Stealth Associates Pt. 03

"There's more," he takes the tablet, taps at the screen then hands it back to me. "This is a report on Bellingcat, Ukrainian intelligence are saying that they've discovered that people who work for the Kaminski Group are issued passports by one specific passport desk,' he says, 'the same desk has issued fake documents to GRU Officers in the past."

"Show me."

He hands back the tablet. Bellingcat has been tracking and reporting on an immigration unit that issued fake passports to the GRU intelligence officers.

"OK, this is a direct link between the GRU and the Kaminski Group," I say with conviction, "write it up as a report..."

"An NIM report?" he asks and gives me a cheeky grin.

"A standard report will do, send it to the client but CC Braithwaite and Dirty Harriet as well," I shake my head ruefully. "I wonder who issued Sokolov's passport?"

"Dunno," VJ shook his head, "you want me to see if I can find out?"

"Nah, there's no point," I shake my head, "just file the report and get back to the NIMs."

Which is what I do as soon as he shuffles off. It seems, however, as things went, fate had other plans for me than writing up NIM reports.

"David, how about a cuppa?" a Scots accented voice asks.

It's Alasdair Lennox, the man who had headhunted me for Stealth Associates.

"Yeah why not," I say, "it's time for a coffee break."

"How are you finding things?" Lennox leads me to the kitchenette in the corner of the Bunker.

I spoon instant coffee into my mug. While I'm waiting for the kettle to boil

I prepare my answer.

"It's all right here, I kind of like the work, the research and analytical side of things suits me," I reply. "Just a thought though, what was the point of putting us through the pseudo-Special Forces selection crap and spook tradecraft training? I mean, it's not as if we're ever going to be operating in the field, is it."

The corner's of Lennox's lips twitched upwards. I pour hot water and get the milk from the fridge.

"What would you say if I suggested that you and your team could end up on special ops in the field?"

I pour milk and stir thoughtfully.

"I think I'd tell you to stop taking the piss," I answer. "I've not been here long enough to get my feet under the table, hell, I'm not even halfway through the year long probationary period. Don't you think sending me, or anyone from Syndicate Three into the field right now would be a bit dodgy?"

"And yet that's exactly what management are considering doing," he answers. "Just a heads up sunshine, you 'n' your guys better get ready to be deployed."

Lennox walks away leaving me wondering what the hell is going on.

+++

34 - Dirty Harriet

"What are you doing?" Dirty Harriet demanded.

"I'm looking for the sign that says I've got nothing better to do with my time than gossip all day," I continued with my pantomime for an extra beat before shaking my head,

"what do you want?"

"There's no need to be rude."

I'd beg to differ, my good mood from earlier has been stubbed out, so I'm more than prepared to share my irritation. But Swann's got a skin so thick that it's bulletproof. What good would being obnoxious do me? She'd hardly notice.

Instead I face her, say nothing and raise my eyebrows. She takes the hint.

"I need you and Vikram to come to a briefing for a field job, but first I have a small admin matter to clear up." She purses her lips, clearly choosing her words carefully, "I note that on your vetting form you don't mention a spouse or partner, and yet there's a rumour doing the rounds that you're involved in a relationship with someone. Would you care to confirm that this is correct?"

She knows perfectly well that Nell and I are dating, it's not exactly a secret. I've been telling anyone who'll stand still long enough to listen.

"That's right," I reply guardedly,

"Nell Madison McKenzie?" she prompts.

"Yes," I answer cautiously.

Swann's a natural psychopath. All the signs are there: her readiness to disregard or even violate the rights of others to get what she wants; the inability on her part to distinguish between right and wrong; finally there's her manipulative behaviour and difficulty with showing remorse. It should be remembered that these are considered positive qualities by the management here.

"What would you like to know?" I reply, "please feel free to ask anything, my relationship with Nell's an open book."

"I realise that this may be a sensitive subject, but I'm afraid we do need to discuss one significant issue. Obviously this stems from the fact that Miss McKenzie is transgender," she says it bluntly, unequivocally.

I don't go round telling people that Nell's transgender. That's not because I'm bothered by Nell being intersex. It's because it's not down to me to out her to all and sundry. I can't think of anything more humiliating for Nell than my going up to people and introducing her like this: "this is my girlfriend, she's a trans-woman."

