CHAPTER TEN
Under the Radar
“I think we should get some air,” declared Holmes.
I stood at the window agog at the thick fog outside. Swirls of grey vapour pushed slowly past, giving the distinct impression that I was riding the clouds in a warm and snug airship. The thought of venturing beyond the sitting room gave me the shivers.
It did not take long for me to lose my bearings once we were outside. Holmes kept up a brisk pace, turning left and right through the murky gloom with its almost total absence of traffic. Some time passed. I could discern the growing hubbub of a crowd.
I looked at Holmes, confusion no doubt writ large across my face. My friend just smiled enigmatically and led me on through the thick mist.
“Everybody has to move back. We have to give them space. Move back please.”
“Where on earth are we, Holmes?” I tugged at my friend’s cape in the gloom. A raucous female voice was penetrating the melancholy haze.
Suddenly I froze. My back went immediately rigid. From somewhere far off a sergeant-major was barking commands. Rifles clattered, boots clomped. And then from out of the impenetrable mist came the opening bars of that bouncy martial melody The Liberty Bell March.
“Good God, Holmes.”
“That’s right, Watson. We are at the Palace and just in the nick of time – the Changing of the Guard.”
“We left the comfort of Baker Street for this?” I asked, perplexed.
Holmes looked down at me, his moist face shrouded in the mist. He laughed. “Not our ultimate destination, Doctor. But I thought this worth the detour.”
We stayed and listened awhile, wrapped in our own solitary cocoon of swirling mist, the fife and drums of the Grenadier Guards sending further shivers down my spine. Holmes gently took me by the arm and soon we were walking across the soft, wet grass of St James’s Park.
Eventually we came to a bench and sat down to rest our feet while two inquisitive ducks stared at us with deathly still from the grey vaporous waters of the lake.
Holmes turned and looked at me with a sharp intensity. His voice was low. “When US Navy Seals came for Osama bin Laden, Watson, the terrorist chief thought that he was hiding in plain sight. He thought that his large and yet unassuming compound in the Pakistan military town of Abbottabad would go unnoticed.”
I looked at my friend.
“But in reality, Doctor, he was standing out from the crowd. He was making himself highly conspicuous.”
“How so?”
“Because his was the only house in town that did not have a telephone line. It did not connect to the Internet and no mobile ‘phones were registered to that address?”
“Yes, I see.”
“He made the cardinal error, Watson, of ‘going quiet’ when what he should have done was give them something to monitor instead. If his house had been connected in the usual manner, he might have spent his days Tweeting about Harry Styles of the boy band One Direction. He should have been watching Bollywood musicals and posting ridiculous selfies of a fat, middle-aged man.”
“And they would not have given his house a second glance,” I mused.
“Precisely. And there is a lesson in this for all of us, my friend. One can never be certain that one is not being monitored. No matter how good your anti-spyware or how alert you are to their devious penetration methods, in the end they will always get in if they are determined enough.”
I pulled the collar of my overcoat tight to keep out the damp
“Suppose, Watson, that you were an activist of some sort. Perhaps you have taken exception at plans to frack for gas in the midst of your picturesque country village. You have two adversaries – the corporation that wishes to frack and the organs of the State that work on the side of business in detriment to the actual wishes of the electorate.”
“That would be shocking, Holmes.”
“Oh, yes, and if they get wind that you are planning a protest of some sort, they will do their damnedest to thwart you, Watson. They will certainly want to get inside your digital devices – all of them. They will see your contacts, read your posts, texts and emails, bug your ‘phone. They will know when you plan to stir things up in the village hall and they will be there, ready and waiting for you. What do you do, Watson?”
“Sell up while I have the chance.”
“You throw them a googly, old chap. That’s what you do. You give them something to monitor, to keep their attention diverted. You carry on as you always would, doing the things you usually do online. But you would keep your activism entirely separate. You would never use the same device and never from your home or office. You would operate in unexpected ways.”
“And how might I do that, Holmes?” I wanted to know. But Holmes was already on his feet. He indicated that I should follow and once more we immersed ourselves in the thick mist.
“Very nice coffee, this,” I told Holmes. We were sitting in the warmth of a coffee shop in an hotel somewhere on the other side of the park. Our coats had been taken off to dry and for the first time since leaving Baker Street I felt comfortable again.
“I have a present for you, Doctor.” Holmes delved into his trouser pocket and produced a small black USB thumb drive. He placed it on the table between us and slid it towards me.
“And what’s that then, Holmes?”
“It is the missing piece of the jigsaw, Doctor.”
“A thumb drive?”
“Precisely. This one is thirty-two gigabytes which is ample indeed. I have installed on here everything you need to fight the good fight to save your village.”
“Oh, really? What’s on it, then?”
“First let me tell you how it should be deployed. Use this, dear fellow, exclusively for your activism. Simply slot it into any computer anywhere and you will not leave any trace of your activities behind on that machine. Everything that you do – from sending emails, posting photographs, reading blogs, downloading documents – will be handled by this secure USB.”
