WEDNESDAY

Chapter Nineteen

Next morning Savage hit the net. In death Jessica Price's hollow mask had inspired nothing.

In life her hair, not too long, not too short, framed a youthful thirty-something face and the spark of strong opinions in her eyes. A famous news anchor in the waiting. Her columns were mainly op-eds on everything from oil, arms, and investments, to profile pieces of the great and the good.

She wrote for several papers and magazines, even the odd woman's mag, a hair and beauty piece here, a make-over there. But her bread and butter was her financial writing and that's where she was making a name for herself. Her main focus market news and where things might go next. The kind of banter you picked up from being on the circuit, talking to enough people in the game, being fed the odd scoop from PRs, low-level whistle-blowers or lobbyists – always with their own agenda. So why had she been in the Middle East?

He clicked through to her section on the Universal News site. Top story was her obituary. The talented journalist and the tragedy. Not all puff. Apparently the insurgents did it. Whoever they were.

There were some quotes from her family, 'She had always wanted to make a difference,' her mother said. 'Change things from the inside,' said her best friend. Nice sentiments. Naïve, Savage knew. The cub-reporter's dream, if they didn't want to work the celebrity circuit or the PR rehash.

He'd seen those movies where the investigative reporter uncovers the conspiracy, saves the world and gets the girl. Reality meant death for her.

Savage checked the byline of her obituary. Peter Morel, the famed floppy-haired environment reporter and author was a regular news pundit and able to change public opinion. According to his website he'd been named one of the fifty most influential people in Europe.

Had Morel influenced Jessica? If so, how? And why? Savage read through some of the articles on his site. He damned every greedy money grabber out there.

Rightly so, Savage thought. Here was one man who seemed able to find more corruption in government and political circles than anyone else Savage had read. His latest post was a reprint of an article in the previous day's Guardian.

Silence of the Powerful. At What Cost?

What happens when two power bases clash? Death? Murder? Assassination? The spate of recent killings and accidents points toward some deadly virus in political and business circles. Like a sleeping disease that won't let old dogs lie. The death of the deputy pm and yesterday's foiled attempt on the foreign secretary have come at a time when the new chancellor is intent on blocks and tariffs on specific types of laissez-faire trading monopolies after the banking collapse. The results of which have been described as unpopular and disastrous for the economy by business leaders. But isn't every new change that affects the purse strings of the powerful described thus?

It went on for quite a while, until:

But it's not the only untimely death. Jessica Price, a journalist and friend, was working on a story that may have had implications for this process. And she wound up dead in the Middle East at the hands of a terror organisation. What, this journalist would like to know, is really going on here? And will the chancellor still have the courage to see through these sweeping changes at this week's London Summit for Reconstruction in Westminster?

Morel wasn't the only one who'd like to know what was really going on.

Savage mulled it over while he ran a full scan on the company system for anything to do with Six Degrees. He glared at the screen and waited.

It took a few moments for him to realise Echo was staring at him. Hands on hips, in a form hugging outfit that made you look, then look again.

'I'm stood here setting fire to the furniture and you haven't even twitched, what gives?'

'I'm saving the world from crashing into the sun,' he whispered, 'I just didn't want anyone to know.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'As long as it's a sensible explanation. So?' She swivelled her body, presented each side of her torso to him.

'You can't see right now,' Savage said, 'but under this desk my feet are in a bucket of water. It's the only thing stopping me burst into flames when I look at you.'

She gave him a smirk he'd sit up and beg for.

'What are you working on?' she said.

'Just getting my shit together.'

'About time, it stinks in here.'

'Ha ha very funny,' he said.

The lift doors opened.

'Boss man,' she said. 'Head down.'

Savage kept his head up. Armstrong strolled casually past and said, 'Good morning,' on the way to his office.

'Weird,' she said.

'What?' A message on screen told Savage the search had finished. Nothing in the system pointed to Six Degrees.

'Him being nice,' she said.

'I'll check on it for you.' Savage strode over to Armstrong's office and walked in through the open door. Remembered to knock, for the look of the thing, as he went in.

'John,' Armstrong looked up. 'Vi and I can't thank you enough.'

'How're the girls? Settled in?'

'Loving it. Our room service bill is clocking up. I'll need to re-mortgage just to pay it off.'

'Talking of which,' Savage said, 'you need to do your figures. Find out if Crystal is owed anything. You do not want that man on your back. I would also suggest you think about relocating. Back to the states maybe.'

'But we love it here. What about the girls' schooling? The house?'

Savage just shook his head. 'Crystal won't forget. I won't always be here.'

'Can't you do something more permanent?'

'Like what?'

Armstrong made pistol fingers again. Took a head shot.

'No comment. I need you to show me where the money that you've been stealing is kept.'

'When?' Armstrong re-holstered his imaginary pistol.

'Now.'

'I have a meeting in an hour.'

Savage tilted his head.

'Okay, okay.'

'One more thing. The Six Degrees algorithm. I'll need to confirm it's existence.'

'You spoke to Vi, she told you.'

