“People, this is the work of a warped genius. She has given up a potential murderer, cast herself as a victim and has implicated the UK in the murder of foreign nationals around the globe. As I said earlier, even the FBI have benefitted from her skills. She has an entry on the CJIS database and, whilst it is scant on detail, it seems to involve Cuba, and that is something our Government won’t want anyone to know.
By writing what, on the surface, is an admission of guilt for kidnapping, she is threatening our two governments with embarrassment and humiliation. Given that she has such powerful allies I suspect that the FBI and CIA will pressure MI5 to let her go. First, because she knows too much, and second, because any future President who looked favourably on them would be an important ally for the secret services.”
Their main courses arrived and although no-one was hungry any longer they ate anyway. There was simply nothing more to say.
***
Just as the disenchanted group in Virginia were beginning their meal, Barry Mitchinson’s laptop beeped. An incoming email had been received. The MI5 man opened the attachment headed Affidavit and read the un-redacted version of the documents. His mouth gaped open as he discovered that he was named as a rogue agent who had authorised the killing of the Hokobus and who had also ordered the killing of Gillian Davis.
Of course, this was all true, but no-one should have known anything about any of it. Bloody hell, this was supposed to be a secret service, a secret service that couldn’t keep a bloody secret!
The phone rang. Maureen Lassiter was on the other line. She was crying. Her sobs were so frequent that he could hardly understand a word she was saying.
“Look at the attachment,” she sobbed, before becoming incoherent again.
Barry flicked over to the last page and read down the list. When he reached the last item he dropped the phone and threw his head in his hands. Maureen Lassiter heard him screaming, “No, no, no!” followed by an insane rant which concluded with the words, “I’m going to kill the bitch!”
***
Maureen hung up the phone and stared in disbelief as her future evaporated in front of her eyes, almost a million pounds disappearing from sight like a bad magic trick.
There, on the bottom line of the attachment, was the information that she and Barry had thought was totally secret:
“Britannic Investment Group, Isle of Man: Manx Bank & Trust
a/c nr. 08136541, password: Alleviate, passcode: 19-24356-98734-34285-A-Q.
Balance: GBP 974,645.00”
It had gone. All of it. It was now safely secured in the coffers of Her Majesty’s Treasury.
Chapter 6 3
Notting Hill, London, two days earlier.
With help from Doc, Gil had had tracked back the last payment made to the Chameleon, the one which had been made by the Maratis. According to the Chameleon’s online statement, the payment originated from the National Bank of Marat. The details of the account number and account holder were shown clearly on the statement, as required by international law. Armed with this information, and the time of the transaction, Doc made a polite enquiry of the bank’s lightly protected, daily suspense account database. As Doc later explained to Gil, the reason these bank records are only protected by a simple firewall is that they are ‘read only’ and they contain less data than is printed on cheques and bank debit cards. He joked that the information on the database wouldn’t be of any use to a Nigerian spammer, for instance. This is because access to this suspense account database does not allow the reader to alter or amend any records. Nor does it help a hacker gain access to the triple firewalled, independently wired and much more secure, transactional banking system.
Nonetheless, and as expected, the database contained a back up copy of all the day’s transactions, in and out. A quick look down the list produced the information Doc had been seeking. Minutes after the $1 million was transferred to the Chameleon, the same account was debited £100k in favour of Britannic Investments in the Isle of Man. It had been credited to account number 08136541. Doc was now on the prowl.
***
Barry Mitchinson proved to be a hard man to hack. Doc tried unsuccessfully for hours before accepting defeat. It wasn’t that Barry’s system was secure; it was simply the case that he was seldom online and one can’t hack an unconnected computer. The breakthrough came when Gil suggested that Doc might have more success with a different approach.
Doc owned one suit, and it had to serve for weddings, funerals and the occasional court appearance. It was looking a little worn, but with a new white shirt and tie and heavy rimmed glasses, Doc looked the part as he rang the doorbell.
A tearful Eloise Ter Haar answered the door and looked enquiringly at the rather odd young man in the suit.
“Eloise Ter Haar?” he asked.
“Or Eloise Mitchinson,” she hastily replied, “yes.”
“Graham North, Security Services IT Breaches Division.” He held up a warrant card that looked real enough at a quick glance but which in reality was photoshopped from an internet image. Doc felt that the leather card holder, £7 from Amazon, lent it an air of authority.
“I’m afraid my husband no longer lives here. I don’t know where he is. But let’s discuss this inside. To the neighbours you’ll look like a bailiff.”
Doc sat down with the very attractive middle aged woman. He had always preferred women of his own age but suddenly he could see the attraction of a more mature woman. Even in her tearstained condition she looked sophisticated and sexy. He wondered briefly whether, given her vulnerable emotional state, he might have a chance of getting to know her a little better. His wandering attention was halted by her sultry but quivering voice.
“What exactly can I do for you, Mr North?”
Doc explained that a computer at that IP address had attempted to access a restricted server in MI5, and that he was here to investigate. He also explained that it was an offence and that it carried jail time. He wasn’t actually sure that was the case but it sounded ominous and had the desired effect. Eloise swore that she had never tried to access the MI5 server, that she was innocent and that Doc must believe her, she had just lost a close personal friend who had committed suicide and her husband had left her for a hussy who lured him away with perverted sex.
Doc lost his train of thought for a moment as visual images raced across his still adolescent brain.
“Don’t worry, Eloise, the chances are that your husband’s computer is trying to link in to the server automatically when you log on. I take it you have a shared computer?”
She nodded.
Eloise led Doc upstairs, her tight pencil skirt swaying with her hips as she ascended the steep staircase. She turned to ensure he was following, and smiled when she saw where his gaze was centred.
Eloise showed Doc the large screen Apple Desktop PC and switched it on.
“Please do as you like with it. I don’t need any more trouble in my life.”
Doc could have sworn that she had one less button fastened on her blouse than she’d had downstairs, and as a result he was treated to a feast of cleavage as she handed him the mouse.
Quickly and efficiently Doc set to work, ignoring Eloise’s work and private files at her request. Barry’s section of the computer was untidy and disorderly, but it took just a few minutes to locate a number of hidden files. The first was a large folder called ‘empics’ which appeared to contain Jpegs and mpegs, while the second was a smaller file called ‘Personal Info’.
“Would you mind bringing me a glass of water, please? I’m parched.” Doc hoped that Eloise Ter Haar would give him a few moments alone. She obliged, smiling the whole time.