So imagine my surprise when we were greeted by a small and sallow, rat-faced, dark-eyed fellow sitting as happy as Larry in my otherwise inviting armchair.

“Ah, Inspector Lestrade,” declared Holmes. “You received my message, then?”

“I did, Mr Holmes,” said the Scotland Yard detective rising from my chair. “I assumed it must be important so I came at once.”

“Very good of you, too, Inspector.” Holmes slipped out of his cape and, shaking Lestrade briefly by the hand, made his way to the tantalus and unlocked his second best cognac.

A few minutes later and we were settled before the fire, a crystal snifter apiece and Lestrade looking at Holmes expectantly.

“I was hoping, Inspector, that you might be able to put Doctor Watson at ease,” said my friend. “We were having a discussion earlier about terrorism and cyberspace and the Doctor here was rather concerned that the government were not doing nearly enough to ensure the safety of the public in these troubled times.”

“Oh, I see,” smirked Lestrade sitting back comfortably and crossing his legs. This, of course, was all news to me but knowing Holmes’ devious methods I willingly played along.

“Well, Doctor, let me set your mind to rest,” said the policeman in his furtive, sly manner. “We can be proud that this country leads the world in cyber security. We now have unprecedented surveillance powers allowing us to collect and intercept communications in new and inventive ways.”

“But is it not true,” said I. “That Edward Snowden has thrown the cat in among the pigeons and given the game away? Now everybody knows that the Americans and the Brits spy on the world at large and upon their own citizens to-boot. Have not the terrorists now ‘gone dark’ as a result?”

Lestrade studied his snifter and took a lengthy sip. “Well, Doctor, it is true to say that his reckless actions have seriously hamstrung my colleagues within the police and intelligence agencies. Many operations were ruined when the word got out and they ‘went dark’, as you say.”

“Oh, dear,” said I.

“Yes, our ability to track domestic and foreign crime gangs – including those relating to people trafficking – was reduced by about one-quarter; while cracking the communications of high-value national security targets took three times as long.”

“Good gosh. Then Snowden’s revelations were entirely news to these people, then?” I asked wide-eyed.

“No, not entirely, Doctor,” said Lestrade in a condescending tone. “But the upshot is that the criminals et al have taken up more sophisticated measures, rendering it rather difficult for us to fight terrorism and combat serious crime, including child sex abuse, murder and drugs trafficking.”

“Heavens,” I declared. “But surely you are up to speed now and can tackle these felons?”

Lestrade narrowed his ferret-like eyes. “We have made great strides. In the old days it was just the post and telephones that we had to worry about. These days it’s much more complicated and we have needed to move with the times, Doctor.”

Lestrade swirled the last drop in his glass. “This has been a wake-up call,” he said philosophically. “Since the traitorous Snowden, we now have new laws in place that compel the tech entities to hand over all possible data about a suspect. All service providers are obliged to store every tiny detail so we can call upon it as needs fit.”

“I am impressed,” I said in my most convincing manner. “Tell me more.”

Lestrade chuckled. “We can force your Internet Service Provider to keep your Internet Connection Record – a list of services, messaging apps and the websites you use – for a full year now.”

“But the service providers store this data do they?” I wanted to know. “Hopefully the cost is not to be born by the tax payer.”

The policeman shook his head. “That is the beauty of the thing, don’t you see? They hang on to it all – but they have to hand over anything we want when served with a notice”

“And all in the strictest confidence, I am sure,” said I. “All safe and secure?”

“Secure as the Bank of England,” smarmed Lestrade.

“I see,” said I. “But just suppose, Inspector, that I were suspected of being up to no good. What tools are now at your disposal?”

“We would do everything vital to an investigation, Doctor. Technical data being the key to most modern-day criminal prosecutions. For starters, we would look at your mobile ‘phone calls. We would look at the origin, location, destination and length of these calls. We would also do the same with your emails and text messages. We would want to see what you have downloaded and what videos you have been watching, as well as the websites you visited.”

The Inspector looked to his empty glass and lifted his eyes towards Holmes. “We would also take a good squint at your contacts book and look into those people, too – and all the people in their contacts books. We would cast a wide net indeed.”

“But surely you would not go to the trouble of monitoring all of them? Is it worth the effort?”