"It is essential, for the purposes of security vetting, that we know about her. And yet you haven't notified us officially of a change in your relationship status," Dirty Harriet says.

"I haven't changed the status on my Facebook page either," and instantly regret it. "This is a new relationship. It could grow into something serious, but it's still early days, so perhaps it's understandable that you haven't been formally informed."

"Can you at least take on board the vulnerable place you've put yourself in?" her tone of voice has a note of exasperation. "If a hostile agency were to find out about your relationship with a trans-woman they could use it as Kompromat to blackmail you."

"But surly that would only happen if we were to keep our relationship status a secret, which we don't," Swann's pushing all the right buttons to get me on the defensive. "I'm sure you've that had someone do an open source intelligence sweep of Nell's social media. I suppose that you've found out about her transgender status from her Facebook page and by liking LGBT pages. I've been trained by the firm to check out social media, it's OSINT 101. I think it's safe to assume that Nell doesn't exactly hide the fact that she's trans, so I think it's safe to say that Kompromat can be rued out, don't you?"

"All the same, you may have to reconsider your relationship with Miss Mackenzie."

"Let me get this straight, are you telling me to dump my girlfriend on security grounds?" I ask with restrained but rising anger.

"Oh good God no! "That's completely out of the question, Human Resources would never condone such a thing. If I did that I'd get dragged over the coals. I just felt it necessary to make it clear that management is aware of your relationship and your girlfriend's gender status," she replies hurriedly, "now if you'll get Vikram I'll brief you in Colossus."

She turns and stalks off.

+++

35 - Green Light

"The word's finally filtered down from the client," Dirty Harriet announces, "we've been cleared to take kinetic action against the server farm."

"What sort of action is kinetic?" I ask.

"Oh, I know that," VJ pipes up, "Kinetic counter-terrorist action is a euphemism for any operation involving direct action against a terrorist threat.

I turn to VJ and say; "nobody likes a know it all."

"If you've both quite finished, they client has given us a green light to conduct a close target reconnaissance of the site, along with a kinetic element of the operation to gain intelligence and neutralise the servers without collateral damage or loss of life."

I have to hand it to Dirty Harriet, she knows all the jargon.

"So, are we going to use an eBomb like we did in Las Vegas?" VJ asks.

Dirty Harriet glares at him with icy displeasure. I get the distinct impression that knowledge of Operation Roulette is above the pay grade of mere Bunker dwellers. However, it's been the subject of gossip ever since us newbies, who make up Syndicate Three, started down here.

"Primarily because of where it's located," she replies snippily, "as in in the centre of London..."

"...Not to mention the server being in a neighbourhood that's home to more billionaires than you can shake a stick at," I interrupt her. "People with the money and clout to get very nasty if we fry their computer chips. I mean, God forbid that we make it damn near impossible for some billionaire oligarch to log onto Pornhub."

"This has got to be a surgical strike. We want the data stored on those servers, and when we've got it, we want to inflict as much damage as possible to the X Korps network as a whole and not just to the server."

"Yeah, if there's one thing guaranteed to make an expat Russian oligarch speed dial their solicitor it's sexual frustration."

"And you want Syndicate Three to do this?" I ask her. "Just pop down to London, tiptoe round the server farm in the dark, download the files and sabotage the servers. Oh, and make sure that we remember Cadwallader's eleventh commandment: 'thou shall not get caught', because if we do the management here will deny all knowledge of us."

She ignores my heavily sarcastic comments and presses on with the briefing.

"Now, first stage will be an initial covert recce and surveillance of the site," she presses on as if I hadn't said anything. "After you've established when the server farm's unattended one of you will covertly enter the premises and gain access to the servers to download as many files as possible, then upload a rather nasty virus we've developed. It shouldn't be difficult for a couple of chaps with you're unique skill set."

She's being a patronising bitch now. This, combined with her earlier interview about my relationship with Nell has really pissed me off.

"I want you to put together an action plan and email it to me by close of business today," she instructs us, "when the client gives it their final approval we'll get you tooled up for the job."

"An action plan? So, ignoring the patently bleeding obvious - using Google Earth and Street View to look the place over, I suppose we can do an OSINT sweep. Check social media, blogs, YouTube etcetera, to see if any of the urban exploration mob have paid the place a visit," I rattle off the patently obvious. "After that we can see if plans of the place are online, the local planning department at the council should be good for getting those. Failing that there's always Zoopla and Knight Frank, they might have floor plans."

