It was a summer of outdoor fun, but every evening all four of them would enter the “world domination” game and try to outdo each other. Gradually, their scores increased and they were all classified within the top 100 players out of the 750,000 playing across the world.
* * *
As the children innocently played, oblivious to the terrorists controlling the game, the teams of Intelligence officers followed up every clue about Madam Musseine and her potential cyber attack.
At 10 am on Tuesday 27th August, 2013, the Conman project team reconvened in the operation meeting room at Somerset House.
Brett was having an animated conversation with Wolf. ‘How do we trace her then? No one else seems to have an idea after a month’s search.’
Wolf knew what the problem entailed. ‘I can’t access the true location of her IP address and hence her computers. They must have a technical whizz kid on board because their IP masking software led me across five continents from server to server and then repeated itself from the start point. “A forever wrapper” in our terms.’
Brett was being over assertive. He knew time was running out. ‘But we have to know where her base is Wolf.’
‘I understand that Brett, we all understand the need.’ Wolf put his hands behind his head and leaned back on his seat with his eyes closed. ‘The only way, would be to pretend that I’m a player within their game.’
‘Just do it Wolf.’ Wolf opened his eyes and wagged a solitary finger at his new colleague.
‘I can’t! They have closed off all access to the game now. Only children who have been playing over the last year can continue to play and there also seems to be some process of selection happening, i.e. only the best players in the world are still active.’ The team sighed in unison; they were fighting a hidden enemy who could not be attacked. ‘Look everyone, the terrorists have been extremely clever in harnessing their resources but...’ they all looked at Wolf in anticipation, ‘I suppose I could hack their computers if I put a tracker within three of the top player’s PC’s.’
Brett asked immediately. ‘What’s a tracker and why three?’
‘It’s hardware built to my own design. I have to insert it on the motherboard of the players’ PC’s. It inserts a hard-wired tracking code as they play the game e.g. an extra asset like a battle cruiser and then the terrorists won’t notice it and hopefully ignore my tracker. If it’s successful on all three PC’s, I will receive three return messages from the gamemaster and then I can triangulate their true IP address.’
Brett smiled. ‘And bingo, I believe you Brits say. We have our man and their location.’
Wolf smiled at his new friend. ‘Or woman, all the rest of the “intell” still suggests it is Madam Musseine, ex the Marseille Mafia. The French Intelligence team, the DCRI have given us ten names of cyber terrorists known to have been active in the last decade. She went “missing” a few years ago but this scam has the hallmarks of her organisation and she seems to own all the shell companies involved.’
‘What is it called?’ J was impatient but it was Brett who replied.
‘The Black Hand Gang, BHG for short.’
‘Profile?’ J tapped his hands on the table as he waited for a reply.
Sybil looked up. ‘We have nothing apart from rumours sir. An occasional arms purchase such as SAM, Surface to Air missiles hijacked from either Chinese or Russian shipments and always no trace afterwards. However, there was one defector six years ago. He had a black hand burned into the palm of his left hand and his little finger had been scorched off.’
‘Had Sybil?’
‘Yes sir. The man was a young Spanish scientist from The University in Madrid, who had majored in computer sciences. He walked into the Spanish Intelligence offices, Centro Nacional de Inteligencia (CNI), at 10 am one morning and demanded to see the head of intelligence as he had vital information. Within five minutes he was lying dead on their reception floor, poisoned by a micro injection made to his left shoulder.’
J stroked his chin. ‘So they were waiting for him outside. A touch on the shoulder as he entered, a tiny prick and a “lo siento” sorry, from the assassin. It means we are taking about a ruthless organisation with a widespread network of deadly operatives.’
She continued. ‘They are all ninja we believe sir. The closed circuit TV cameras in the surrounding streets pinpointed a team of four Japanese based on their size and gait. No faces had been recorded as they had all wore baseball caps and kept their faces averted from known cameras positions. So yes your assumption is correct, they are a sophisticated and deadly team of silent killers.’
Matthews had come into the office. ‘We think we have a positive ID on her location everyone. She disappeared off our radar ten years ago as we all know but now she appears to be holed-up, that is literally holed-up in the depths of Mount Kilimanjaro.’ He pressed the remote control to show an image on the giant TV screen. ‘This is it. The photo was taken two years ago. It’s nearly 6000 metres high and has been dormant since the last eruption 200 years ago.’ Further photos ranged across the screen. ‘You can see the active fumaroles which we think may be steam from their generation of electricity. We want you to sanction a close approach by the SAS sir. We can sample the vapour with a drone and perform a chemical analysis.’
J was unimpressed by the suggestion. ‘That is far too dangerous. Her radar systems would detect anything close-in. Even a drone could be picked up, so my answer is definitely no.’ He was tempted to say ‘what’s happened to your judgement Matthews’ but drew back remembering the excessive stress his man was under. None of the team knew about Matthew’s daughter’s terrible illness.
Brett had a better idea. ‘A neutron image was taken by one of our satellites yesterday but the results were fudged. It proved impossible to get a reliable image because the magnetic field is bent out of true. So we used the satellite’s magnetometer readings to analyse the zone and found that the flux density around the volcano was reversed.’
