job, as though it had all been written to VirtuBank standards using their templates. All the correct documentation was there. They had also carefully imitated the Chennai English of VirtuBank’s own developers. There was a covering letter:
“Kindly find attached software patch PRX20-INT-101. This is a priority stand-alone patch with no dependencies. It fixes internally discovered software issue INT-101. Install immediately. Kindly requesting to carefully follow all below mentioned instructions and attachments, having firstly read through them, further to standard practices.
… etc. etc…
…in case of doubts kindly revert.”
He paused to think. It was clever that they had made it seem like it fixed an internal issue and not any issue the bank had discovered. “Priority” and “stand-alone” sounded good too. Fewer questions for the bank’s testing team to ask.
So, it seemed they had finally understood what he would be capable of doing – Operation Zima was what he had hoped for. He would have to install this software, which would harm the bank somehow. But was that good enough? His intention all along was to trigger revolution and destroy capitalism. Was Oldhams quite as important as that? Of course, it was his own enthusiastic messages that had signalled to them it was, but perhaps he had been over-optimistic. Now the software was right here on this USB stick, things felt different. He wasn’t prepared to risk his neck just to cause some inconvenience to one medium-sized bank, albeit a private bank that held the assets of some very wealthy people. Then again, whatever this was going to do, he had no one to complain to, or seek confirmation from. Mitchell was dead. He could send a message asking for help, but the message cycle took months. In any case, help had never been part of the plan.
Why on earth did they need him anyway? he wondered. The instructions didn’t explain any of that. He was annoyed at how little the instructions explained. He had been left to guess at what was going on.
But then he decided he was just making excuses to himself. Now that the plan was a reality, it was suddenly more frightening than he had anticipated. He continued to read carefully. When at last he turned to the final page of instructions, something caused him to frown.
At the bottom of the page in bold, enclosed in a red text box, was an advert for water-damaged rugs. Above the box was a note in large, bold text:
“Publish this advert in the usual way. Do not wait for the next date in the cycle. Publish immediately, with no alterations.”
Why would he have to do that? And did they expect him to copy this into the paper without even knowing what it said?
He spent thirty minutes decrypting the message hidden in the advert. It read:
“Continuing with plan as stated. Contact now only required if Ocyen or Vesna.”
He sat back and stared in disbelief at what he had decrypted. There should be no need for this message. What was going on? What on earth was this supposed to achieve?
Above all, why would Mitchell ask him to use code words, albeit encrypted, in his message? Perhaps it would be safer, now that he had the software, and now that Mitchell was dead, not to send any more messages at all?
But he had no choice. It was an instruction from his handler. He had to follow whatever instructions he was given. He logged in to his Evening Times account and bought a full-page advert for water-damaged rugs, for sale to trade only.
◆◆◆
Richard remembered Eddie’s prophetic words. He hoped they weren’t true:
“The thing is, push comes to shove, you won’t have the bottle, Richard. It won’t be as easy as you think.”
He was back in Eddie’s kitchen. Back breathing in the smell of chip fat, hearing the bittersweet jingle of a distant ice cream van making its way through the Council Scheme. Just Eddie and him, sitting on greasy wooden chairs either side of a small, fold-down table. It was the first meeting to discuss his plan.
He cringed to remember his lame, though sincere, reply: “What about when we threw the newspapers in the river?”
“Oh sure, that was you. It was all your idea. But that was just opportunistic. If I remember right, you were a bit drunk, staggering down the road with yer pals when suddenly the opportunity presented itself. One in the morning, big pile of Telegraphs, no one around but us.”
“Fair enough. It’s just an example.”
“Here’s ruh hing. What effect did it huv? No effect oan anythin’. Even if you’d stoapped the entire production of the Telegraph fur ivvur, what effect would that huv? Some sort ae sabotage is not goannie help us. Society’s stroanger ran nat.”
“I don’t agree. There’s a thin skin of civilisation. Scratch the surface and things get ugly. Take me for example. You always say that I’m pretty middle-class, and you’re right. But the thing is, I’m not happy. The thing is, there are thousands, maybe millions, of people like me. If someone could trigger something… get the people to wake up… who knows what could happen?”
◆◆◆
He had to be careful. This was all about detail. He checked everything again. The software pack really did look as though it had come from the dev team in Chennai. No difference at all, unless maybe the sequence numbers weren’t genuine?
Well they wouldn’t be unless they had managed to get fully qualified and capable programmers into Chennai.
There were probably other details that looked correct at first glance but would be fake.
If this pack was referred back to VirtuBank’s team in Chennai to be double-checked, it would be obvious it was fake.
His task would be to get this into the bank and ensure it didn’t get detected during testing or documentation and referred back for any reason.
The first problem was the software had to just turn up on-site and get installed. It wasn’t a download from the patch site. It bypassed that whole system and he needed a cunning excuse to have it accepted on-site. The first thing he would have to do was come up with that excuse.
17. Trade Only
Every year, Richard put a large advert in the local newspaper back in Glasgow. The advert was designed so that as few people as possible would be interested: fire-damaged goods; water-damaged furniture; second-hand (and obsolete) electronic goods. For sale to trade only. He put his own phone number as the contact. If anyone did happen to be interested in the advert and rang him, he would apologise and explain that someone had already agreed to buy the whole lot. He never had to apologise to very many disappointed customers.
The adverts were placed on one of these days – January 25th, April 25th, July 25th, October 25th – so they would be easy to track. The method of passing messages was very simple. Richard could write anything he wanted to make the advert look genuine. The messages hidden there were decoded using serial numbers that were part of the advert itself. Therefore, so long as he had all the letters of the alphabet somewhere in the wording, he could send any message just by “pointing” at the letters using his serial numbers. It was that simple in principle. The serial numbers printed on the advert had to be transformed using a mapping algorithm, but it was still a simple technique. It would be easy for an expert to decode. But why would anyone ever suspect these adverts were not genuine? They would surely never come to the attention of any decoding expert.
Starting on July the previous year, he had put adverts in on every possible day. The more often he placed the adverts, the more paranoid he was that he would expose himself. Nevertheless, he was really convinced he was in the right place at the right time by now, and he was surprised no one had reacted yet. His messages had become ever more urgent. His last message read: “Still at VirtuBank. Opportunities with access to main servers at several major financial customers.” His full contact details were there as usual.
He had checked his coding and decoding again and again, wondering if he had made a mistake, so convinced was he that he should have been contacted this time. There was