Zero Days, page 31
‘He’s got a point there Ric,’ said Drayton.
‘Who the fuck asked you?’ Cullen snapped.
‘And suppose the Keystone Cops are already inside your systems, Ric,’ continued Strykov. ‘Water, the power grid, Wall Street. The lot. Sleeping bugs, back doors, through which we can leap in and shut down the lot whenever we like. Maybe we don’t even need Dmitry here.’
‘Don’t you think we know what you’re trying to do, Igor, probing our systems?’ Cullen fired back, taking a step forward. ‘And suppose we’ve found those bugs and turned them, so the minute you try and activate them, the lights go off right across fucking Russia.’
Strykov stepped forward too, and the two men stood just a couple of metres apart, squaring off like gunslingers in a third-rate spaghetti western. And for a moment Drayton wondered whether that’s how it would end, with them pulling guns and blasting away, especially when Strykov reached into his coat, and Cullen said, ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Igor. Do you think I’d really come here alone, without back-up?’ Glancing towards the row of old weapons, field guns and tanks mostly, that formed an exhibition in front of the Motherland statue.
‘Sitting in the tanks or hiding behind them?’ Strykov said sarcastically.
‘Maybe both. Can you afford to risk that?’
Then Strykov nodded towards several buildings at the top of the river bank. ‘Can you?’ He pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his inside pocket. Another wheezy laugh.
‘Maybe we can do a deal,’ Cullen said. ‘You and I.’
‘Not a bad proposition,’ Drayton said. ‘Are you talking about a kind of bug timeshare, or buying out Igor here from his current employer?’
‘Kill him.’ Cullen said to Dmitry. ‘Kill Drayton. Kill the son of a bitch.’
Dmitry had his gun by his side, thinking, weighing up the order a good deal more deeply than Drayton found comfortable. Drayton began to back away, glancing left and right for somewhere that might provide cover, seeing nothing useful, but spotting a familiar rotund figure approaching.
‘Hey!’ he said, waving, as crunching along the gravel path came Winne-the-Pooh. Wang Yang suddenly stopping and taking in the scene in front of him.
‘Just like a reunion of the Berlin Group. Come and join the party,’ Drayton said.
Wang had been a faithful servant of his own party for longer than he cared to remember, the consummate apparatchik, with a vocabulary to match. Innovation did not come easily, and he seemed to be struggling to compute the scene in front of him. For a moment Drayton thought he might just turn and walk away, and he probably would have done, had he not been carrying fresh and tricky instructions.
Drayton turned back to Dmitry. ‘So everybody’s here. Ideal. You can auction your zero day. Will it be Russia, China or America that gets the world’s most powerful cyber weapon? It’s your call. They’re all eager buyers.’
Wang knew a thing or two about auctions. He’d hacked a few in his time, big ones. New York, London, Paris. Looking to trace the assets of a comrade or two who’d fallen out of favour, but almost drowning under all the dirty Chinese money he’d discovered; there was hardly a senior comrade who was not looking to park his cash in fine and not so fine art, perhaps a mansion or two, as long as it was well out of China. The information had been quietly buried. And now his masters had told him to give priority to the key to Dmitry’s cryptocurrency exchange, ordering him to obtain it at all costs. And what a political hornet’s nest that could be.
‘This is not the appropriate forum,’ Wang said, before muttering something about resolving differences in a mutually beneficial way, which always sounded slightly absurd, more so in the shadow of that snuffed out eternal flame.
‘I think what Mr Wang is trying to say, Dmitry, is that he’d like a quiet word about your bank, since certain party leaders could face embarrassment if their dealings are exposed.’
Which made Strykov laugh. Wang biting back, ‘I don’t need any lecture from a Russian about corruption.’ The Russian then calling Chinese hackers ‘amateurs’, thieves grabbing industrial secrets. Wang calling Russian hackers ‘gangsters’, destroying things, fucking things up, for what? Cullen gesturing to Dmitry, as if to say, ‘how can you possibly deal with these people?’ Strykov calling Cullen an arrogant thug, ‘which goes for the people you work for.’ Cullen saying Russia is like the fucking mob. Strykov saying, ‘how flattering’, and hinting he had stuff, personal stuff, on Cullen. The American saying, ‘You really wanna go there? Wait to see what we’ve got on you.’
