Stealth Associates Pt. 04

42 - Debrief

Dirty Harriet catches me as I park my motorbike in front of Hamstead House. She's just locking up her Chelsea Tractor as I kill the BMW dual sport's engine. She stalks across the gravel forecourt.

"David, I'm glad to see that youre back from your jaunt to London," Swann smiles at me and I feel apprehensive. "Now, before the debriefing presentation I have good news for you."

"Well don't keep it to yourself," I grunt brusquely.

"Liverpool Coroner's Court has passed verdict on the death of Bogdan Kowalska," she says brightly, "I'm sure that you'll be relieved to know that his demise is attributed to natural causes."

"I'm sure I will be very relieved to know that," I respond, "as soon as I work out who... was it Bogdan Kowalska? Yeah, who Bogdan Kowalska is and what the hell you're talking about."

"Kowalska's the name of the dead tramp you bumped into on the covert surveillance course."

OK, now I get it. Obviously she wants me to react to this piece of information, but I opt not to.

"I believe that you said you wanted to debrief me?" I say curtly.

"Yes, so can I take it that things went without a hitch down in London?"

"Things went relatively smoothly, the only problem was that somebody was in the server farm, a techie we think, but they left so," I shrug, "it was all a bit underwhelming in the end."

"Perhaps next time we'll try to lay on something more exciting," she says acidly, "would a car chase suit your James Bond fantasies?"

That's not what I meant and Dirty Harriet knows it. Again she's trying to needle me in the hope that I'll rise to the bait and she can have a row with me. Well that's just not going to happen.

"VJ was able to download somewhere over two hundred files off the server," I continue, "the guys are going through them and analysing them for intel now."

"Very good, so I can expect you in Colossus to give a presentation in..." she makes a theatrical production of looking at her watch, making sure that I recognise it as a Hublot worth six grand, "an hour from now?"

I nod in agreement.

"Nice watch, and a gutsy choice weaing it in this neughbouhood," I tell her. "I mean, I wouldn't want to wear anything that a smack head with a meat cleever might value more than my hand."

As I enter Colossus I notice that Sir Tom Rushton's made the trek up from Whitehall again. I bet he just loves the new HS2 train line. He's holding forth to Dirty Harriet and Braithwaite as Syndicate Three files into the meeting room.

"The thing is the people at the top of the tree in Russia believe that they're at war with the west," he pontificates. "Mind you, I suppose it is possible to see their point. If you were to use maps as a series of snapshots, showing the way the old Soviet empire collapsed from 1989 to the present, then it's quite easy understand why they might think that."

I spot the tea trolley and make a bee line for it. I pour a cuppa - in the good Portmeirion china mind you - and notice that there's also an open box of Family Circle biscuits. I help myself to as many of the chocolate digestives as I think I can get away with. The other members of Syndicate Three have the same idea and fall on the trolley like a swarm of ravenous locusts.

The grown ups, Sir Tom and Stealth's management team, are too deep in conversation to notice the four of us. I use this as a chance to eavesdrop on their conversation.

"I sit on a Joint Intelligence Committee counterterrorism subcommittee, it's a liaison thing with representatives of various foreign intelligence agencies invited along on an ad hoc basis," Sir Tom continues. "Occasionally a young woman turns up from the FSB at the Russian Embassy. Now that would never have happened in the good old bad old days of the Cold War, a Russian intelligence officer liaising with us. Funnily enough she speaks English fluent with an American accent."

Braithwaite smiles thoughtfully and nods in agreement.

"She'd be an Angliyskiy, a foreign-born Russian," he tells Rushton, "they're the people Putin's really afraid of. The Angliyskiy are young, ambitious, well-educated and come from wealthy families. They're taking up high flying positions in Russia. Anything to do with the law, banking, the media and politics over there is where you'll find the Angliyskiy furthering their careers. Sooner or later they'll be in control in Moscow and relations between Russia and the West will be very different."

"It's the reason why Putin prefers to use the GRU and ChVKs to do his dirty work," Dirty Harriet wedges herself into the conversation, "it basically comes down to the fact that he's old school KGB. He doesn't trust the FSB or SVR to be quite brutal enough, not with all those pesky Angliyskiy in management positions."