J commented. ‘Because of the iron rich basalt, thrown up by the volcano over the years?’
‘No sir, it has reversed since when we last measured it five years ago.’
Wolf concluded. ‘That proves something then. Someone is messing about inside that volcano.’
J stood up and walked around the table assessing the new information. A photograph of Mount Kilimanjaro remained on the screen. He stood adjacent to it and tapped the image.
‘We can’t attack the volcano directly. Firstly, we have no physical proof she is there, despite the odd Landrover or helicopter flight coming and going. Secondly, the government of Tanzania would be distinctly unhappy. Thirdly, we know she has SAM sites so our aircraft would be at risk and fourthly, she must be deep below the surface. Even a cruise missile can’t fly into very long shafts and I am sure there would be many blast doors.’ He paused, hand on his cheek. ‘What can we do team?’
Sybil clarified the situation. ‘The Government of Tanzania may well be helping Musseine. We are obtaining more information but this appears to be the case. Since the 2010 elections in the country, we thought things had improved but we should remember that it has always been classified as one of the most corrupt governments in the world. The elements are telling. A weak National Assembly and a dictatorial President with no army worth worrying about. The People’s Defence Force has 27000 men, good Soviet weapons and a handful of tanks. Suffice it to say, they have nothing around Mount Kilimanjaro at present. That in itself is strange as historically it was always a training ground for the army. If an SAS unit did go in to determine the setup, I suggest they are best heading north in any exit contingency plan. The border with our friends in Kenya is only 20 kilometres away.’
J reasserted his decision. ‘As I said Sybil, we cannot risk any approach at present. So we must try Wolf’s tracker first. Any other issues from anyone?’
Brett spoke up. ‘Musseine is hacking with a superlative virus, 128 encryption and then some. Only a month ago n
o one believed that the world’s financial systems could be hacked en-masse. No one believed that someone could assemble so much computer power and the knowledge to use it. Your Home Secretary and Prime Minister spoke to The President again this morning to reaffirm the urgent need to cooperate and get a result. Remember, if this country’s finances suffer another blow, Great Britain will no longer be great. Not only will you lose your job you will also lose your pension.’
J was abrupt. ‘Your point is?’
It was Wolf who responded. ‘Brett’s point is dastardly. Musseine’s game is to entice the top 100 children to the volcano to hack the world’s financial systems. Therefore MI6 must recruit the best gamers in England, on the assumption that they will shortly be invited to join her team in the volcano.’ He distributed a list of names. ‘We only need one spy on the inside and these are the best ten gamers in Britain. In fact, the top four are all friends from a little village in Cheshire called Christleton. Therefore, I suggest we send the top five gamers to our SAS training facility at Brecon. That is Jack George, his younger brother Timothy George, Kate Shore, Roger Ponsonby-Smythe and finally Marshall Hines from London. That should cover any eventuality.’
J was appalled. ‘You want children to go into the lair of this maniac?’
Brett immediately replied. ‘Of course, we have no other alternative.’
* * *
Less than a mile down the road from MI6 headquarters was a privately rented house. The entrance was via a tall black metal gate set in the high wall surrounding the property. It was a red brick Victorian house, in its own grounds and was therefore extremely private. A car would enter or exit the gate each day with two to three Japanese sat inside, each wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. They invariably went to Waitrose and always bought food piled high in three or more trolleys. No one saw MM. She had arrived by stealth gyroscope in the middle of the night. Just to be certain that her flight wasn’t detected, Techno had blacked out the whole of The National Grid on the West side of Central London. The only light left on was beamed vertically upwards from the massive garden of the mansion to guide her safely to the landing site.
Techno was watched closely by Biceps and he knew it. There was no chance of escape to see his brother. His mother was already living “in luxury” according to MM in the safety of the volcano. Each day Techno felt more and more compromised. He had sold his soul to the devil and could do nothing about it. He also realised that the MD plot was being discussed by MM and the others and they deliberately left him out of the discussions. So it was a miserable two weeks for him, living without his laboratories back in Tanzania. At least there, he had the technicians for company. In London, there were just guards who spoke no English.
MM was at the house to complete three objectives:
Number one, Finalise the attack date and business details with her shady accountant who controlled her many companies. Number two, to create a temporary base where she could control MD on the actual day, now set as September 30th. And finally, to observe the English child recruited as her spy. Her geek in America and Twip Twop had made sure the child was in the top 100 players of the “world domination” game and therefore he was certain to be selected by MI6. The problem with Intelligence agencies is that everyone has double agents – agents willing to betray their country, out of belief, or for money. MM was a past master at deceit and was pleased that Twip Twop had devised a double deceit. Matthews, The MI6 agent had a daughter who was dying of cancer. The little girl reputedly had a year to live at the most. The only treatment that would extend her life was in San Francisco, California. At a cost of half a million pounds, it was an impossibility for Matthews to save his three-year-old girl. But MM’s pet albino had befriended him in the local park one Sunday morning in early August. Matthews was watching his daughter play on the swings and was in an emotional turmoil. J had given him compassionate leave to see more of his little girl and therefore he usually worked from home and for no more than 20 hours a week. It was no justification for a professional agent. But he had been persuaded to allow the albino access to his computer twice a day and never when Matthews was about. That assuaged his conscience. Whatever the albino had been doing could therefore be denied, but it was still treachery of the highest order. It meant Madam Musseine knew every move to be made against her by MI6 and the CIA.
