CHAPTER THREE
The cafe was reassuringly busy. I blended in with all the other hoodies - most were my age or younger - and swiftly set about my task. I wanted to be in and out of here as quickly as possible.
It was easy to set up a log in account under an assumed name, and I began searching via a secure browser for anything that might relate to our groups actions, my friends deaths, and more importantly for me right now, whether they were pursuing anyone else.
I found a few articles about the hacking we had been involved with, the site take downs, and disruptions we had caused, but there was nothing more recent. I should have known better than to look to mainstream media for the answers I required.
Instead I went over to the Occupy News web site. The Occupy Movement was borne of the Arab Spring in 2010, after which Occupy Wall Street developed in New York. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of peaceful citizens camped in Zucotti Park and marched daily around Wall Street. Though nonviolent, many were arrested en masse with absurd reasons given - ‘being on the sidewalk’ was one - only to be released without charge a few hours later.
This momentous uprising of ordinary people protesting the inequality of wealth was met with fear and loathing by the opulent, the authorities, and indeed the government that responded with control and intimidation tactics and violence. Examples of these events went viral across the world. Everyone is a reporter now. Hundreds of recording devices, telephones, cameras, and camcorders captured and relayed the reality of what happened there. Images of unarmed women being maced in the eyes as they kneel on the sidewalk, kettled by a circle of police. Footage showing some officers responding with as much surprise and disapproval as onlookers, but they had to stick together, not break ranks.
Mainstream media didn’t even acknowledge anything was happening until several weeks later. Despite the streets of New York being filled with people, apparently this was not newsworthy. After a few weeks the movement was undeterred by the intimidation tactics of the police, this thing evidently wasn’t going away as they’d hoped it might. Conversely, it was actually gaining momentum, much to the annoyance of what was referred to as the 1%, the wealthy, the people in power.
Occupy camp sites formed right across the United States and in countries across the globe, Europe, Africa, Asia, Russia. The movement soon developed from being about the camps, though they had served a valuable and very visible purpose in bringing to the fore important issues felt by the masses, and expanded into online protest groups, petitioners, physical community action groups that tackled local issues, and the movement lives on.
The Occupy News website became known as the source of reliable information. It featured live reporting via live-stream video with real time chat between the people on the ground and supporters worldwide. Tweets, amateur journalistic writing and film from real people across the world, people who weren’t controlled or paid by higher powers to deliver a selective or biased view. Technology was bring people together to organise, unifying in discontent.
Like my friends and I, these people were freedom fighters - freedom writers - the primary aim was a global revolution to restore power to the people; to peacefully revolt against the greed and corruption of the worlds wealthiest, the 1%.
Scanning quickly through the articles my eyes finally came to rest on what I was looking for, a reference to
Gunther, the piece said he had been found hanging in his home. He was young and had everything to live for. Nobody could understand why this had happened.
“Gunther’s commitment to social justice was profound. He used his prodigious skills as a programmer and technologist to make the Internet and the world a fairer, better place.”
Gunther believed that information - particularly that which might benefit society - should be available for free to the public. According to this news report, Gunther had downloaded documents and made them available to the public at no charge. The government had cracked down on his activity but didn’t file charges. Among internet activists, myself included, he was regarded as a hero for his efforts as an information liberator.
Most articles mentioned his depression, I didn’t know if there was any truth to that, but wouldn’t have been surprised if that detail was planted to steer the ensuing so-called “suicide” toward greater credibility. Many of the reporters and fellow activists voiced suspicions. The government knew Gunther had been involved with accessing data files, they had apparently paid him to do some work for them, but now he was dead and according to this article, authorities were following leads in relation to others linked to the information distribution Gunther had been involved with.
They had leads.
While reading, I noticed in my peripheral vision, a middle-aged man in glasses seemed to be staring at me from behind another monitor. I lowered my face behind my own and continued reading, glancing back every so often to see if he was still watching. A couple of times I caught his eyes darting quickly away as I looked up.