"Oh I don't know, the FSB's Vympel has its moments," I can't help myself, I speak without thinking. I should know better, children are supposed to be seen but not heard. But I'm committed now, so I continue, "You know the Vympel, more formally known as Directorate V of the FSB Special Purpose Centre. There was that case of that Chechen asylum seeker who was shot at point blank range in Berlin's Kleiner Tiergarten last year. According to Der Spiegel, the Insider and Bellingcat that was done by someone from the Vympel."

The three turn and look at me like they've noticed a child failing to obey the rules.

"Ah David, we can always rely on your encyclopaedic knowledge," she smiles malevolently.

"Yes," Braithwaite says, "and seeing as Syndicate Three has joined us I think we can begin."

+++

44 - The Haul

"Here we go again," Bomber says as he marks his place at the meeting table with his cup and saucer. "Talk about deja vu."

I remain standing but put my own crockery down before firing up my tablet.

"Yeah," I mutter "it only seems like a couple of months ago that we were doing this last."

"That's because it is," Viki adds.

I tap at my tablet. The overhead projector shows some of the surveillance photos I snapped on my phone.

"To paraphrase Julius Caesar, venimus vidimus vicimus," I pause a beat before adding, "we came, we saw, we conquered, if I've got my Latin grammar right."

If Google Translate's got it right would be more accurate. Rushton looks at me sharply and raises a quizzical eyebrow and then smiles with satisfaction.

"Following the client's confirmation that our action plan for covert kinetic cyber counterterrorism was acceptable, we conducted an initial close target reconnaissance," I use the proper official jargon and Braithwaite looks at me over the top of his reading glasses, the corners of his lips twitch in a suppressed smile. "I used covert method of entry techniques to gain access to the building and booted up a PC allowing VJ, ah, I mean Vikram Jalal, to gain remote access to the servers. Once he had confirmed that he'd downloaded all the files possible I infected the servers with the StealthWorm virus and exfiltrated the building."

"You make it sound routine," Rushton says.

"That's because it was," I shrug. "No fuss, no muss, big bubbles no troubles."

Rushton gives me another glance over the top of his frameless reading glasses and raises an eyebrow. He's trying to suss me out, I talk knowledgeably about the Vympel - even if I do end up sounding like a geek - and I make a reference to Caesar in Latin and get the grammar right, but I'm one of the cyberintelligence nerds and I use slang that he associates with teenagers. Sir Tom can't quite get a bead on me.

"What was the intelligence haul like?" Rushton asks.

"Over two hundred files," I say, "analysis is ongoing. For more details on that I'll hand over to VJ."

I sit down relieved that my introduction's over. VJ stands, his face has a grim expression.

"Ah, yeah, s...so," he stammers then gulps nervous before continuing, "so, the first thing we've been able to confirm is the names and IP addresses of something like thirty members of X Korps. Now, we don't know the exact number of people who are members, but we've got these guys by the short and curlies. Incidentally, it looks like they're all based in the States."

The management and Rushton nod in satisfaction. They can pass that juicy titbit of intel to the Americans and get Brownie points. The details of almost three dozen luckless kids involved with X Korps must be worth something to the NSA, the FBI or someone else in the all-American law enforcement alphabet soup.

"The chances are that when these guys try to log on to the server they'll become infected by the StealthWorm," VJ continues, "so seventy-two hours after that their computer's will be shagged, ah, I mean broken," he blushes at the slip up. "So, I reckon it's safe to say we've done a lot to damage X Korps" operations, well, at least for now."

He sits, obviously relieved that his part's over. Vicki takes that as her cue and picks up the baton in this relay race of a presentation. She opts not to stand.

"Yeah, so, we're doing a deep analysis of the files at the moment, it'll take us a few weeks before we've got everything we can wrung out of them, but what we've come up with so far shows that there's direct links between X Korps and the Kaminski Group," Vicki says. "There's also files that have been downloaded from a server in Moscow that we can't identify..."

"...Please stop any attempts to analyse those files at once," Rushton interrupts her. "I've provided your management with details of a secure drop box, those files are to be transferred there and the originals are to be erased from your servers."

OK, that's us kids told not to stick our noses in the grown ups business. Chances are the Moscow server files are going to disappear into the Magic Doughnut at Cheltenham, all the better for the people at GCHQ to play with them.

"I want to make one thing clear," Bomber says quietly, "this isn't the end of this affair. Not by a long way."

