Invasion of Privacy: A Deep Web Thriller #1 (Deep Web Thriller Series) (51 page)

“Like what?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

Leroy sat on the armchair, making a show that he was here to stay. “Normally, I’d agree with you and then I’d change the subject to something far more interesting and important,” he beamed, “you know, like me. But as you did Danny and me a huge favour last night by giving us some privacy to celebrate our anniversary, I’m going to try and show an interest for once. So explain it to Uncle Leroy. What’s the big deal?”

Brody tried his best to explain. Leroy tried his best to understand. Despite himself, Brody began to feel a little better from talking it through.

“So this is all about you protecting your elite online status as Fingal? It’s not about winning or losing?”

“Well . . . maybe a bit of both.”

“So hackers are just like politicians on TV?”

“Eh? Not sure I follow you.”

“The only currency you have is your popularity and status with the general public. Lose it and you become ostracised, fading into obscurity, wondering what to do with yourself. No longer listened to. No longer consulted. No fans. No letters from your constituents.”

“You can’t possibly compare hackers and politicians.”

“I haven’t finished. And with you being an
elite
hacker, you’re like one of the ministers in the cabinet. And so this is like you being forced to resign from the cabinet. It doesn’t mean you can never make it back in. It just means you have to do your time in exile, while the world forgets. And then eventually you can show up again.”

Brody chuckled at the comparison. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that far off the truth. 

“Hah, a smile. I see my work here is done!”

Brody laughed and sat back in his chair, feeling some tension dissipate.

“So, how was your special night with Danny?”

“It was fantastic. I bought some oysters from Borough Market. Wanted to make sure we got some bedroom action going later, if you know what I mean.”

Brody made a show of covering his ears with his hands. “Too much info, Leroy.”

“Well, it worked. And with you out all night, well, let me tell you—”

“Leroy, stop. Please.”

“That reminds me. Where’d you end up? You didn’t come home.”

“Nowhere.” Brody allowed his voice to rise in pitch at the end, as if asking a question.

Leroy stared at him intently. “You never?”

“Never what?” Brody felt his cheeks flush.

“Bloody Nora. The policewoman. I knew it! I told Danny you were off chasing some policewoman you’d seen on a webcam.”

“Her name’s Jenny, if you must know.”

“You little Casanova, you. Looks like you’ve got some new moves since our old Uni days. Well, at least it makes a change from women on that dating site. What did you tell her you did for a living?”

“Actually, I didn’t stray that far from the truth.”

“Really? So you told her you’re a computer hacker?”

“No, of course not. She’s a copper, Leroy. I told her I was an IT security consultant.”

“Phah. You never learn.” Leroy peered closely at Brody. “Ooh, you like this Jenny, eh? You can’t stop smiling at the thought of her. Will you see her again?”

Was he that easy to read?

At that moment, Brody’s phoned beeped with a message. He read it and, true to form, was unable to stop a massive grin spreading over his face.

He held up his phone. “Looks like it. She’s just texted me.”

“Well, I never. My best mate Brody, in a relationship that’s lasting longer than one night. What’s the text say?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not romantic. She’s thanking me for my insights on the murder case.”

“What? You’ve been helping to track down a killer? Do tell!”

Brody brought Leroy up to speed with what he knew about the two cases, Leroy’s hands covering his mouth in horror.

“That’s so exciting!”

“Yes, it is. But the reality is, two young girls have been killed. Makes it all very sobering.”

“Finally discovering some meaning to what you do, eh Brody?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Tell me, when was the last time you applied your hacking skills to actually help someone?”

Brody folded his arms.

“Come on Brody, answer the question. I’m being serious, here.”

“On Monday then. When I helped Atlas Brands avoid a massive law suit from their number one competitor, which they would have lost.”

“Brody, listen to yourself, will you?” Leroy placed a hand on Brody’s knee, an intimate gesture to remind Brody that Leroy was his friend and was trying only to help. “When was the last time you helped a human being, not some faceless corporation?”

