Chapter 49

 

 

Mason dabbled with the program that had registered Evangelista Fiwa a few days ago, a Nobel Prize winner in Physics and the second person to enter his cell. Her groundbreaking experimental methods in computational physics were valuable, especially those she’d left out of her thesis. My writing process starts with an idea. I can pick this anywhere. . .

He skipped to the next person. The only victim, whose thoughts he was still trying to disentangle.

Allegra Driscoll.

She’d visited him two days ago, making a special trip to Belmarsh to retrieve the ISTF codes and passwords for the R&D facilities. Driscoll had to have them reconfigured, a privilege reserved for each new ISTF boss. Codes were personalized for their security and protection programs.

Mason cursed under his breath picturing Allegra in his ISTF office running affairs he’d engineered. Why could he not pick up any information from her? Operatives had proved difficult, but not impossible. All he could sense was disunity in Driscoll’s mind. A struggle of wills. She didn’t agree with a close friend, a confidant, or. . .

“Working into the late hours?”

The sound of the voice jostled Mason, and he sprung from the bed scanning the dark room for the throaty male voice. “Who’s that?”

Mason squinted his eyes barely able to make out the form of the figure. A man sat at the end of the little worktable and the dim work lamp concealed part of his face. “Damn operative!”

The late visitor’s face moved into the light.

Mason shuddered back in disgust. He’d not seen the operative since Khirbat en-Nahas in Jordan. “Taiven! How the heck did you get in here?”

Mason turned his eyes to the door of his cell.

“You know me better than that,” said Taiven. “When was the last time I used a door? What worries me is why have you kept up this charade?”

“What do you want?”

Taiven rose and ambled round the spotless desk with casual movement, slithering a hand along its cool edge as he neared Mason by the bed. Taiven’s wide-eyes were the color of coffee, and his charcoal-colored hair rode in waves on his large head. He tugged the collar of his tie-less suit, alerting Mason that his was a visit of a possibly hostile nature. “No bars can contain you, Mason, or what I believe is brewing on your laptop.”

Mason snickered. Taiven was bluffing. The operative was of his generation, well-informed and difficult to read, like most of them. He despised the infuriating operative who made him doubt his plan for a second. But on second thought, Taiven had nothing on him. He arched his eyebrow, cautious. Taiven was a well-connected operative. Mason’s nostrils twitched as he spoke. “What do you know?”

“Your plans always have one purpose and are driven by one name in particular.”

“And who’s that?”

“Your mother, who sits in a demented, psychiatric ward as we speak with, no contact from you.”

How did the psychopath know that? “You’re bluffing. She’s dead.”

Mason cursed and shot up. “I don’t have time for this.”

Taiven moved up to Mason’s limit. “I believe time is all you have. She’s much stronger than you think?”

“Who?”

“Calla Cress.”

Mason despised the mention of the one person who’d surprised him, the one person who’d endangered everything he’d worked for. “Is that why she’s in hiding? Or is she still trying to find Nicole Cress, who in her day went by the name of Bonnie Tyleman? I bet that deranged woman is exactly where I left her, rotting in obscurity.”

The look on Taiven’s face told Mason much. Taiven didn’t know that Mason was the last person who’d seen Calla’s mother. He stood solidly in front of Mason with a furrowing brow forming on his face. “I’m here to alert you. Your trial is in a few days. I’d start thinking about staying alive.”

“I had no idea you were sentimental about my well-being. There’s no capital punishment in this country, even if they decide to give me the highest sentence.”

“Your crimes extend across borders? These court systems are not as lenient. Take the US, for example, the land of the free, but not for you. Halt your frenzied little plan, because in two days, the state will find you guilty and extradite you to the US to face trial there.” Taiven edged closer, his nostrils flickering. “It’ll certainly lead to capital punishment. Your eminent end.”

Mason held onto the notebook that had sat on the bed since Taiven’s uninvited entrance. “Get out of my way.”

Taiven watched him push a finger over his mouse. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I take orders from no one.” He slammed down a key. “You know that. I never have and as you can see I have business to attend to.”