"What do you mean by this?" Dirty Harriet snaps.

"You don't just kick a hole in a wasp's nest and think you can get away without being stung," he tells her, "Sokolov will take action against us."

"We've taken kinetic action against X Korps before..." she protests.

"If you mean the eBomb," I add my pennyworth, "then can I be the first to point out that on that occasion things we're different."

Dirty Harriet is about to speak but Braithwaite stops her with a raised hand.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"Well, on that occasion all we did is take down one of their foot soldiers. We didn't cause Sokolov to loose face, and we didn't tell him who hit him," I say. "This time, however, we've destroyed his server farm and done significant damage to much of his network, and we did it in such a way that he knows the name of those responsible for his pain: Stealth Associates. He'll have to strike back or whoever his paymaster is will lose faith in him."

"What form will Sokolov's revenge take?" Rushton asks.

"I don't know..."

"And Sir Tom need not be concerned about it," Dirty Harriet says, "whatever it is I'm sure that we can handle it."

I wish I had her confidence. Rushton rises and the debrief presentation's obviously over. Which is a relief as far as I'm concerned.

+++

45 - Wagging a Tail

I noticed him first on the university campus. He's loitering on a bench near the student union shop, trying to fit in and failing. There's just something about him that's out of sync with his surroundings. I can't put my finger on it, he just doesn't look like a student.

He's short haired, lean and with his pinched face and darting eyes bears more than a slight resemblance to a rat. To be frank, I reckon he'd be more at home on a dodgy inner city sink estate than here on the university campus.

Then I catch sight of Nell coming out of the Law School and I forget all about him. I jog over to her and we embrace like we haven't seen each other for months, not seven days.

My cover for the period when I was down in London, and the aftermath of the job when Syndicate Three combed through the retrieved data files from the server farm is simple; Stealth's had me down in London working on a client's data breach. I got back yesterday, Sunday. Nell and I had a long late night Zoom call, and made a date for this evening after lectures.

"So, did y'all have a good time in London?"

"The hotel room I stayed in was windowless," I reply.

"Say what now?" She raises an eyebrow in surprise.

"The hotel the firm put me up in was cheap, and it was in the basement of a building," I tell her, "it felt like I was in prison or something. I swear, the only thing that kept my pecker up was all those horny texts you sent me."

"So I kept your pecker up babe?" Nell grins as she relishes a new piece of Brit speak, "do y'all want me to do that in person back at my place?"

"Yes please," I say with enthusiasm.

We walk into Birmingham city centre hand-in-hand. I have a wonderful feeling of contentment just from being back with her.

"I had a thought babe, I might take the LLM before I go on to pupillage."

Pupillage is the final stage of training to be a barrister, a twelve month period in law chambers where a trainee barrister initially shadows a mentor before being given their first -and usually minor - cases. Nell's still some way off, but it's typical of her to be thinking in advance.

"Oh, why?" I ask.

"Well, it'd give me the option to teach law at some undisclosed point in the future."

"I never thought of you as a belt and braces girl," I tell her.

"Braces?" she asks and then the penny drops, "oh, you mean suspenders."

"Nope, I mean braces," I tell her, "suspenders are what I hope you'll be wearing later on this evening..."

"...When I keep your pecker up?"

She grins cheekily and it turns into a pout. I take the hint, pull her close and kiss her lips.

As we break for air I catch a glimpse of someone familiar. Rat Boy's standing with his back to us, using the reflective surface of a plate glass shop window to keep the pair if us under observation.

"It looks like we're wagging a tail," I whisper softly into Nell's ear, "it may be time for a spot of dry cleaning."

"What are you talking about babe?" Nell sounds confused.

"Someone's following us," I tell her.

She turns and scans the street causing the Rat Boy to stiffen.

"Easy love," I say quietly, "I'm told that it can happen in my line of work."

"Your line of work?" Nell's still confused, "babe you fix computer security problems."

"No, I work in cyberespionage for a private intelligence agency."

"A private intelligence agency?" she shakes her head, "oh. C'mon now..."

I move in close and hug her, whispering in her ear.

"See that bloke paying an unusually great deal of interest in a shop selling baby clothes?" She twitches to turn and stare, I squeeze her to stop it. "Use the mirror in the antique store behind me to look at him.

Nell shrugs and twists her neck, I do a sort of slow two step to let her get a better view.