‘So who’s it gonna be?’ said Drayton to Dmitry.
They all looked at Dmitry, who said nothing.
‘Except you can’t deliver, can you?’ said Drayton. ‘Because you don’t have the code book. You’ve brought them all out here for nothing. No wonder they’re all so pissed about getting out of bed so early.’
Then they all looked down the hill, back towards the city, where the sound of sirens, distant at first, was getting closer, flashing lights approaching.
Dmitry turned back towards Drayton, raising his gun, but Drayton was no longer where he’d been standing. In the few moments they’d been distracted by the sirens he’d backed up and hauled himself into the bowl, where he was now lying on his back close to the extinguished flame, his legs poised to kick should anybody appear over the rim after him.
He lay there for several minutes and when he climbed back out, Wang, Strykov, Cullen and Dmitry had gone. Several police cars were at the foot of the hill, having responded to reports of vandals at the monument. Drayton told them he’d seen nothing, no eggs – fried, poached or scrambled.
The gardeners agreed. They’d been there all the time, managing to remain all but invisible. But not the watering can and the hard hat, which followed every bit of the action.
*****
The cave monastery was on a steep slope beside the Dnieper River, golden cupolas peering out from above high walls. The OmniX was parked beneath trees in a small courtyard, looking from a distance like a dark hunched animal. Dmitry was a blue blob on the screen of Drayton’s smartphone, his location transmitted from a tracking device installed on the Russian’s phone when he’d clicked on the links Drayton had sent him.
The blob moved closer to the river and then stopped. Drayton followed it as far as the heavy door in the monastery wall. Steps beyond the door led to a small shrine with white-washed walls, candles flickering in front of several icons and a golden cross. The eyes of the saints seemed to follow him as he walked, the light from the candles giving them a piercing glow. An archway led to more stairs, much steeper this time. He took a candle from the shrine, swearing as hot wax dripped onto his hand. Then he slowly descended into the cave beneath the monastery.
He followed a long tunnel with white walls and arched ceiling, small shrines cut into the walls. Coffin-like boxes lined low shelf-like recesses. One was draped with what looked from a distance like a heavy black shawl. Drayton cupped his hand around the flame of the candle as a sudden breeze swept along the tunnel. Light jumped and bounced off the walls and ceilings. The black shawl rose, ghost-like, in front of him and then took on the shape of a man, tall and thin with long black hair and beard, a heavy crucifix around his neck. A priest, whose dark eyes, buried deep in his thin expressionless face, following Drayton as he passed.
Then Drayton froze, because up ahead, their bodies almost filling the tunnel, was the cause of the turbulent air. Dmitry and one of the fridge-freezers were approaching, and approaching fast. Drayton turned. The priest was still standing, watching. To run would just draw attention to himself. There was another recess to his left, a slightly bigger one this time, with a coffin beneath an icon. He snuffed out the candle and stepped into the recess, draping himself over the coffin as the priest had done. His face to the lid, lips touching the glass top, his body turned away from the tunnel. He heard voices, Dmitry barking something at the priest, who replied in little more than a whisper. Drayton tightened his grip on the coffin, bracing for the blow, and with horrible vision of being bludgeoned, branded and stuffed into the box beneath him, alongside whatever grisly monk remains it contained.
When the blow came, it was more of a tap. Then a gentle hand on his head. It was the priest, looking a good deal more benign close up, a candle fully lighting his face. Dmitry and the fridge-freezer had gone. Drayton stood, and the priest beckoned him to follow, relighting Drayton’s candle. The tunnel dipped steeply and then took a sharp turn to the right before reaching a junction. The priest pointed to the right. Drayton peered into the darkness, but could see nothing. When he turned back the priest had gone.
Drayton followed the priest’s directions, the tunnel narrowing until it reached a metal door. There was another shrine beyond the door. Inside, slumped against the wall amid the icons, crucifixes and a pair of coffins, sat Vika, bound, blindfolded and gagged, but still alive. She began to wriggle and grunt as he entered the room. He leaned down beside her, first removing the gag and blindfold, then using the flame from the candle to cut through the ties around her ankles and wrists.