Irritation crossed Taiven’s eyes as he watched the notebook fire up with a screen displaying a transmitting box. He pulled out a P226, Sig Sauer handgun and fired at the churning notebook. It gusted into flames, burning a hole through the prison bed.

Mason snickered. “Your approach is tardy, my friend.” Mason slammed the gun from Taiven’s hands and slit him across the chin.

Taiven hurled to the floor and with eyes burning with the fury of lava, glanced at the notebook. His eyes widened. The ticking words of the slow functioning machine were clear.

 

TRANSFER COMPLETE!

 

Taiven shot Mason a glazed look, and observed as he maneuvered to the cell door. A whispery voice from behind the gated steel called out. “It’s time.”

Mason smirked as Elias jerked his head back at the sight of Taiven. “Who’s that? How did he get in here?”

“The same way we are getting out!”

Mason seized Elias’ shaky hand and shoved him into the quiet hall. “Lead the way.”

 

Taiven waited until the hall fell silent of escaping footsteps. He lifted his hand and examined the item he’d come to retrieve.

A bloodied microchip.

 

 

 

1217 hrs.

 

“Mason intends to finish the hack he created. He’s accessed the most influential minds in all society; scientists, musicians, politicians, authors, criminals and the list goes on, so he can create software that can dismantle human innovation and every sphere of creative influence,” Vortigern said.

Calla thought for several moments. “He’ll bring the world to its knees subtly, destroying humanity. After all, without innovative ability, freedom to use technology, choice and control of even one’s cell phone, most people are incapacitated. Call it the technology curse. People can’t live without it.”

They heard a shuffle by the door. Taiven strode into the room and dropped a sealed plastic bag on Vortigern’s desk.

“How’s he coercing them?” Vortigern asked.

“With the chip in that envelope. It’s only a matter of time before he gets another. I extracted it from an unusual place,” Taiven said. “Mason asks the world’s leaders to come to his cell and uses telepathy to milk their brain cells of intelligence, leaving the brain numb. He may have acquired powerful passwords, formulas and the list is endless.”

“Why do they come to see him?” Calla asked.

“Who’s not intrigued by an invitation from a billionaire behind bars?” Taiven said.

Vortigern watched Calla. She knew they were waiting for a response from her. “I can’t do anything about this.”

Taiven set a hand on her shoulder. “You can. As sophisticated as Mason’s methods are, he’s never had an idea of his own. He mimics greatness. He’s stolen ideas for years. He has vision, and will see it through. Mason’s processes are subtle, so subtle that people don’t know they are coerced.”

“I can’t do anything. Look the program has advanced. We may have ten days at best before it has engulfed every system known to us.”

Vortigern rose and paced the room for a few minutes. “Calla, operatives are more knowledgeable than the average person. But somehow, you were wired with all the right skills to match Mason psychologically, mentally, and physically, like twins operating on opposing spectrums. For one, you have similar psychological backgrounds and your thought processes are similar.”

Calla reviled the idea. “I beg to differ. That’s repulsive. How so?”

Vortigern zipped round. “You were both let down by people who should have been your biggest advocates.”

“Who?”

“Your mothers. A child who’s been let down by a mother can display certain patterns of behavior like—”

Calla shot up. “I don’t believe this! Don’t bring my mother into this. She died long ago.”

Taiven interrupted. “There is another way.” He addressed Calla. “You can find Merovec.”

Vortigern shot him a warning glance.

Taiven ignored the response. “Merovec can help. He alone can interfere with the forces set in motion by Mason.”

Vortigern pouted his lips and shot Taiven a defeated look. “There’s only one operative who’s ever communicated with Merovec, or even knows how to reach him.”

Calla’s eyes narrowed. “So he’s alive?”

Vortigern nodded.

“Who can reach him?” Calla asked.

The words shot off involuntarily out of Vortigern’s lips. “Your mother.”

 

 

 

1240 hrs.

 

Jack observed the programming processes and data structures. He scrolled down his screen as he waited for a response from his recent command entry. He’d been in the ISTF information systems center since six that morning. He scrutinized the data transfer on the large monitor. This was the tenth time in a row he’d perceived a large number of files shift on global computer systems. The morning data traffic was busy. ISTF ensured that their operating systems were technically superior to most governments’ data spy-centers. Jack enlarged the screen window. The systems had been replaced recently. They could intercept, decipher, analyze and store vast bands of the world’s communications as it voyaged down from satellites and shot through underground and undersea cables of domestic, foreign, and international networks.