To my right a young asian-looking guy of perhaps eighteen years, was using the terminal to study, his attention switching back and forth between the screen, keyboard, and the text book laying flat on the table at his right. On his left he had carelessly left his black leather wallet and a mobile phone.
I’d learned as much as I was going to for now. The Glasses man was still covertly watching. I was sure I didn’t know him, and it occurred that he might think he knew me but was simply mistaken, however my instincts to me I needed to get out of here. Even if the glasses guy remained seated in the cafe, he could still be one of those pursuing me, he might be calling his colleagues right now. I looked all around me, faces, all appeared innocent, people going about their business, but how could you tell, really? Or maybe I was being totally paranoid now.
I couldn’t afford not to be, with my friends dead, suicide set-ups, I could take no chances. Before leaving I logged in to my own Twitter account - George Kaplan was a name I was known by online, a nod to the Hitchcock movie - and tweeted a final message:
George Kaplan @OccupyKaplan
I recently had a health check and there is nothing major to worry about. If something happens to me...be suspicious.
My friends would soon react if, after such a message, I were to turn up dead any time soon.
I rose and left then, keeping my head at a downturned angle in case I passed anything resembling a camera, all the while trying to appear inconspicuous, but most likely standing out all the more. I made an excellent hacker, but a terrible under-cover spy.
Once outside I pulled the newly acquired wallet out to see what I had gained. Needing both hands, I stuffed the mobile phone into a small external pocket of my rucksack, I’d take a look at that in a moment. Inside one flap of the wallet was some cash in notes and a few coins in the zip section which I stuffed into my jeans pocket. There was a bank cash card, a photograph of the wallets owner showing him pictured with a girl, possibly his girlfriend, and a couple of store loyalty cards. In the back section was a driving licence card and NHS exemption card. As casually as I could manage, I stuffed the wallet into a hedge, deeming its contents of no use to me.
Glasses' men might be watching from anywhere in this street. It was then I realised that I would have to leave the city altogether. It was far too dangerous for me here, streets were bustling, filled with potential danger around every corner and in my heightened state of terror it seemed as though every face was staring at me, every sound might be a police car drawing near. I looked at the faces of drivers in every car, or perhaps it was the motorcyclist, they work in tag teams to avoid detection. It could be anyone.
I needed to get away from people, and to avoid all forms of public transport - even buses had cameras on board these days - and hunker down somewhere secluded and away from technology to plan how I was going to proceed.
I crossed the road and picked up a map of the local area from a corner shop. As familiar as I was with the city streets, I was considerably less ac
quainted with the rural outskirts. Approaching the checkout, I was dismayed to notice the bank of CCTV camera monitors. Too late now, my face was already on them, apparently from practically every angle, but I decided I couldn’t risk going into any more shops after this so I hurriedly grabbed what I needed here - mostly food and drink - and paid for it, still keeping my hood low over my face for all the good it might do. By his expression, the cashier might have been expecting me to pull a gun on him when I reached for the cash in my front pocket and I’m sure he was quite relieved to see me leave.
Once outside I rounded the corner toward the alley at the back and opened the map to select my destination. I would be travelling on foot so it had to be somewhere I could reach before nightfall, that gave me just a few hours. Several places could be quickly eliminated for being too distant, near main roads or houses, or too exposed. Eventually I decided on a densely wooded area that appeared quite remote, a small river ran through, and the map didn’t show any footpaths through it. It looked ideal for my current needs, I thought.
I heard the sound of car brakes followed by loud shouting travelling in echoes down the alley from the front of the shopping parade. Peeking cautiously around the brickwork corner I was just in time to see Glasses with two other men entering the shop. That confirmed it, Glasses was definitely in pursuit, to me they resembled smartly-suited urban . I was certain that I had seen hand guns holstered beneath those blazer jackets, but I wasn’t going to wait and find out.
Stuffing the map into the rucksack as I went, I headed in the opposite direction, trying to look casual in case anyone was watching this scene and might feel they were being good citizens in alerting my whereabouts to the police. How badly I wanted to run.
As soon as I rounded the next corner I burst into a sprint. Just then a shout came from behind me.