Nikki Owen - Spider in the Corner of the Room

I flip the pages over, one by one. Details fly past my eyes, my brain registering every single one until I stop. There. A pattern. I search it, scrutinise it. I remember dreaming about the pattern when I first arrived at Goldmouth. I track it now, calculate it. What is it telling me? What?

Balthus looms into view. ‘Maria, I think that’s enough.’

But my mind keeps working and the pieces start to fall into place. I find myself decoding the configuration until, just like that, a sentence is revealed. ‘Websites are used as cover,’ I say to myself, a murmur first then louder still. I look up. ‘The website is a cover.’

‘What?’ he says. ‘Whose website?’

‘Dr Andersson’s.’

‘Maria, no.’

‘Yes. It says here, in my notebook.’ I point at it. ‘A pattern, a code. I don’t know why it’s there or how I recalled it, but it is all I have. Websites are used as covers.’

He shakes his head. ‘This has to stop.’ He puts his hands on the laptop, begins to move it away.

‘No!’ I try to drag the laptop back off him, desperate. ‘I have to show you.’ I panic, pull at the screen. If I don’t do this now, what will happen? I will be locked up forever.

‘Maria, let go of the computer.’

But I do not, instead gripping it harder, as if my life depends on it, as if nothing after this will ever be the same again.

‘Maria,’ Harry says, ‘let go.’

‘No.’ And I am shocked at the sudden steel in my voice, weighted, loaded.

Balthus tries one more pull, but the laptop slips from us both, smacking base first back onto the desk, a thick thud in the air.

We both look at the computer, breathing hard.

‘I have to show you,’ I say, trying anything now, anything to help them see, these men who knew my papa. ‘I have to show you. I have to. For Papa.’ I drop my head, beaten, shattered. ‘For Papa.’

Balthus glances to Harry and Harry stares at me, head tilted, then nods to Balthus. Balthus exhales and steps back.

‘Okay,’ Balthus says, just one word, a low growl.

Not wanting to lose my chance, I drag my chair back to the laptop and search my writing pad. The hacking procedure, now decoded, is there. All I have to do is try it.

Step by step, I follow my notes. First, they tell me to access the web anonymously using a proxy. I hesitate initially, not trusting myself, but to my surprise it works. Next, moving at speed, I bring up the search engine and type in ‘Dr Lauren Andersson, Psychiatrist’. My movements are instinctive, frightening. One more tap and a page of search results appears. I scan the data. It is mainly social media links and research papers. Each one of them seems convincing, but there is a website. About Dr Andersson.

I click on the link and Dr Andersson’s face appears. I hold my breath at the sight of her, the milky skin, the iceblonde hair, like she is in costume for a part in a play I do not yet know the title of.

Outside, the rain slams harder against the glass and, steadying my growing disorientation from it, I examine the information. Dr Andersson’s name and profession are listed. On her qualifications page, there is a catalogue of her degrees and courses. I picture in my head the certificates on the wall in her office; they match.

I scan it all, slowly coming to the gut-wrenching conclusion that there is nothing here, the whispering voice looming again, when I see something. There, at the bottom right-hand corner of the screen, is a black square, two millimetres by two millimetres, barely visible. I drag my chair as close as possible to the desk and click on the icon, hardly able to contain my nervous frenzy. A box pops up asking for a password. I remain very still.

‘What’s that?’ Balthus says.

I squint at it, unmoving, frozen to the seat. ‘A…a password request.’ Carefully, I look back to my notebook. I close my eyes for two seconds, try to picture sitting in the university office, solving the pretend equation, my professor standing there when all the while he was an imposter. The thought takes my breath away, shoots up bile. I gulp in air.

‘Maria?’

I push back the thought and check my decoded notes. I look to Balthus. ‘I need a USB stick.’

‘What?’ Harry says. ‘Here.’ He hands me one from his pocket.

I grab it, insert it into the laptop, begin to download the hacking tools from the website’s link extract, copying all the executable files. I do it all like I am an expert, not knowing fully what the phrases actually mean, and as I carry on, in the back of my mind, one word swings up and down like a see-saw: Callidus.

I wait for the file to download, anxious, jittery. One second passes, two, three, four, five. Balthus stares, Harry frowns, the rain slams against the window. The wait is almost unbearable. Finally, it pings complete. I let myself breathe out. I find myself flicking open the notepad function and, tracking my scribbled writing, type in the data from the hacking website.

My eyes stay on the screen. My palms are clammy. I rub them up and down on my trousers. I cannot get this wrong. Not now. There must be something hidden here, in Dr Andersson’s website. It is a cover. It must be.

‘Maria,’ Harry says, ‘I don’t think you should be doing this.’

But, before he can finish his sentence, a list appears on the screen.

Balthus leans in. ‘What are those?’

Stored passwords pop up. I peer at the laptop, amazed at what I have done. How? How did I know all this? My hands shake now, but I manage to scan the list. How do I know which password to choose? I search the notebook again and find an encrypted pattern seven pages in. Could that be it? Or is it all just made up? Stalling one last time, I follow the password-locate method and press enter.

The whole screen goes black.

‘I think that’s it now,’ Balthus says.

‘No.’

‘Maria, it’s crashed.’

‘No, it can’t. Just wait.’ My heart races, my mind pleads for something to happen, yet deep inside, I know it is futile. They think I am crazy.

Harry moves forward. ‘Come on, Maria. Let’s get a cup of tea, hmm?’ And he walks over to a kettle that sits by the window, pours himself a glass of water.

‘Harry!’

Harry stops, turns, looks at Balthus. I look at him then at the computer screen, rigid, barely able to register what is in front of me.

Because a document has flashed up. A confidential report containing hundreds of names and numbers and test case allocation codes and secure file names. And at the bottom is an intelligence officer number next to a picture of the report’s author: Dr Andersson. I do not move, too scared to admit what I have done, what I have accessed without knowing how.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Balthus says.

Harry comes over, peers at the screen. He drops his water glass.

Because there, at the bottom of the file is an address: Thames House, London.

The headquarters of the UK Security Services.

MI5.

Kurt takes a sip of coffee then announces that he needs to use the bathroom. He gets up and leaves, and it all happens so fast, it is all so unusual, that I don’t have time to tell him that he has left his cell behind.

When the door shuts, I immediately stand and grab the phone. I don’t think, just do. The dream, the nightmare is fresh in my mind, and as every second passes it feels more real, more like it actually happened. I glance to the coffee. I wonder…I bend down, pick up the flask. Uncapping it, I sniff. Normal. No aroma other than the usual. I am tempted to sip it but something tells me to stop, yells at me that it is not safe, but I don’t know why I should think that. All the same, I re-screw it and set it down.

Knowing time is short, I gulp some water for my dry, nervous mouth and turn my attention to the mobile. If Kurt is my handler, working for the Project, this could tell me, may provide some information. Having seen him use his phone often, I tap the screen. Closing my eyes, I search my memory for an image of Kurt inputting his passcode…There! My eyes fly open and I tap it in. Denied. What? There is a clattering from outside. I freeze, not daring to move. When no one comes, with my hands wobbling slightly, I try again, closing my eyes. A picture pops up after three seconds: Kurt entering the room just after I awoke. He had his phone in his hand. I think hard, flicking through the images until…That one! I open my eyes, tap in the code…I am in.