The servers and network routers stored any attention-grabbing intelligence in near-bottomless databases. The recently installed software could break codes. Most days, the architecture performed flawlessly. This was in ISTF’s favor as it kept an eye on criminalities in heavily encrypted financial information, stock transactions, corporate deals, international military and diplomatic secrets, legal documents and private communications.

Jack chewed on the end of a pen. He leaned back and typed a few algorithms in the mainframe. The commands brought down three new windows. He scrutinized the language structures, the compilers that translated complicated language, and dynamic information schemes on government and intelligence computers in Europe and Asia. He narrowed in on Athens, Abu Dhabi, and Tel Aviv.

A new window asked him for the exact type of data he required. Jack smiled to himself, realizing the privileged position he was in as he responded to the programs query. He needed the contents of private e-mails. At this point, nothing was out of his grasp. Jack could monitor cellphone calls, Google searches, personal data trails, parking tickets, travel itineraries, software purchases, government payments, company security breaches and digital transfers of the visitors who had been allowed to see Laskfell at Belmarsh.

He opted for all, specifically requesting the program to highlight major cities with unusual activity. A large bar appeared. It could take all morning.

Eight percent of the transfers were diverted through an Internet Protocol address, an IP on Santorini Island, where much data was shipped.

“This is bogus!” He stifled a curse. “A tourist island is not a top-hub for this sort of thing!”

He fired up the remote frame-buffer, which overrode the system’s architecture. His computer could remotely control the kernel, the system’s input and output requests in Santorini.

Nothing.

ISTF systems bypassed any firewalls. Not this time. Damn, it’s quite sophisticated!

He keyed in a series of commands. “Let’s see if this’ll work if you won’t allow me browser access.”

Jack connected to the Santorini IP address, hoping to spy for activity in listening mode. This allowed him admission, as the Santorini server hadn’t configured its firewall to prevent him access. It meant one thing. The Santorini hacker was no computer expert, no match for him. Perhaps they were an observer as they called them at ISTF, people hired to keep a hacking computer alive in criminal activity.

With listening mode on, the island server sent him small rectangles of information through a video output device.

Incredible!

“Whoa . . . so that’s what you are up to! NASA’s security programs!”

But who the heck are you?

He scribbled notes and copied the received files on his hard disk. Each time, data transfer started, he scribbled additional notes.

NASA your door is wide open!

If only he knew where Nash and Calla were. They were good at investigating and cracking the genius behind cyber encryption. Especially those who coded their activity in new languages. Together, Calla and Nash could piece links among cyber activity politics, history, and international communication systems.

He’d not thought about them in a while. Where the heck did they go?

It’s been six months and no word from them!

He’d been discreet about their whereabouts. All he remembered was the phone call; the same day he and Nash had escorted Mason to Belmarsh to supervise technological security breaches and procedures.

He fished out his phone wondering whether he should call the emergency number Nash had given him during an awkward conversation that night at a private airfield outside of London.

 

“Jack, I have to take Calla away from here. She needs to get away from London,” Nash had said.

“Where are you going?” Jack said.

“I haven’t worked it out yet. I’ve just organized a private flight. We’ll tell the pilot once we are airborne. I need to check we aren’t being followed.”

“What’s she running from? She’s just found her father. I’m sure she’ll now get all the answers she was looking for when she deciphered the Deveron Manuscript. I thought she wanted to find Stan and her mother.”

“She’s bitten off more than she can chew. Her parents were part of an underground, government operation, not only with the government but I think with something deeper linked to the operatives. Calla has learned something painful. I noticed this yesterday at the St. Giles estate. She had a conversation with someone that turned sour. She’s changed . . . more closed than usual.”

“What can I do?”

“The little she’s told me is the operatives her parents were involved with need her. By my measure, she’s not willing.”

“Why, Nash? You investigated these operatives at the NSA. If there were some sort of threat to her, you’d know.”