"You know, I tell people all the time you're nowhere near as dim as you look David," she pouts her lips then smiles, "I mean, you've obviously got more brains than a fairground burger, haven't you?"

"Thanks for that," I reply, "I think."

"Don't mention it," she says with mock sweetness. "After you've done that go down to the smoke and carry out an in person recce then come and see me with an action plan. All right?"

"Like we have any other options?"

"Well none so long as you don't consider unemployment as an option."

"He doesn't," VJ jumped into what had become a one-sided conversation, "we'll get it done."

Amazing isn't it? I'd come in this morning full of the joys of spring, all loved up after a night filled with carnal pleasures with a woman I'm fairly certain that I'm falling in love with. Now I'm so happy I could open a vein.

And VJ's buzzing at the prospect of doing something properly spooky, being a real life spy. Me? All I can see is a whole world of trouble coming from this little adventure.

+++

36 - The Basement

Dirty Harriet looms over me. That's never a good omen. Whenever I interact with her I feel used, abused and just a little confused afterwards.

"Your recce plan is acceptable to the client," she announces, then points at VJ and summons him with a crooked forefinger, "You are both required in the basement."

"There's a basement?" I'm aghast and sound it. "Let me get this straight, we're in an underground bunker and it has a basement."

"I think I just said that, do try and keep up," Dirty Harriet says sarcastically.

"So what do we keep in the basement?" VJ blurts out.

"It's not so much what we keep down there,' She snorts with annoyance, "it's more a case of who."

"OK, just who do we keep down there then?" I ask less out of curiosity than the desire to wind Swann up.

"We keep Kevin Ryan down there. He's the head of Tech Support. And yes, I am well aware that it sounds like he takes care of the computers when they go down. Although, to be honest, that is in his job description," Swann says. "He also researches and develops unique technology for use on field operations. He's been tasked with sorting out equipment for your trip down to London."

"So he must be pretty good with tech then..." My sentence is cut short.

Dirty Harriet stops sharply. She turns to face me and threatens me with a wickedly talon-tipped finger.

"Never, ever, let him hear you say that," she hisses. "He's insufferable now, God knows what he'd be like if he thought people actually respected him."

We approach an anonymous-looking door. Swann swipes her ID card and it opens automatically.

"You keep him locked up in the basement?" VJ asks.

"Of course not, don't be so bloody silly. All the internal doors lock automatically here, that's nothing unusual." Dirty Harriet pauses a beat before adding, "although sometimes I do think we should lock him in. It'd certainly lead to a quieter life for all concerned."

"I think Human Resources might get upset," VJ says.

We walk down a flight of metal stairs. Our footsteps are transformed into echoing metallic clangs.

"You still haven't said why you think that we should keep this Kevin Ryan locked up?" VJ asks nervously.

"It's simple," she snaps, "it's because he's really, really annoying."

"In what way?" I push it because I'm intrigued and also because it seems to be a subject that really gets Dirty Harriet worked up.

"Well, for a start, he's so bloody arrogant," we continue to clang down the stairs.

"Also, every demented paranoid conspiracy theory out there he buys into."

We come to another door. Dirty Harriet presses an intercom control. We wait, and then wait some more after that. Eventually the buzz is answered.

"Yeah?" A nasal American-accented voice comes from the grille on the doorframe.

"It's me, Harriet Swann."

"Yes I can see you on the door cam," the voice answers, "but how do I know it's really you? What proof have you got?"

"For God's sake, you've met me often enough," Dirty Harriet snaps, "open the damned door or I'll get security to open it."

There's a long pause, muffled sounds which remind me of someone moving things about and eventually there's a buzz indicating that the door's unlocked.

I'm beginning to see where Swann's coming from on this.

+++

37 - Kevin Ryan

From his leather pointy-toed boots, to his narrow-legged velvet trousers, waistcoat, shirt and up to his long glossy hair, everything's black. Even his lab coat's black. But his hair is suicide black I suspect, as in dyed by his own hand.

"You'd better come in then," he says snippily. "You would come at lunchtime wouldn't you?"

The basement must run for the whole length of the building but seems smaller than it is. This sense of claustrophobia is provided by the long rows of metal shelf racks loaded with electronics.

At the end of the aisle there's a bright pool at a work bench provided by an angle poise lamp. He goes behind it and stands facing us.