Brody fought the urge to pull away, to withdraw. He knew where Leroy was going. It was yet another version of their recurring argument over Brody prioritising virtual relationships over real-world ones. Usually they just agreed to disagree. But this time, as Leroy held his gaze, Brody realised maybe there was something in what Leroy was trying to say. Brody lowered his eyes.

“You’ve got so much to offer the world, Brody,” Leroy continued gently, “You’ve got all these skills and enough money not to have to work for a living. You could make such a difference, you know. You shouldn’t waste all your talent competing with people who are little more than ones and zeros.”

Brody chewed his lip. Leroy was calling into question Brody’s whole lifestyle.
His whole existence
. Brody would normally lash out in defence. But this time there was something in what Leroy was saying. Only yesterday, he’d stood in Anna Parker’s bedroom and felt very uncomfortable. Her personal belongings lay strewn about, awaiting her return. But he’d realised she never would. And Kim Chang, her grieving best friend, putting on a brave face, but those dark rings under her eyes gave away the hours of crying. He recalled Hilary Saxton discovering her husband had been cheating, right under her nose; their lives now ruined. And then there was Jenny Price. Their night together. And now, her simple thank-you text. 

In just one day, he’d witnessed more raw emotion than every other day in the last year put together. It had changed something in him.

And despite generally being completely insufferable, here was Leroy, his best friend for so many years trying to reach out to him. To help him understand that there was a different way to live his life. To give it some meaning. To stop him hiding from meatspace with all its wonderful, and terrible, happenings. To prioritise his existence in the real world over his status in the virtual.

Maybe he should just give up on trying to pwn SWY. For once in his life, maybe he should accept that being the best — no, being seen to be the best — wasn’t actually necessary. After all, whom was he trying to impress? Crooner42, Matt_The_Hatter, Doc_Doom, Random_Ness, Mawrpheus, and all those other faceless forum idiots. Who the hell were these people anyway? He’d never met them, that was for sure. And if he somehow bumped into them in real life, he doubted whether he’d enjoy their company much anyway. 

Brody, whose eyes had closed as he lost himself in these thoughts, was only peripherally aware that Leroy had quietly withdrawn to his room, leaving him to process it all.

This line of thinking was far too hard. He knew then and there, that he was at one of those life-changing moments. The implications were massive. He hated Leroy for forcing him to think about it all. 

It was time to make a decision.

But not that decision. Restructuring and re-prioritising his whole lifestyle necessitated plenty more contemplation. He’d think about all that stuff another day.

Brody decided to focus on something else. Anything else. 

His thoughts turned to Jenny and the murder cases. There
was
something he could do to help her again, he realised.

As he turned towards his computer, Brody noticed the takeaway coffee cup Leroy had bought for him. He grabbed it and raised it in the direction of Leroy’s room, silently toasting his best friend.

* * *

She was early, far too early.

The massive digital clock on the wall said 10:35 a.m. Surely she would look too eager.

“Can I help you?” asked one of the two glamorous receptionists. The visitor who had been in front squeezed back past her and made his way to the waiting area behind the queue. Sarah stepped forward, and stood beside a sharp-suited man, with gold cufflinks and a handkerchief protruding from his top pocket, being attended to by the other receptionist.

“Yes, I’m here to meet Francis Delacroix,” she announced. 

“Which company, please?”

“FCS Software.” 

The receptionist moved the mouse on her computer screen, clicking and dragging. Her brow furrowed. “Delacroix? Sorry, I can’t find him listed under FCS.”

Just as Sarah was about to spell out his name, the second receptionist interrupted her handling of her visitor and spoke across the desk to her colleague, “Mr Delacroix is in meeting room 612. He phoned down earlier and left a message saying to call him when his guests arrived.”

Guests? More than one? Sarah was suddenly concerned that, despite what he’d said on the phone yesterday, he’d organised meetings with other aviation industry magazine titles. She knew full well there were three others in the UK that might meet his needs. Damn.  Competition would undoubtedly drive down her price.

