Алистер Маклин - Prime Target

‘Overall impression?’ Philpott said.

‘That she was intelligent, gifted and inquisitive, with a tragedy at the centre of her life, supported by the evidence of her compulsive neurosis,’ Sabrina said. ‘Compulsive rituals, notably in the behaviour patterns of intelligent people, indicate that they use rigid and complicated routines to divert their minds from areas of pain.’

C.W. was nodding. So was Lucy.

‘Emily Selby’s history supports that interpretation,’ Sabrina went on. ‘Her employment record, which I read as soon as I got here this morning, shows she was widowed three years ago. She suffered a compound tragedy, because her husband and father died at the same time and in the same place.’

Philpott tapped the photocopy in front of him. ‘Lake Cayuga, Ithaca, New York State,’ he said. ‘A fishing accident. Verdict of drowning on both men. We will look into the details. Now, Sabrina, did you find anything at all to link Emily Selby with Erika Stramm, the woman with her in the picture?’

‘I’m assuming the pencilled initials ES at the bottom of the list stand for Erika Stramm. But that’s all I have. I’m still working on a connection.’

Philpott looked at Whitlock. ‘Tell us how you fared with the list.’

Whitlock had his folder open, the sheets of information spread out before him. ‘It’s a list of thirty German names and addresses, and all the names are male,’ he said. ‘I sifted the criminal records first, but there was nothing. Whatever else they are, these are law-abiding citizens. Then I had to go the slow route, with the help of Interpol. Everybody was very helpful, and eventually I got expansion – as much as is known – on every name on the list.’

‘What’s their connection?’ Mike said.

‘Nothing worthy of the name. They don’t appear to be related by blood or commercial ties. They’re apparently prospering in various quiet ways, but that’s all they seem to have in common. Well, except for one factor. We know that fifteen of the men on the list were adopted. They were war orphans.’

‘And the others?’ Philpott said.

‘No childhood records extant. Destroyed by enemy action. The bombing of Dresden and Berlin and countless other communities wiped out millions of official histories. It simultaneously provided a blank slate for the creation of others.’ C.W. spread his hands. ‘About two-thirds of the population records collated in Germany during the immediate post-war years are just not reliable, from an investigative standpoint.’

‘What’s the men’s professional range?’ Sabrina asked.

‘Everything from bookbinding and carpet-tile manufacture to medicine and law – there are two doctors and two lawyers – the rest are one-offs. Interpol tried a few test searches with the records of marriages but no links showed up.’

Mike asked if they were all about the same age.

‘It’s tight, between fifty-nine and sixty-five years old.’

‘I think there might be something in the fact there are so many orphans,’ Sabrina said. She saw Mike shake his head. ‘At least I won’t close my mind to the possibility,’ she added, giving it an edge.

‘And in the meantime,’ Philpott said, ‘I won’t make any wild guesses about the significance of this list. However…’ He pushed forward a copy of the list and pointed to a name halfway down the page. ‘I’m concerned that this man’s name appears on it.’

The others turned their heads to peer at the list.

‘His name is Andreas Wolff. He’s an Austrian computer systems engineer and program designer.’

‘I can see his face now,’ Mike said.

The others looked at him.

‘Youthful middle-aged, short salt-and-pepper haircut, steel-framed glasses and a great smile.’

Philpott nodded slowly. ‘What are you trying to tell us, Michael?’

‘His picture’s on the boxes of a very expensive series of computer games. They’re on sale all over the place.’

‘Mike spends a lot of time in toy shops,’ Sabrina said.

‘This guy is a king of contemporary games design. He specializes in hybrids: dungeons and dragons, arcade stuff and straight crime detection rolled into one. It must be a great formula, the games sell fast and they ain’t cheap.’

‘Andreas Wolff is certainly well known for his recreational software,’ Philpott said dryly. ‘However, in security and law-enforcement circles, which is to say serious circles, he’s also an eminent individual. He created the software that protects all the data carried by ICON.’

ICON – the International Criminal Observation Network – was the main criminal intelligence service in the West. Criminal records, fingerprint files, modus operandi profiles and databases, plus details of hundreds of current and impending police operations were carried and interchanged on the ICON network. With appropriate clearance and the necessary keyboard skills, an operator could call up the details of virtually any crime, any criminal or any current police record in a matter of seconds.

‘The man on the list is definitely the same Andreas Wolff?’ Sabrina said.

‘The address is the same,’ Philpott said, ‘and I see from C.W.’s information that the age is right, too. Wolff is fifty-eight. I repeat, I won’t make wild guesses about the significance of the list, but it’s worrying that Wolff’s name comes up in a mysterious context at a time like this.’

‘Like what?’ Sabrina said.

‘Well, as you know, the complexities of ICON have multiplied in the past year. What you don’t know is that as more law-enforcement agencies have committed their data to the network, Andreas Wolff has become indispensable. ICON’s continued existence depends on his expertise.’

‘You mean,’ Mike said, ‘that half the world’s police and national security organizations have been silly enough to put all their eggs in one basket? How come?’

‘It’s not an ideal state of affairs,’ Philpott said, ‘and nobody planned it that way. Wolff has become so closely linked to the system, and to determining its rate of development, that he’s pulled ahead of others in the field. No one else understands his programming routines or his security protocols.’

‘So if anything were to happen to Wolff,’ Whitlock said, ‘archive security could stagnate and the files would soon be vulnerable.’

‘That’s precisely what I’m saying. The potential gain from hacking into ICON is vast. It’s inestimable. And it pains me to tell you that the possibility of getting inside ICON is the driving force behind a lot of developments in electronic crime.’

‘Do hackers stand a serious chance?’ Lucy said.

‘Oh, yes, they have a chance and they’ve taken it. ICON’s security has already been breached.’

Lucy looked startled. So did Sabrina.

‘Twice in three weeks,’ Philpott said. ‘Each time it was open for only a microsecond before alternative encryption routines cut in, but the warning is clear enough. The current generation of safeguards is being eroded, and we’re not over-stocked with alternatives.’

‘Who’s doing it?’ Lucy said.

‘Lord knows who. I shouldn’t think it’s any one group. It suits criminal organizations anywhere in the world to have a hole knocked in law enforcement. Hackers try all the time, and they’re fed big financial inducements to keep trying.’

‘So what’s being done?’ Mike said.

‘For the moment, Andreas Wolff provides emergency ICON security by changing the custodian routines at twelve-hour intervals. He will do this until his new generation of self-enhancing safeguards are test-run and installed.’

‘So if Wolff leaves the picture for any reason,’ Sabrina said, ‘the whole of ICON security collapses?’