“That’s just it, Jack. I haven’t finished my investigation and the NSA wants my report, imminently. But there are a few things still baffling me. That’s why NSA wanted me to get involved with ISTF as soon as possible, given the information ISTF had on Stan Cress and his dealings with the operatives in the past. The NSA is pretty doubtful about them.”

Jack threw his hands in the air. “We’ve worked with them before. Vortigern and his counterparts have helped us to drag Mason to justice. From what I’ve learned in the last few hours, these operatives are no threat to international security. They have more sophisticated technology and science than ours. They’re not affiliated with anyone. They see themselves as the police when it comes to global technology and scientific development. They work stealthy, efficiently and take no credit for the successful operations they do.”

Nash’s hands and arms went limp. “I know, Jack.”

“They’re not on anyone’s radar most of the time. Perhaps that’s what the US fears, the fact they know little about them.”

“I’m not sure, Jack.” Nash handed him a sleek, thin phone, no thicker than a credit card. “Something still bothers me about them. Here, take this. It’s a new government phone that runs only on secure networks and satellite space, leaving no traces. This one’s pinned to me.”

“My kind of clandestine work.”

“I won’t tell Calla. I want you to be able to reach me. Call me if you need me.”

Jack set a hand on Nash’s shoulder. “Be careful, Nash.”

 

Six months ago and still no contact. Jack had no idea where they’d gone and had not contacted Nash. In his type of work, Jack knew better than to leave evidence lying around. The shock, water and temperature resistant phone had remained virtually plastered to his body. He stroked his chin and eyed the smart phone on the desk beside him. “What the heck?”

He dialed the number.

After three tones, he heard the voice of his good friend. “Jack?”

Jack leaned back in his chair. “How’d you know it was me?”

“You’re the only one with this number, remember. You okay, man?”

“Yeah, but I need your help. Is Calla there?”

Nash was silent a few seconds. “I don’t know where she is. But I think I’m on the right track to finding out.”

“What happened?”

Tension exuded form Nash’s voice. “She was taken by professional assassins. Possibly operatives. These guys knew what they were doing?”

“Taken? From where?”

“I took her to Colorado. Some moron came after her and torched my house. I didn’t even live there much. The house was restored last spring. I’m not sure how they found us. No one knew of my or Calla’s connection to that place.”

“Do you think she’s alive? What do we do? Where are you?”

“I’m driving to London now from the Cotswolds.”

Jack checked his watch. “All right, let me know when you get here and I’ll meet you.”

“I should be in London in an hour’s time. Where are you?”

“ISTF offices. Watergate House.”

“Okay.”

Jack hung up and collected his things. It was approaching 10:00 A.M. He left the computer in his office running, purposing to shut it off remotely from his home office. He needed to locate the Santorini hacker in a secured room.

He rose and advanced to the door and paced into ISTF’s bustling corridor filled with agents in clandestine discussions and cryptanalysts analyzing intelligence.

 

The Santorini signal vanished from the monitor. In its place, a new signal reemerged, gulping up more data. The coordinates of the location slithered in and out, stemming from a different place all together—Spain. Without any human interference, the signals reversed and the hacker afflicted ISTF’s network with an information-consuming virus on the main, computer systems framework.

Seven seconds passed.

Jack’s computer froze and the worm tore through his system erasing all of his observation work, before snaking through the rest of ISTF’s complete network.

 

 

 

“She’s dead. My father told me she didn’t survive her last mission.” Calla peered from Vortigern to Taiven. “She died years ago.”

Vortigern lowered his voice. “To him, she is. Stan Cress searched for your mother for years after she left you at the orphanage, but never found her. They left you there together, then she disappeared and has not been heard from since.”

He’s bluffing. A few minutes of pure thoughtless shock passed. Calla held her elbows tightly at the side, her stomach, stirring at the revelation. “How can you know that she is alive?”

“Your mother contacted me once, when the Deveron Manuscript was discovered in the sixties in Russia. She wanted to know whether the Deveron mandate still held its obligations over you.” Vortigern paced the floor. “She didn’t reveal where she was. My hunch is she wanted to know whether we knew about you.”

He took a deep breath. “So you see your father lied to you.”

“I don’t believe you. How do I know you’re not lying to me?”