The receptionist turned her attention back to Sarah with a smile. “Please can you sign in?”

Sarah filled in her details in the visitor’s book. The receptionist turned it around and, following the serrated edges, cleanly ripped out the piece of paper and placed it in a plastic holder with a clip. She handed it over to Sarah.

“I’ll just phone through now, Ms McNeil.”

Sarah glanced nervously at the clock again. “Actually, I’m a bit early for my meeting. I’ll wait over there for a bit. Then you can phone through, if that’s okay?”

The receptionist shrugged and looked beyond Sarah to the person waiting behind. She’d been dismissed.

Sarah perched on the edge of one of the two leather sofas. It was far too deep to sit back in and maintain a professional demeanour. Then she wondered if perhaps she should stand like the other three visitors, all quietly waiting for their hosts to arrive.

She realised that the building was much bigger than it had looked from the street outside, where only two glass revolving doors and an opaque window made up its frontage. Beyond the reception desk, flanked on either side by turnstiles barring access to unescorted guests, she could see a large open atrium that reached right up to a glass ceiling. Glass lifts on either side of the atrium silently ascended and descended between the building’s five levels. On each, an open landing provided access to numerous offices and meeting rooms.

The time passed slowly for Sarah, causing her to become more and more nervous about meeting Mr Delacroix. Eventually, the clock told her there were ten minutes to go. That was far more respectable. Not too early. Not too eager. 

Sarah stood and caught the eye of the receptionist that had dealt with her. She mimed making a phone call and the receptionist nodded her understanding and picked up her phone. After a short conversation, the receptionist called over, “Mr Delacroix said he’ll be down to meet you in a couple of minutes.”

Sarah remained standing, took a deep breath and waited.

* * *

“What a dinosaur,” stated Fiona, indicating left as she approached the roundabout for the M4 motorway, which would take them back into Central London. 

“I know. I thought his type went out with the ark,” Jenny replied. “And his receptionist, Sheila. Can you believe that?”

“I guess it takes all sorts.”

“Well, at least we’ve finally had a break in the case.” Jenny held up the USB stick containing McCarthy Security’s customers. 

Hopefully, it contained the addresses of all the UK locations being covertly broadcast by SecretlyWatchingYou. She’d come up with an approach that might work and had already walked Da Silva through it on the phone while Fiona slowly navigated her Volvo out of Slough, through heavy traffic. Da Silva was already putting in manpower requests to support her suggestion.

When they got back to Holborn, they would put together a central team of officers who would log into SecretlyWatchingYou, cycling through the hundreds of locations on the site. It galled her that public money would be spent by officers registering for upgraded access to the premium video feeds on the site, but they needed to gain access to
all
of the cameras. They would then send police officers to every address on the USB stick around the country, over a thousand of them. It would require liaison with nearly every force in England and Wales. And maybe even Scotland, depending on the addresses. Da Silva’s voice had failed to hide his excitement at having to coordinate resources from so many forces, an activity Jenny suspected he saw as something that would raise his profile even further.

Then, as each address was visited by local forces, the central team would observe all of the webcams on SecretlyWatchingYou to see if they could spot uniformed officers on any of the cameras. If none were spotted, they could eliminate the address. But if seen, they would inform the webcam owners about the fact that their webcams had been hacked by SecretyWatchingYou and leave it to them to decide if they wanted to turn off their cameras. She knew it would cause an uproar, with so many people around the country discovering that their private lives had been broadcast all over the Internet, but it was a necessary step to cut off the killer’s food supply. It may not help them catch him, but at least they might prevent further deaths. 

As Fiona accelerated the Volvo up the slip road to join the M4, Jenny’s phone rang. She looked at the caller display and saw Brody’s name. He was probably just ringing her back following the text she had sent him from McCarthy’s earlier. It had just been a simple thank-you as his idea about the webcam installers had worked out so well. But it had also been an excuse to stay in touch after their night together. And — she felt the red rising in her cheeks at the thought of it — their breakfast.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” asked Fiona, turning briefly to study her.