Savage gave a him a long look. 'You love your wife, I know, but you're both still strangers to me. I need proof.'

'Okay,' Armstrong said, 'Of course. Sorry John.' He motioned toward his computer. 'Shall we?'

Savage pulled a chair across the room. While the computer opened it's eyes, worked out where it was, and what had happened the night before, Savage closed the blinds that looked out over the main office, empty apart from one petulant pout.

Armstrong had a look on his face Savage couldn't place. Fingers poised to type. 'You know,' he said. 'It felt amazing to actually tell someone about this, this secret I've had for so long. Now I'm going to show you too.'

'Excited, huh?'

'Kinda, yeah.'

'Well, let's get to it.'

Armstrong jumped in, hit the browser for the intranet, only available to staff inside the company.

'You got in here?'

'Watch.'

He navigated to the investment end of the bank. Looked up the profiles of the superstar traders.

'Michael's profile was here.'

He clicked on a link for one of the current traders.

'When Vi told me about the money behind Six Degrees I started snooping around. I must have come back here dozens of times looking for detail that would give me an in to where his funding was coming from. If I knew what the pitch was, which department was funding it maybe I could do the same. That was my logic anyway. But then, I clicked Michael's profile picture.'

He clicked the image of another grinning trader, middle aged, swept back hair, the well maintained hairline of the rich. A larger image of the man opened up and filled the screen.

'I'd been here a few times. Then one day I noticed when I ran my mouse over the screen here,' he moved the cursor over the bottom right hand corner, 'it changed from a cursor to a hand.'

'An image link?'

'Yeah, but hidden. Out of the way. I mean who'd look there for anything?'

'Okay. You clicked it. Then what?'

'A log-in prompt. And I couldn't get in.'

'So what did you do?'

'You ever take one of those lateral thinking workshops?'

'Not lately.'

'Okay, well up to that point I thought I was living in a movie and that the answer would just appear.'

'Did it?'

'No. I had to think instead. Watch this.'

Armstrong walked to the door and caught the attention of the only person there with a wave of his hand.

'Please come to my office.'

Echo didn't have to wear low cut tops or pout. She just had to turn up and be. She stood at the door innocently chewing a pen. Innocent? Yeah, right.

'Sir?' she said, a quick glance to Savage.

'Miss...?'

'Smith, sir.' She saw Savage smile.

'Miss Smith, my secretary isn't in yet. Could you be a dear and call up to Finance with a query?'

'Of course,' she said, pen at the ready.

'I have an invoice here with a query. Take this down, company name: Cerberus. Local purchase order number: 230017. The cost centre number for sign off is unreadable. Can you quote job name: Six Degrees and ask them for the cost centre number please? I'll follow up for sign off.'

Armstrong gave Echo his most paternal smile. She gave him a funny look back.

'On it, sir. There might be no one there though. It's still early.'

'Understood. Keep trying until you get through please.'

A nod and she strode off to hit the phones.

'Okay, so what next?' Savage said.

'Now we wait.'

'What about that log-in prompt?'

'It never came to anything. But it's strange don't you think?'

'Sure. What did Vi think?'

He gave Savage a 'What are you, stupid?' look.

'Ah, you never talked to her about this?'

He shook his head. 'But look' he said pointing at the screen. 'This is why I showed you that screen. Michael's profile isn't there any more right?'

'Right, but?'

'But, the log-in screen is.'

'What do you mean?'

'I bookmarked it.' Armstrong opened a file called Cerberus, then a favourite titled log-in. A small box appeared on screen asking for a user name and password.

'Do you have it?'

'No. I'm not a hacker. I wouldn't really know where to begin. I only got this far out of desperation.'

'If this log-in is still active, it could be linked to another user.'

'It could.'

'D'you ever look?'

'No need,' he said.

Savage frowned.

'You'll see when your girlfriend gets back,' Armstrong said.

'She's not—' then decided not to take the bait. 'Where's Vi?'

'Dropping the kids off.'

'Call her.'

Armstrong almost protested, then dialled the number on his office phone.

'Hey hun, it's me. John would like a quick word.'

He took the phone. 'Morning Vi.'

'John, hello,' she said. 'What's up?'

The sound of screeching kids filled the earpiece.

'Sorry, I'm on speaker,' she said. 'Traffic is grid-locked this morning and I'm about to hit the Blackwall Tunnel, better make it quick.'

'Two things. One, last night you said you sent me those emails, correct?'

An embarrassed hush. 'Yes,' she said, 'Look John, I'm sorry—'

He cut her off, 'I'm not looking for guilt. I just want to know how you knew to write “Are you listening?”'

'I heard it.'

'Heard it? How? I only found that recording yesterday. I never gave it to anyone.'

'She had it.'

'Who?'

'The Chief Admin Officer.'

'Jo Devlin?'

'She played it to me first.'

That made Savage pause. 'What do you mean, first?'

'You don't know? Oh. John. Look, I'm sorry, all the heads of department had a copy. I thought you knew.

'Someone must have been through my files.'