"Have any of you ever considered that Amazon's corporate mission statement is probably something like: 'we will have all the money in the world while everyone else dies of crushing poverty wishing they were us'?"

"No, I can't say that I have," VJ answers.

"I thought that was just Jeff Bezos' personal mission statement," I answer.

"It probably is," Ryan concedes, "of course the social acceptance of tech nerd billionaires has much to do with the economic theory of trickle down."

"What's that?" VJ asks.

There's a sharp intake of breath from Swann, followed by a hiss, 'you HAD to ask didn't you."

"Ah let me tell you about trickle down economic theory," Ryan announces. "The idea behind it is relatively simple: cut taxes for the richest and the benefits will trickle down to everyone. These policies should enable wealthy entrepreneurs, such as Bezos et al, to create more jobs for the middle class, meaning the benefits are felt by everyone. Are you with me so far?"

We nod in agreement.

"And, obviously, this means turning a blind eye to the rich using the same sort of money laundering techniques as criminals. But in the case of the rich and nerdy for tax evasion purposes," he continues. "However, out of deference to people who have more disposable cash than some countries, we do not use terms like 'money laundering' or 'tax evasion'. Even 'tax avoidance' is a little near the knuckle, so we talk about 'tax efficiency'. Still keeping up at the back?"

We all mutter and nod again to show that we're up to speed. I suspect that it's more to prevent him going through the explanation again.

"At the same time the uber rich, now having truly obscene amounts of cash stashed away, are free to indulge their every whim. Living in lavish luxury, purchasing McMansions decorated in ghastly bad taste, mega superyachts that are only slightly smaller than cruise liners and their own private tropical islands," he continues. "And of course, we, the poor bloody spectators in the cheap seats, are supposed to look on at their antics in awe," he sneers. "It's rather like a circus and we are encouraged to look up and gasp in amazement at the antics of the trapeze artists. Unfortunately, we only realise too late that they have no underwear and suffer from explosive diarrhoea. That's what trickle down really means, the crap trickles down onto us and the super rich don't care because they are largely unaffected."

"And on that scatalogical note,' Dirty Harriet announces, 'I'll leave you with Kevin as he equips you for the London Job."

+++

38 - Tooled Up

"In the world of modern espionage the smartphone is indispensable," he picks up an iPhone SE from the workbench. "Take this for example, it looks fairly innocuous doesn't it?"

He hands it to me. The first thing I notice is that it's in a hard black plastic case with a button not normally found on an iPhone. I slide it forwards and two metal spikes protrude from the top right corner. I press the button with my thumb and blue electric sparks arc crackling between them.

"Ah, I see you've noticed that it's in a Yellow Jacket case. At the touch of a button you produce enough electricity to cause significant pain without actually killing anyone," Ryan says slowly, as if he's explaining quadratic equations to an Orang-utan. "Try not to electrocute yourself."

"For communications the phone's got the FireChat app," Ryan continues. "This effectively turns your phone into an encrypted walkie-talkie."

Next he picks up what look like USB thumb drives shaped like a red key. Ryan hands it to me, the key has a warning: "Redkey - may damage your computer."

"This does what it says, so don't get it confused with your own thumb drive or you'll do serious harm to your laptop," he grins. "It contains a worm, a type of malware that spreads copies of itself from computer to computer. We developed it here at Stealth Associates, so unimaginatively, we call it the StealthWorm. It's a small piece of software that uses computer networks and security holes to replicate itself. A copy of the StealthWorm scans the network for another machine that has a similar security hole. It copies itself to the new machine and then starts replicating from there, as well."

Again we nod and Ryan looks smug.

"Once a computer's infected by the StealthWorm it'll do three things. First; StealthWorm will replace any web pages hosted on the server with a page featuring the message 'hacked by the StealthWorm', that's our calling card." Ryan grins. "Second: It will erase all the data on the computer or server and cause the system to crash. Thirdly and finally: any computer StealthWorm infects will crash three days after infection, and by crashing what I mean is that it will overclock the computer, increasing the Central Processor Unit's clock rate. This in turn will make the CPU overheat, the thermal paste will dry out, and it will cease to function - as in irreparably. In other words, the recipient of a StealthWorm is going to have to spend a huge amount of time and money replacing hardware and trying to retrieve data." His grin gets wider, "and I'm proud to say, it's all my own work."