Taiven approached Calla. “You should ask Stan.”

“What’s the Deveron mandate, Taiven?”

“The Deveron manuscript was a guide and the Deveron mandate is the decision. Will you accept what every Cress has feared?”

“And what is that?”

“Responsibility. Accountability to something greater than they are.” His eyes gleamed with earnestness. Taiven’s well-defined profile stood tall as his face showed a delicate dimension of sensitivity. “Calla, my sole purpose has always been to watch over you. To guide you where appropriate. To help you when necessary, so you can become the operative you are meant to be. But the decision to go ahead is yours. We point to the clues. I’ve watched you since you were little and believe you want what is right and have the determination. The choice is yours. You can step up to the plate, before technology disintegrates into something barely recognizable and before individual will and decision are coerced into puppetry.”

“It’s not up to me.” Calla said. “That’s a responsibility no one should have to shoulder alone. I’m just an average girl, born into an extraordinary family.”

“You’re anything but ordinary, Calla,” Taiven said.

She shifted her feet. “So I’ve been told.”

Taiven’s unreadable features were more comforting than she’d witnessed in Vortigern. Taiven understood her, perhaps more than she did herself. He crossed the room in two strides. “I believe you can do this, even without your mother.”

Calla sank in her seat. “I need to think about this.”

Vortigern maneuvered towards her. “I understand, but keep in mind we don’t have much time. Have you seen today’s newswires? The growing easy availability of mobile technology and Internet-connected devices creates many threats. Recent attacks show that it’s possible to hack devices other than conventional computers.”

“That’s exaggerating.”

“Is it? Mason has shifted from Symbian and Java-based systems and is looking at more mature technologies, like government nerve systems.”

“He won’t get to them. We sealed them.”

“Mason’s trying to produce, and if we are unlucky, he already has fashioned a program that can intuitively control any machine on the planet. He’s cloned the system drives of major government computers as a start. He’s also tapped into a human weakness, dependence on technology,” Vortigern said.

“His is a carefully orchestrated and designed attack, concentrating on localized and targeted incidents as we have seen with NASA, and pretty soon, we’ll see the stability and security of the global routing infrastructures compromised. And this,” Taiven added.

Taiven’s words got her attention. He reached for the Guardian newspaper. “He’s using many new and old avenues such as cloud computing attacks, aiming at monocultures where applications containing lots of valuable data are found.”

Calla took the paper from his hand. Her eyes fell on an article, and concretely on a name she recognized. She studied it carefully.

Veda Westall.

She stood up and read the article grappling the paper as if it was her last dinner. After a long pause, she turned to Vortigern. “I need a moment to process my thoughts.”

Vortigern moved toward the door followed by Taiven. “All right, use my office. I need to step out for a few minutes anyway.”

When the men left, the room fell silent. Calla crossed her arms tightly over her chest. Something she’d read in the Guardian made her twitch. She slumped into Vortigern’s chair, rotating round to face the full-length windows. I can’t accept this mandate. When will it stop? I promised Nash.

She tried his cell phone and got an engaged tone. Calla slowly handled the paper before tossing it to one side and meandered to the window. She glanced out at London’s traffic and drew strength from the city’s atmosphere that she’d always called home. Taiven was right. She had to help, if only because it was the right thing to do. Was her mother alive? Why had Stan lied? What had happened between them? If her mother was alive, where was she? Can I find her? But how? Will this Merovec reverse some of Mason’s mess? Who is he anyway?

Her eyes fell on the image of Veda’s face on the discarded newspaper. She retrieved it and read the caption. Veda had been taken to the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery, a short drive away.

She studied Veda’s face. Why her, Mason?

Calla swaggered to the door, and hesitated when her ear caught voices in hushed discussion on the other side. She held her ear to the wood frame, leaving an inch of viewing space.

Vortigern was in discussion with Lascar.

Calla dodged her head back into the room. The men’s voices were still audible.

Vortigern spoke first. “Did you administer the memory repressant I gave you?”

Lascar’s confidence had surpassed its level of tolerance with Calla. Even from behind inches of solid cedar, his sneer broke through with confidence and was becoming redundant. “Yes, Shields and Kleve won’t know who she is by morning.”