Dominic Conlon - Silent Warpath

‘True’ replied McIver. But this ASW group is my secret weapon. My instinct tells me the sub is likely to have a pop at anything, so you are my magnet that will help me find the needle.’

‘And then what?’ Armstrong asked. ‘If this rogue sub is as powerful as they say and my group finds itself under attack, it might sink us all.’

McIver finished his drink in one long swallow. ‘If it finds us first, we need to be prepared. That’s why I’m beefing up the task force — another group are joining us in the next 24 hours.’

McIver eyed up the man in front of him. ‘If it finds us first, I’m depending on you Jim.’

‘Looks like Jack Langham set his web cam up just before he went away.’ DD spoke while tapping on his laptop.

Sean and Lomax looked over his shoulder. The picture was so dark it wasn’t possible to make out anything. Then a light flared. It was the desk light, illuminating the desk and the area around it. A dark shape moved slowly at the periphery of the picture.

‘That’s you Sean, creeping about the room just like a regular burglar!’ chortled DD. ‘I’ll wipe this and disable the web cam drivers. That way it’ll look like a computer glitch.’

‘Go back before then, DD’ said Sean. ‘If you leave any pictures on the computer, Jack might work out that they stop around the same time as the call from the patrol officer.’

‘Sure thing.’ DD turned around to face his audience.

‘I’ve managed to hack into SeaTek Research’s network using the Jack’s USB key and the passwords I found earlier. ‘I’ve had a good look around, especially at Ben’s home area and I found a root kit containing a key logger.’

DD guessed that would need some explanation. ‘This is a program that’s hidden on Ben’s computer. A root kit is very, very difficult to find. How it got there, I don’t know — or who put it there in the first place. The root kit contains a key logger — which means exactly what it says. It logs every keystroke made. The program is designed to report everything that happens on his computer. All the emails that are received, all the legitimate programs that are used, all the data input into the programs, every keystroke that a person types is recorded and all the information is sent on.’

‘Where to?’ Lomax asked.

‘That’s the most interesting part in all this. I haven’t been able to discover its ultimate destination. I can tell you how all the info is being slipped out overnight. It’s disguised as ordinary Internet traffic, so it goes out through the firewall without being stopped or examined.’

‘Could London help?’ Lomax pressed.

‘I’ve been in touch and sent a lot of detail over. It has them foxed too.’

‘Tell me what you do know then’.

‘Well it’s all very cleverly done. The info is sent to a website. I know which one and I know a little bit about it — for instance, I know the server is located in Russia.’

‘Russia!’

‘Don’t get too excited’, replied DD. ‘Chances are it’s not a Russian operation. It could be leased by anyone, located anywhere else in the world. Remember, the Internet is a global operation.’

DD stopped to collect his thoughts. ‘London discovered that the company that owns the server is Italian. But when they ran a company search on who is renting the space they couldn’t find any trace of it. We know the company’s bankers are in the Cayman Islands and it has numbered Swiss bank accounts. Its lawyers are Belgian, yet they cannot tell me any more than what I know already. The lawyers are instructed via emails and you know how easy it is to fake the sender’s address of an email.’

‘Is there nothing more you can do?’ asked Lomax.

DD sounded frustrated. ‘I’ve done everything I can think of doing. There are still a lot of details to follow up on, but it could be days before I make a breakthrough. Even then, it’s possible I’ll hit another stone wall. The person that set this up has done a master job on hiding the real identity of the owner.’

‘OK, let’s look at it from another angle. Can you track down all the calls Langham made? There might be a connection there.’

‘Yes boss, I’ll get right on to it.’ DD didn’t move.

‘Well, what is it?’ asked Lomax impatiently.

‘While I was on the SeaTek network, I took a look around. You know, accounts, payroll, that kind of thing.’ DD grabbed a notebook and flipped through some pages.

‘I checked out the HR database. There is a facility to attach encrypted private notes against staff records. I only found notes against one person — Natasha Moore.’

‘And what do they say?’ asked Lomax.

‘She is the liaison person for SeaTek — with the National Security Agency.’

Schaeffer pulled the net curtain aside and looked down across the main road to the chapel opposite. He was in a rented third floor office within clear sight of the chapel and its grounds.

Taking out a range finder, he determined the distance to the door of the chapel was 215 metres, well within the operational range of the rifle. He observed the trees behind the wall around the chapel. They would partially obscure the funeral party. On the other hand, he could clearly see the leaves waving in the breeze. This would be a useful telltale, giving him first hand information about wind speed and direction. Even though the distance was relatively short, it would still be important when fine tuning the telescopic sight.

Schaeffer bent down to unpack the rifle from its custom built briefcase. It was a VSS ‘Vintorez’, made in Russia for their special forces. Short and stubby with a wooden stock, it looked more like a cross between a rifle and a shotgun. But Schaeffer liked it for its gas-operated sound suppression system. That meant the rifle was accurate and almost silent in operation.

For the next five minutes Schaeffer assembled the rifle and set about finding the best firing position from the window. When he was comfortable he began to load the magazine with 10 sub-sonic rounds. Although the ammunition was not high-velocity, the rounds were tipped with hardened steel and could penetrate body armour — not that Schaeffer expected anyone to be wearing any.

He settled down to wait.

Sean drove into the parking area. No-one had tailed him on the way here. Before stepping out of the car, he looked around carefully. There were several people outside a low modern brick building across the road, but from this distance he couldn’t say how many.

After a few minutes he got out and walked over the footbridge to the building which had a small sign indicating the chapel and crematorium. It was very bright and as Sean walked towards the mourners he could feel the warm wind buffeting his face. There were several small groups clustered around the entrance. Sean saw Natasha and headed over to her. She was listening to a man offering sympathy, judging by the way he touched her arm.

‘Good Morning’, Sean said politely.

Natasha turned and introduced him to the group. ‘This is Sean Quinlan, an old friend of Ben’s from England.’ Natasha introduced her work colleagues Bozena Stanislawski, Bill Hayes, Cary Thorn, Jill White and John Castillo the Systems Manager.

Sean saw the hearse draw up and the conversation stopped. Sombrely dressed pall bearers removed the coffin, placed it on a silver trolley and began to walk slowly with it into the crematorium. Before following them inside, Sean checked the parked cars. One caught his attention. It was a compact with tinted windows, parked under a tree which offered some shade. From this angle he could just make out a single occupant in the driver’s position. The car had been there when he arrived and the driver had not moved since.