‘So what the fuck kept you?’ she said
Before he could answer, there was movement outside. Drayton leapt to his feet, looking for somewhere to hide. Then he rushed towards the door, but it was already swinging open. First he saw the cold blue eyes, then the glint of something hard and metallic, crashing down on his left shoulder. He fell to his knees, pain searing through his upper body. The man kicked him in the chest and he fell backwards, hitting his head hard on the stone floor. His vision was blurred, the room spinning. There were two men standing over him now. One with a metal bar. The other with something else metallic, only this one was glowing bright red on its tip, and the tip was getting closer to Drayton’s face. He could feel the heat, the intense heat of the branding iron with the glowing snarling dog in its tip. Dmitry laughing as he pushed it towards Drayton’s forehead.
Then there was a scream and another sharp movement. Something swung above Drayton’s head sending Dmitry crashing hard against the wall. It was a leg, Vika’s leg. And it was followed by several more crunching blows from her fists and shins. Dmitry slid down the wall, blood dripping from a gash in his head. The branding iron had been knocked out of his hand, landing on one of the coffins
Drayton rolled away, his vision still fuzzy, but clear enough to see Vika facing Dmitry’s henchman. She twisted and turned as he lunged at her, then sent her arms and legs smashing into his ribs. He lunged again. She ducked, side-stepped, and then hit him hard on the back. He landed on the heavy coffin, which tipped over and fell on top of him, spilling its contents of dust and bones. He was pinned beneath it, writhing and screaming. At first Drayton thought the bones had freaked him out, that he was spooked by all the monk remains. Then he saw the branding iron, lying on his chest, burning rapidly through his skin.
Vika pulled Drayton to his feet and out of the door. It was pitch-black in the tunnel, and they felt their way along the cold, damp walls towards the distant flickering of candles. She asked him if he’d come this way, but his head was throbbing and he couldn’t think straight. And everything was beginning to look the same. He leaned heavily against her for support, surprised by her strength.
They reached another cave, this one more a mini-church. Two priests were praying. Vika spoke to them in Russian, then one, little more than a boy, came over and put Drayton’s arm over his shoulder, taking his weight, helping him along the tunnel to where a narrow concealed doorway led out to a path overlooking the river.
Drayton slumped against a fence, a sharp drop-off beyond. Vika sat down beside him and wiped blood from his forehead.
‘I told the priests you’d had a deeply spiritual experience, so overwhelming that you fell and hit your head against the floor,’ she said, smiling now.
But Drayton wasn’t smiling. He was no longer listening, because behind Vika, Dmitry had emerged from the caves. He was unsteady on his feet, but he had his gun in his hand. He stopped in front of them, not saying a word, raising the gun, pointing it at Drayton, squeezing the trigger. Drayton instinctively closed his eyes, looked away and braced himself for the impact. There was a sharp and loud crack. Then two more. Then another. But no pain. Drayton opened his eyes to see Dmitry staggering towards the fence, blood oozing from his chest, a gaping hole where his forehead used to be. He felt for the fence, then another shot and he tumbled over it, Drayton watching his body as it rolled and bounced down the steep rocky hillside and into the river below.
Then he turned back and he saw Thomas, gun in hand, embracing his sister. They were both crying.
*****
Bret said it was the most awesome fucking video he’s ever streamed. ‘No shit, the scene at Dmitry’s club was so crazy. Man, I loved the deranged sharks. And the stuff at the eternal flame… The look on the faces of those dudes when they saw each other. Crazy. And you weren’t too bad yourself.’
He slapped Drayton on the back, then quickly apologising when Drayton winced.
‘Two ribs, yeah, and a few stitches?’
‘Three ribs broken and eight stitches in the back of my head,’ Drayton said, showing Bret the needlework.
They were sitting around a long table in a Kiev restaurant, which had a rustic feel, with lots of kitschy art, servers in traditional dress. The table was laden with food. Fish, meats that Drayton didn’t recognise, dumplings, salads, alongside plenty of beer and wine. Drayton was sitting on one side of the table between Bret and Holger Norgaard. Vika, her brother Thomas and Milo sat opposite. Schoenberg and Raymond at the two ends of the table.