'Without a doubt. I'm nearly at the tunnel.'

'Okay Vi, second thing: If I send you an internal link can you trace its access point and how often it's used? I can do that with external sites but not internal.'

'Sure, anything John. What's the site?'

Savage tapped his fingers on the desktop. If his previous calls were recorded what's to say this one wasn't?

'I'm not sure. Could be that special project we talked about last night. I won't know until you look, and if you get a moment, try and log in.'

Silence.

He hung up. 'Cut off,' he explained.

A knock at the door. Armstrong waved Echo in. She gave Savage a hurt look when he didn't respond with his usual flirtation. She sashayed out again. Hips teasing a punishment.

'John,' Armstrong said.

Savage looked up, 'Did you get a copy of this recording?'

'Which recording?'

'Michael's jump?'

'Ah,' Armstrong blushed, 'Yes. Everyone did. You should have seen the emails. Was quite the buzz at the time, did he do it as revenge, was he pushed into it?'

'What?'

Armstrong sighed. 'The buzz was you either hunted him down too hard and he couldn't take the pressure, or you had help.'

'Help?'

'Everyone knows he wasn't alone up there.'

'Devlin?'

A nod. 'There were rumours about you two.' Savage's mouth fell open. 'Any truth there John?'

Savage stared off for a moment, so everyone had heard the conversation. A part of his life that had been so painful, so private. Another joke on him. Savage countered his whiny inner moppet by pointing at what Armstrong had in his hand.

'That’s old news, what's this?'

Armstrong smiled. 'This is lateral thinking. Rather than going at it like a criminal I just treated my money needs as part of the business. I knew there was a job name, a cost centre number and no official signatory. All I actually needed was the cost centre number. It was built in. I simply drew up a Cerberus invoice and processed it myself.

'I even got an incredulous call from someone in finance querying the invoice. I just played dumb and then randomised the sign-off pairs. Apart from that one guy no one else ever noticed.'

Savage had to admire Armstrong. He'd found a flaw in the system and exploited it, could have done so for years.

‘What went wrong?'

'A payment got refused. Someone, somewhere, didn't like the fact that I was stealing money from them.'

'Especially when they're stealing it in the first place.'

The two men looked at each other.

'Armstrong,' Savage said. 'You've got a giant target on your back. You might want to look at jobs a long way from here sooner, not later.' Savage stopped the Relationship Director's protests with a wave of his hand. 'Today.'

*

'So what's Six Degrees John?'

'I don't know.'

'What are you up to John?'

'I can't tell you.'

'Can't or won't?'

'Won't. Happier now?'

Echo pouted. He liked it when she pouted.

'I changed my mind, come to dinner John.'

'Don't bank on it.'

'Jo-ohn,' she teased. 'Just tell me everything.'

'Tell you everything?'

'Yes,' she touched his arm. He flinched and moved away.

'Just tell me,' she said, dropping the teeny bopper flirting tactics. 'I like you.'

'You like me?'

'Yes John, I do.'

'Why? Does my reputation excite you?'

'If by excite you mean, make me nervous, then yes, yes, you make me nervous. Is that what you want to hear? I'm not a little girl enamoured by the serial killer on death row, you know? You're different.'

'Different?'

'Well, our first date involved breaking into my boss's office.'

'How does a guy follow that up?'

'Dinner John. Should I stamp it on my forehead? Either that or a car chase with bad guys. I'm easy either way.'

'So I hear.'

'Oi,' she said and elbowed him in the ribs. They both grinned, Savage's hand crawled towards the missing weapon on his waistband. Threatened by closeness no less.

'John, I might make it easy for men I like, but you, you don't make it easy for women who like you.'

'It's complicated.'

'Isn't it always?'

'I have issues.'

'Doesn't everyone?'

'Not these kinds, no.'

'John, if you don't have baggage then you've lived a life of computer games, soap operas and football. And that doesn't interest me. Bankers and their suits and money don't interest me. You do.'

'Can you do something for me?' he said.

She huffed. He felt the thin ice he was standing on crack. 'What is it?' she said.

'Can you give this to Violet Wilson the CIO please?' He handed her an envelope with the address for the log-in link inside. 'Tell her I sent it.'

'What's in it for me?'

'Dinner,' he raised an eyebrow, 'or a car chase perhaps?'

'Well you're either buying or driving. Tonight?'

He shrugged. ‘We’ll see.’

*

Kevorkian had always liked uniforms, his fit him better than most. He liked that even his disguises made him look good.

The small car sat heavy on it's suspension. He doubted anyone would notice. The number plates rip offs of a City of London police car in the repair shop.

He'd stripped out the inside of the car's seats, both front and back, and loaded them with fertilizer. The same with the trunk. He'd added nails and ball bearings. Compressed down. The whole thing worked. He'd used it before.

The charge was shaped and the detonator primed. He'd even written a little app for his phone to act as a trigger.

He pulled on his hat, checked the decals on the car were stuck fast and opened the door of the small garage. It was a beautiful morning.