“A piece of cake, Doctor. We just need to call up their ‘Bulk Data Sets’ – basically, people’s personal information files – such as medical records, political affiliations, sexual proclivities, the protests they attended, the books they read, their comments on websites and, obviously, their tax histories. All this can tell us a lot, you know. And, if needs be, we can dig a lot deeper into each individual.”

Lestrade smirked as he tipped back his glass to ensure he had left not a drop behind. “On top of all that we can legally hack all your electronic equipment. We might covertly download the contents of your ‘phone or remotely access your computer.”

“The so-called RAT?”

“We don’t like to use that term, Doctor.”

Holmes – who was taking a back seat on this one – topped the policeman’s glass but not as generously as before. He looked in my direction.

“But surely,” I said, “The necessity of getting a court order or warrant can hinder an investigation when time is of the essence?”

“There you have it, Doctor. But that has been thought of already. These days even a mid-level police officer can give the go ahead for most operations. For the bigger stuff, certainly we need a judge or government minister, but it’s basically just a rubber stamp job.”

“I see.”

“This give us the power to demand any data – not only for ourselves and the security services but for local councils, government departments and, of course, the tax man, too. All for the purposes of detecting or preventing crime. We have all the bases covered.”

“And with stringent safeguards and robust oversight I imagine?” said Holmes.

“Of course.”

“And what of encryption?” I wanted to know. “That must be tricky?”

“A thorn in our side up until now, I must say. But that, too, is not much of an issue any more. We can require telecommunications operators to remove encryption at our command,” he said. “We can also force the suspect to give us his codes but we might not wish to give the game away too soon.”

“But, unquestionably,” I asked. “It would be much simpler if you just compelled the makers of these security products to include ‘backdoors’ in their products. You could keep knowledge of this a secret. That way no hackers could ever attempt to use the ‘backdoors’ themselves.”

“I wish, Doctor,” sighed Lestrade. “The current system is not perfect, sad to say. Our hope is that soon we can go one step further and oblige the designers of any operating system or app – be it for smartphone or desktop – to ensure we have access to all the data stored on that device.”

“No hiding place,” I marvelled theatrically.

“So right you are, Doctor. After all,” he chuffed. “You can hardly expect us to find a needle in a haystack if we do not have total control over that haystack.”

The policeman paused to laugh at his own joke before carrying on. “There should be no area of cyberspace which is a haven for those who seek to harm us, to plot treason, to poison the minds of the little children and peddle hatred under the radar.”

“Then we can all rest securely in our beds tonight,” said Holmes rising to his feet. He deftly relieved the Inspector of his empty glass. “Thank you so much for your time, Inspector Lestrade. This has all been most informative but I know that you are a busy man.”

“We shouldn’t want to detain you a moment longer,” I put in.

And with that, Holmes ushered Scotland Yard’s finest out of the door.

“That man is a buffoon,” I declared the very instant we were alone again. Holmes topped up my snifter and I returned to my seat beside the fire. “I should think that George Orwell must be turning in his grave.”

“Quite,” mused Holmes coming to join me. “And one must ask what is the benefit in having these new laws except to legitimise the illegal practices of the past?”

“The very same that Snowden exposed,” I chimed in.

Holmes sat back to nurse his cognac. “If they are trying to track down today’s villains,” he snorted, “then they are going the wrong way about it.”

I had to agree. “Already, Holmes, I know how to mask my activities from the service provider and other snoopers. I can keep my browsing history off my computer. I know not to fall for their attempts to plant a RAT. I can scramble my calls and send and receive secret messages.”

“So you can,” said my friend.

“If I did not know better, Holmes, I would say that this is just a pretext to spy on the public at large. And seriously,” I exclaimed, “allowing the tax man the same legal snooping powers as the intelligence agencies just gives the whole game away.”

I could see that Holmes agreed with me. “What sort of terrorist or criminal Mr Big do they imagine that they are going to catch this way?” I wanted to know.

“Only the most hapless of terrorists and criminals of limited intelligence.” Holmes drained his glass and rose to his feet. “Why not spend the night, my friend? Your old room is all made up. Mrs Hudson has laid out a fresh shirt and clean underwear.”

“Good heavens, is that the time?” I declared eyeing the mantelpiece clock.

“Tomorrow, Doctor, you shall require a clear head. It is time to demonstrate how today’s tech-savvy terrorist and master criminal really operate – giving the likes of Inspector Lestrade the complete run around.”

“Right you are.” I yawned.

“We also have kippers for breakfast.”