‘By the time we were streaming the video from the eternal flame, there were two million people watching. Two fucking million. Can you believe that?’ Bret said.
‘I still don’t get how you were able to find where I was and set up the show so quickly,’ Drayton said, cracking another beer, which seemed a more effective painkiller than the multi-coloured horse pills he’d been handed by the hospital.
‘Well, you and then Vika getting grabbed at the opera, that wasn’t in the script, so that was a bit worrying,’ Norgaard said.
‘Yeah, for me too,’ said Drayton.
‘The strip joint they took you to, that was the address Dmitry gave on his application to that Yangon club.’
Drayton laughed. ‘How’d you get in?’
Raymond took a sip of Coke, cradling it as if it was priceless champagne, relishing the moment. ‘Through the fish tank. The thermostat in the tank was wireless controlled. No security. Once in there, not only could we control what was going on in the tank, but we could control everything else on the wireless network – the sound, lights, sprinkler system.’
‘And the surveillance camera,’ Bret said, with a grin as wide as the hapless sharks.
‘But the sound wasn’t great,’ said Milo. ‘Until Dmitry gave you back your phone and we activated the mic.’
And Schoenberg said, ‘That’s also when we learned about the flame. It didn’t give us much time. We disabled the OmniX for as long as we could without them getting suspicious, and then we slowed it down, changed a few traffic lights too. That gave us time to set up the surveillance and send out the invitations to the Cardinals.’
‘The watering can and hard hat. Very retro,’ Drayton said.
‘It was the best we could do at short notice,’ Bret replied.
‘Nobody really noticed you. They were so wrapped up with each other.’
Bret was looking at his phone again. ‘They’ve gone fucking viral man. I mean tens of millions of streams. And that’s just on YouTube. We also put out some edited highlights, together with profiles of Winnie-the-Pooh, Muttley and Captain America, based on your original meetings with them.’
‘So,’ said Schoenberg, pushing back his chair. ‘You took out your own … What shall we call it? An insurance policy, I think that would be the best word, Drayton. I’m glad you did. It was smart. Perhaps you can share it with us.’
Drayton took another large sip of beer. Everybody watching him. ‘I had a bad feeling, after I almost bumped into Dmitry at the hotel by the square. It was impossible that he didn’t see me. I knew I needed some kind of back-up plan. I had on my cell phone the code book and the key for the cryptocurrency ransomware. Both in plain text. So I locked them in an encrypted file.’
‘FireOfGlory2010?’ said Milo.
‘That was the clue. That was how we ended up at the eternal flame.’
‘So what was the password?’ Vika said.
‘Fried eggs. Two words.’
‘What’s that got to do with eternal glory?’ said Raymond.
‘Not much,’ said Drayton, teasing them. ‘Except that In December 2010, a Ukrainian artist fried eggs on the eternal flame as a protest against old Soviet-era memorials.’
‘Fuck, you kiddin’ me?’ said Bret.
And Milo said, ‘That’s, like, so cool.’
Even Vika looked impressed. ‘And in the strip joint, when you sent Dmitry the links to the files, that’s how you got the tracker on his phone, how you were able to follow him to the caves?’
‘That’s right. And more. When he clicked on that link, the spyware was able to grab everything on his cell phone. Contacts, emails, messages, photographs. Everything.’
‘Well, that’s too bad,’ said Thomas, joining the conversation for the first time. ‘His phone went into the river with him. We’re too late.’
‘It was all grabbed before he took his dive,’ Drayton said, pulling a memory stick from his pocket and tossing it to Schoenberg. ‘Should make for interesting reading and give us a pretty full picture of who else he’s been doing business with.’
‘Who downloaded it, given that you were rather busy?’ Schoenberg said. ‘If you don’t mind me asking.’
‘A young friend,’ said Drayton. ‘A friend who also supplied me with the tracker and spyware. A friend in Myanmar.’
There was silence around the table for a moment. Then clapping. Schoenberg and Norgaard laughing. Bret punched the air and went to slap Drayton on the back again, before thinking better of it. Thomas still looked a little sullen, but maybe marginally less so that before. Vika ordered champagne. Milo giggled.