“I am intrigued,” I told him. “But please tell, what does it contain?”
“For starters, Watson, I have installed the Tor browser and a simple and inexpensive VPN. You plug in the drive, activate the VPN, then fire up Tor and you are ready to go.”
“I see, but what if I wanted to write a document or crop a photograph. Surely I would need the computer for that?”
“Fear not, Doctor. I have also installed on here a micro operating system – effectively turning this tiny device into a computer in its own right. You have on here Platform from portableapps.com. It is free and open-source. Think of it much like Windows on your laptop. As soon as you switch on, you have everything you need at your fingertips just like a regular computer. You have your text editor, VLC Media Player, a photograph and graphics viewer, PDF reader, Avast Mobile, DownThemAll…”
“Just a second, Holmes. I am not taking notes. I did not come prepared.”
Holmes chuckled. “Just remember to go to portableapps.com and download every conceivable tool that you think you need. But I have done this for you already, dear Doctor.”
“One thought does occur to me, Holmes. You say this small, inexpensive USB thumb drive has been turned into a tiny computer in its own right, capable of doing all the usual things ones does on an expensive lap- or desktop?”
Holmes nodded.
“Well, this would be perfect for people on low-incomes in developing countries where they could not afford a computer of their own. Presumably, they could take it down to the local cyber-café and plug in and everything they need is held on this minuscule device – all their files, photographs and whatnot.”
“So it would, Watson. A capital idea. You should spread the word.”
Holmes indicated my cup. “Drink up, old chap. Time has come to try out your new toy. Let us make haste for this hotel’s business centre where we can avail ourselves of an Internet-connected computer.”
We tucked ourselves in at the far end of the room where nobody could look over our shoulders. I glanced up at Holmes, he nodded and so I pressed the USB drive into the slot on the machine beside me. Almost instantly up popped a dialog box. It identified itself as ‘Susan’.
“Susan?” I asked.
“Why not?” shrugged my friend. “Now do as I told you. Initiate the Platform operating system, then click the VPN. Now Tor.”
I did as he bid and soon the now familiar green Tor screen greeted me. I looked at Holmes for directions.
“Watson. Duckduckgo. Search my IP address. What do you see?”
“We are in Reykjavik, Iceland’s capital, by all accounts,” I smiled.
“You are now free, Watson, to travel the Internet doing anything you wish. Nobody knows where you are. They do not know who you are. You can watch what you like, you can read what you like and speak openly. You leave no trace.” Holmes nudged me playfully in the side. “But put that aside for now. Close it down.”
I shut down Tor and sat poised with my curser.
“Now my friend I want to introduce you to yet another Internet – a very different place entirely and one that predates your everyday Internet by many years.”
Holmes pointed at the screen. “Activate Newsbin, Watson.” I searched down Susan’s list of applications and clicked the desired logo. A strange interface loaded.
“Have you ever heard of the Usenet Newsgroups, Doctor?”
I shook my head.
“Then you are not alone, my friend. Despite its colossal size, very few people even have a hint of its existence – which is strange given that so many people appear to use it.”
“But what is it, Holmes?”
“The deepest mine imaginable. A rich seam of media files – photographs, music, the latest Hollywood blockbusters – that other people have posted and which you can download without drawing attention. It is also ideal for surreptitious communications.”
Holmes turned to look at me. “Last night we heard that clown Lestrade talk of finding a needle in a haystack.”
“Yes, and he said that in order to find the needle they needed total control over the haystack.”
“Just so, and the man is a simpleton, Doctor. What we have here is not a single haystack but an entire universe of haystacks. And I venture to suggest that finding a needle down here is nigh impossible.”
“So how does it work?”
“Usenet is rather like an immense bulletin board containing many thousands of individual groups. Anybody can post on any subject and anybody else can read those messages and download the attachments.”
I scrolled down seemingly for miles.
“You need special Newsreader software – such as Newsbin – and a low-cost subscription to the network. It can be installed on any operating system, including a USB drive.”
I had to put in, “But it doesn’t look very exciting. Holmes. No flashy graphics and interesting pictures – just endless lists of things.” I shook my head.
“Probably why it doesn’t get the attention it deserves. The World Wide Web put an end to that with its nifty HTML pages.”
“And is it safe?”
“Yes, Doctor. Usenet is secure if you take the right precautions. Again it is another rabbit hole that hides you from your service provider. Once inside, they cannot see what you are up to and especially so if you deploy a VPN beforehand and employ DownThemAll for the files you want.”
“But what is all this? What are these groups?” I was still scrolling the page down.
Holmes sat back and took a deep breath. “If you can think of any subject, Watson, then there is a Newsgroup just for that. There are Newsgroups for things you have no idea about. If you have an interest in porcupines or were looking for a job in the aviation industry, then there is a group for you down here.”
“I see.”
“But today we are employing Usenet as a means of secret communication. Remember, Watson, you are an activist. You want to communicate with others in your group. You want your privacy.”