Chapter 7
Somewhere near The Brecon Beacons
J had decided that Brett and Wolf should travel to Cheshire the following evening and meet the parents and grandma of the top four British players. However, as the fifth player was in the care of social workers because he had no parents, it was deemed satisfactory to tell him what was going on once all the children had arrived at the SAS training camp near Brecon. This was an ultra secret satellite to the main base in Hereford, located in the shadow of The Black Mountains and The Brecon Beacons of South Wales. The general public thought everything happened at Hereford further to the north, but the £200 million investment by the last labour government, had allowed the SAS chiefs to secretly relocate to the new and more sophisticated base. The core of any training remained the same – physical endurance and mental strength in the wildest places on earth, man against nature. But the new establishment had taken this three stages into the future, ensuring the SAS would remain the best in the world.
Brett and Wolf pulled up outside of the Ponsonby-Smythe’s mansion in Wolf’s silver Range Rover at precisely eleven pm. The local police had asked both sets of parents and grandma to be available from 10 pm and to keep the appointment confidential. It also meant that all of the children would be in bed and asleep, two policewomen were sat in The George’s and grandma’s houses as babysitters. Therefore, the circumstances and unknown agenda of the meeting meant that all of the parents were in a high state of anxiety. All they knew were that representatives of Her Majesty’s government wanted to speak to them about the children. Grandma was asleep in the corner, she wasn’t anxious at all, which was very surprising. She had also drunk a couple of sherries and now she was snoring loudly and oblivious to the others who were arguing about nothing.
Maria was pontificating. ‘Eton is such a good school Jennifer. They sit the international baccalaureate you know. It is so much harder than GCSE’s, much more of a test.’ The tone and the subject made Jennifer seethe inside. The snobbishness of Roger’s mother was particularly offending that evening, probably because she was so worried about why they had all been pulled together. What could the four children have been up to now?
She bit her tongue as she politely responded. ‘I’m sorry Maria, any exams are only as good as the child. They all have the same brain power but some choose not to use it.’ This response was sufficient to keep Maria quiet and gave Rupert an opportunity to chide Jonathan about their recent cricket match.
‘Shame about your six missed catches old boy. If you had managed a 33 per cent success statistic we might have won the game.’
Jonathan had his arms crossed. ‘What is a success statistic Rupe?’ Rupert hated being called that. ‘The flipping ball was wet for god sake’s; anyone with steamed-up glasses would have found it hard to make those catches.’
Jennifer looked daggers at her husband to make him tone it down. As they stared at everything in the room except each other, there was a welcome knock at the door and Rupert quickly rose to answer it. He quickly let the visitors in and noted the two police constables standing in the shadows of the garden.
Wolf and Brett walked into the lounge and shook hands with them all. They introduced themselves as Edmunson and Halsall, briefly flicking open their false passes, which declared them to be employees of The Ministry of Defence. Grandma studied Wolf’s ID card closely and sniffed as she handed it back. She noted how athletic they both appeared and the smart cut of their dark blue suits. Once everyone was settled back in the chairs, it was Brett who started to speak.
‘Our government have been monitoring an online gaming scam and unfortunately the four children have
all been caught up in it. However, there is absolutely nothing to worry about.’
Grandma wagged a finger at Brett. ‘You are spies aren’t you?’
He was relatively honest with his reply. ‘We represent the nation’s security services madam.’ His face was expressionless as she replied. ‘We were always taught that when someone says “there is absolutely nothing to worry about” – we should worry.’ Grandma sat back after delivering her words of wisdom. Wolf noted the word taught and wondered what grandma was inferring.
Wolf decided to give them some more details. ‘We have selected your children to receive special Facebook training as they are the best in Britain at a particular game called “world domination”. This is where the potential scams may occur.’
Jonathan was sceptical. ‘So not scams actual. Just scams potential? And what might be the objective of these scams Mr Edmunson?’
Wolf opened his hands in supplication. ‘Simple manipulation of stocks and shares Mr George. A financial scam, to be auctioned sometime in the future and utilising the players of this Facebook game called “world domination”. That’s why we want to work closely with the best players, ones who can be trusted and that is the four friends.’
It was Jonathan again who bluntly replied. ‘Come off it, you should tell us the truth and maybe, just maybe we can understand why you are here. You do know that this is my area of expertise in The City?’
Brett took over from Wolf. ‘Mr Edmunson and I can’t tell you the whole truth sir as it is covered by the official secrets act. In fact, the truth is totally bizarre sir. If we tell you everything you become a security risk.’