"Yeah, I got him," she breathes.

"Right, he turned up at university when I met you," I nuzzle into her neck and inhale the lingering apple scented shampoo in her hair. "Now he's over there, pretending a little too hard not to be interested in us while using the shop window as a mirror to keep eyes on. That's what I mean by wagging a tail. Dry cleaning means we're going to lead our him a merry dance to confirm that the cheeky sod's following us before losing him."

"Cool," Nell says enthusiastically, "let's do it then Special Agent Handley-Jones. Hey, do you have a cool codename?"

"No, and I'm not an agent, special or otherwise," I reply. "In fact there's next to nothing about my job that could be considered even slightly cool. Now let's start dry cleaning."

+++

46 - Dry Cleaning

Grand Central Shopping Mall's packed. It's the usual end of day crowd; commuters picking up a posh ready meal from M&S or indulging in retail therapy in Monsoon before heading down to New Street station and the train home.

I slip out of Foyles book store unnoticed. Rat Boy seems more interested in Nell, whose attention is apparently focussed on the front window of a branch of Jo Malones.

I use the passage of a guy with a cleaning trolley to manoeuvre into position behind a column where I can keep eyes on our tail. I take my work smartphone out of the pocket of my jacket and zap Nell a fast text: "go to Foyles." I watch as she gets her own phone out of her handbag. She reads the text and, without looking round to see where I am, heads to the book shop.

"That's my girl," I exhale.

It's important to tell Rat Boy a story. I've parted company from Nell with a brief peck on the cheek before heading into Foyles. She played out a pantomime of window shopping in the stores nearby. Our tail's positioned himself so he can keep an eye on the book shop where he thinks I am and Nell at the same time. I'd waited until she moved from one store to another, distracting Rat Boy, then I made my move and slipped out of the bookshop.

The whole thing with Rat Boy is amateur hour. Working solo on a trail job is just daft. Based on my own experience in covert surveillance training with Stealth, the pros always work as a team. Two or more people can divide to keep control of a target, providing area cover and having one person following while the other moves to cover potential routes.

As Rat Boy walks to the bookshop I fall into step a couple of metres behind him. Nell's been doing what I asked her to. She's watching from the shop. Her timing's perfect. As Rat Boy walks in she walks out. He's forced to turn sharply on his heel and exist the shop behind her. That's when I strike.

Closing behind him with the phone in my fist I slide the catch forwards with my thumb revealing the electrodes. I jab the phone into the small of his back and press the button.

There's a brief crackle and the faintest whiff of burning flesh. Rat Boy jerks and jumps like he's just had an electric shock. Which, obviously, he has had.

"Are you all right?" I ask loudly, "perhaps you'd better sit down, eh?"

Nell appears at my shoulder, and between us we escort him to a nearby bench.

As he sits I lean over him. I put my hands on his shoulders and press down, then put my weight on the ball of my right foot and wedge my knee against the bench. Rat Boy isn't going anywhere.

I put my face close to his ear.

"I want you to pass on a message to whoever sent you," I hiss quietly, "if your bosses gets the bloody silly notion of sending someone else to follow me or my girlfriend again, I'll end them. Got it?"

He doesn't say much, just mumbles incoherently. Even on his best day I suspect that it'd be a stretch to get much out of him in the way of coherent conversation. Under current circumstances he could be forgiven for being tongue tied. Still I reckon he's got the message good and proper.

I take Nell's hand in mine and we walk away.

+++

47 - I Want You

Nell's flat is on the nineteenth floor of the Rotunda, the cylindrical high-rise that's been a feature on Brum's skyline since the mid-sixties. She lives in a serviced studio apartment; think of a one bedroom flat with a hotel's hot and cold running room service. This isn't low rent accommodation, which is all the proof I need to know that she comes from money.

We step inside the lift on the ground floor and the moment the doors close Nell pins me to the wall. She wraps me in a constricting hug and hungrily kisses me. Her tongue insinuates its way past my lips. I reciprocate, of course, and we're oblivious to the world.

We almost don't notice the elevator judder to a halt and the doors open. Nell takes my hands in hers, and walking backwards leads me to her apartment door.

"How do you get me to do these things babe?" she asks breathlessly. "I'm training to be a barrister. An officer of the court, you know? And yet you've got me out there helping you scare the crap out of someone coz you say they're following us."