I sat with my fingers poised above the keyboard.
“In the old days, Watson, you might place a cryptic notice in The Times to communicate with your group. Well, you can do that here. Messages can be sent and received by placing them inside any group you like – preferably the dullest possible.”
I peered closer at the screen while continuing to scroll into the depths.
“By placing your message in a group devoted to the breeding of Airedale terriers, and giving it a title that nobody would every want to read – such as Spam Buster Pro Amazing Discount – you will have placed a needle inside the vastest of all possible haystacks that nobody without prior knowledge will ever be able to find.”
I did have to chuckle, thinking of Lestrade and his bothersome and ill-placed superiority.
“But we can make it even harder for them, Doctor.” Holmes pointed to the top of the screen. “In that search box, seek alt.binaries.multimedia.erotica.asian. Now search within that group for An Lee Woo Prolapse.”
“Seriously, Holmes? Why would I wish to see that?”
“Precisely, Doctor. Why indeed would anybody? Have you found her yet?”
I pointed at the screen, careful to avoid fingerprints.
“Click download. Now back to Susan, my friend, and activate OpenStego.”
“OpenStego?”
“Steganography, Doctor,” explained Holmes. “The art of hiding things inside other things. This one is free and open-source. Use it now to locate An Lee in your downloads folder.”
“I have it here in OpenStego, Holmes. This poor woman needs to see her doctor as soon as she can.”
“So it would appear,” nodded Holmes.
“She needs a full anorectal and sigmoidoscopic examination to evaluate the anal sphincters and to document any concomitant abnormalities in the rectum.”
“I dare say,” said my friend. “Now, do you remember our Pride password, Doctor?”
‘With the number nine and capital M and W and the owl? Yes.”
“Then when OpenStego bids you to enter a password, do so.”
I pressed a few buttons and then – suddenly – An Lee’s intussusception
appeared to dissolve, leaving a text document in its place.
I sat there dumfounded. I looked at Holmes and then turned back to the screen. I mouthed the words silently with my lips. “Bomb Kill Prime Minister Thursday.”
“And that, my friend, is just one way to communicate beneath the radar. That message might just as easily say Meet Swan Inn Function Room 7pm Thursday and your fracking adversaries would not have a clue.”
“I am reminded of the film Raiders of the Lost Ark,” I told my friend. “Where they hide the Ark of the Covenant inside a crate inside a vast warehouse full of identical crates.”
“Just so, Watson, but on an infinitely vaster scale. You see how difficult we have made it for them?”
I had to agree.
“Not only do they have to know about the image in the first place but they then need to locate it within the correct Newsgroup. Then they need to try and crack the password.” Holmes laughed. “And the counter-steganography programs are next to useless. There is no way that they can tell if any image contains a secret message or not. There is nothing to give the game away.”
“The modern world.” I shook my head. “Whatever next?”
“But there is nothing new in steganography, Watson. This is an art that goes back to the dawn of time. Think of invisible ink.”
“Oh, yes.”
Holmes smiled. “Back in the sixth century BC, Doctor, the tyrant Histiaeus needed to get a message across the front lines to his allies. So he had the head shaved of his most trusted slave and a message tattooed upon the scalp. Once the hair grew back the man was sent on his way and the besieging Persians were stymied. And that, my dear friend, is steganography – from the Greek word steganos, meaning ‘concealed’.”
“Just text documents, Holmes, or can you hide other things?”
“You can hide almost any digital file inside another digital file, only you must be careful not to make the receiving file too large. You could hide one photograph inside another or even video footage in a music file.”
“Good heavens.”
“Yes, you might even hide top secret plans for an invasion or the blueprints of a nuclear facility within an Adele track on your iPhone.”
“I cannot abide that woman. I simply cannot see what all the fuss is about.”
Holmes nodded his understanding. “But, Watson, we must now destroy all evidence of An Lee. Seek out the file shredder within Susan’s Platform.”
Whilst I was doing so, I asked my friend a burning question. “But just suppose, Holmes, that my USB thumb drive were to fall into the wrong hands. They would be able to tell that I was an activist straight away. The game would be up.”
“There is a simple solution, my friend.” Holmes rose from his chair and indicated that I remove my thumb drive. He pointed to it. “Just install the VPN and Tor. Only those. This tells an investigator almost nothing. Now install Platform and any other programs directly within a secure cloud store, then access all your tools from there.”
“Oh, very clever, Holmes.” I stood to follow him out of the room.
“That way, Watson, you only have to memorise the cloud address and your password. Their existence will be your secret. Meanwhile, your adversaries will be busy pouring through your Bulk Data Sets and Internet Connection Record in the belief that they have all the bases covered.”
“Well, that has certainly set my mind at rest,” I told Holmes as I dashed to catch up. “How about a spot of lunch, Holmes?”
“Yes,” he willingly agreed. “Let us sample that new Thai place in Queensway.”