The Gastropoda Imperative, Peter Barns [story books to read txt] 📗

tapped the Enter key.

Fin sat back in disappointment when the file opened. It was just a jumble of unintelligible characters. The file had obviously been overwritten and was now useless.

Chapter 19

Drewsbeck looked up from the report he’d been reading and frowned. “You just found out about this?” he asked.

“Well, first thing this morning,” Conal said, worried at how the Old Man’s face had suddenly turned so pale. It looked as if every drop of blood had drained from it. “You okay Mr Drewsbeck?” he asked.

Drewsbeck ignored the question and stabbed the report with a manicured finger. “Take me through it,” he said. “Everything. Leave out nothing.” Drewsbeck settled more comfortably into his high backed chair and closed his eyes.

Conal sat back in his own seat, allowing his mind to mentally run through the pages he’d typed up earlier. “Well,” he said, “someone tried to access a—”

“No!” Drewsbeck shouted across the desk at him. “From the beginning. Who told you about the breach?”

Conal watched his boss close his eyes again and took a deep breath, wondering what had gotten into the Old Man today. He wasn’t usually like this.

“Georgi Zhukov, the head of computer security called me late last night. He said he’d had a red flag from one of the old redundant computer systems. I told him to write it up and I’d see to it in the morning.”

Drewsbeck opened his eyes and stared at his PA. “And you didn’t think this sufficiently important to act on last night?”

“At that point nobody knew where the red flag had originated.”

“Go on.”

“This morning I went down to see Georgi. He told me that it had come from the computer system on Flat Rock Island. As you might imagine, I was more than a little surprised. I made him check everything again and he came back with the same result - Flat Rock Island. Of course I knew it was impossible that anyone could have been accessing the system on the island, I’d been there all through the shut-down process.”

“So?”

“So we were left with the problem of who had managed to do the impossible.”

Drewsbeck opened his eyes and smiled at his PA. “Conal,” he said quietly, “why did it take you so long to come up with the obvious answer?”

Conal bit back the reply that first popped into mind. “Well, in retrospect it might seem obvious now, but it took a lot of thought and imagination to work out what must have happened.”

“So you think one of the people working on the island managed to find a way of downloading a file from a computer that had been protected by the latest software without tripping any alarms?”

“It certainly looks that way.”

“Okay. Thank you Conal. Leave it with me.”

“Is there anything you want me to follow up on sir?”

“It says in your report that the computer was also protected with a wiping code. So I presume whoever tried to open the file would have automatically wiped it? If it was working that is”

Conal didn’t miss the sarcasm in the Old Man’s tone. “That’s correct sir, yes. And it was working because the software sent a red flag. That only happens after it’s wiped a file.”

“Then there’s no point taking this any further. Whatever was in the file has been destroyed. End of problem.”

“You said when we were on the island that the accident could have been avoided. What did you mean by that?”

“Well if the door to The Pit hadn’t been left open, the Syclers wouldn’t have got out, would they?”

“Yes, that’s what’s been niggling away at me for a long time now, Mr Drewsbeck. Even if the Syclers did get out, and had managed to kill all the staff, how on earth did they manage to drag the bodies back to the Pit? I mean, they’re no bigger than large rats.”

“Well I suppose that’ll have to remain a mystery Conal. So let’s leave it at that shall we? And now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do. Is that all?”

Drewsbeck watched his PA leave. The man still had a troubled frown on his face and Drewsbeck sensed that he wasn’t fully convinced. Picking up the phone he punched out a number, tapping the report his PA had left.

“Hello, it’s me,” Drewsbeck said when his call connected. “Listen Brodie, I have got a job for you. A very delicate job. Do you still have your team over here?” Drewsbeck listened a moment, then smiled. “Good. Okay, get over to my office in the Barbican tomorrow at seven a.m. I’ll let door security know you’re coming.” There was a short pause while he listened, then: “Yes I can. It’s about that other matter you took care of for me about five years ago . . . Yes, that’s right. On Flat Rock Island.”

***

Conal was at the office early the next morning. He needed to talk to Georgi Zhukov again and knew the computer specialist got bogged down with work as soon as he walked through the door.

As Conal got out on the twentieth floor, a man stepped passed him into the lift. Conal paused a moment, head half turned as the lift doors closed. He had the feeling that he knew the man from somewhere. Shrugging he walked down the corridor to his office, rubbing the cold spot that had appeared on the back of his neck.

As he neared his office, Conal spotted a light glowing from Drewsbeck’s office farther along the corridor and wandered along, wondering what the Old Man was doing in so early. Knocking on the door, he pushed it open and stuck his head through. Drewsbeck waved him in but didn’t invite him to sit.

“Do for you Conal?”

Conal stood awkwardly, feeling a coldness descend on the office. He paused a moment wondering exactly why it was that he’d come to see Drewsbeck.

“I was thinking . . . about what we discussed yesterday?” Conal paused again when Drewsbeck’s expression hardened and the skin around his eyes tautened slightly. “I could go and check out where that computer was used if you’d like. I’ve got some free time today.”

Drewsbeck sighed and leant forward on his desk, palms flat. He slapped them against the expensive wood as he talked, emphasising what he said. “I told you yesterday that it was finished with. Now leave it alone Conal. If that’s all, I got a lot of work to get through before I leave.”

Conal turned to go, then turned back. “Leave?”

“Yes, I’m going to Japan for a few days. There’s some business there I have to take care of.”

Well thanks for letting me know, Conal thought, closing the big office door quietly behind him - although he felt like slamming it.

After checking his emails, Conal decided to go down to the eighth floor to see Georgi. As he entered the lift it came to him - the man that had got into the lift earlier as he was getting out. He hadn’t recognised him as somebody he’d known, he’d recognised the type. Ex-Special Forces if ever he’d seen one, and he’d been coming from the direction of the Old Man’s office.

Georgi Zhukov was sitting at his desk, surrounded by piles of paper.

“Christ I thought computers were supposed to make for paperless offices,” Conal said, clearing off a chair and sitting down.

“Tell me about it,” Georgi said in a surprisingly cockney voice, easing his large bulk nearer to the desk. “So what can I do for you today?”

“It’s about what you told me yesterday, Georgi. The red flag. Is there any way of finding out where it originated from? Not the computer system on the island, but the computer used to try to access the file the day before yesterday?”

Georgi took a bite out of his large sandwich and nodded, crumbs tumbling down his shirt. “Funny that,” he mumbled around a mouthful of bread. He tapped the computer screen in front of him.

Conal looked at it and saw a map of the world. As he watched a thin red line was slowly snaking its way across the continents. Conal turned and looked at Georgi. The big man had a smug look on his face.

“What? Conal said.

“Already underway.”

Conal sat back and watched the screen for a moment. “How long will it take?” he asked. “I can get someone else to take over your work if you need to spend more time on it.”

“The boss has already done that.”

“The boss?”

“Mr Drewsbeck.” Georgi laughed at Conal’s expression. “He was in here waiting for me when I came in this morning. Couldn’t believe my eyes. Do you know, that’s only the second time I’ve ever seen him since I started working here?”

“Mr Drewsbeck asked you to trace where the red flag had originated?”

“In person, my man. In person. How about that?”

How about that indeed, Conal thought.

“Listen Georgi, I need your help.”

“How’s that?”

“Well me and the Old Man, sorry Mr Drewsbeck—”

“You call him the Old Man?”

“Not to his face, no.”

Georgi chortled around the rest of the sandwich he’d just stuffed into his capacious mouth, shaking an extended forefinger at Conal.

“So I’ve got this bet on with the Old Man that I can get my hands on the computer that raised the red flag before he does.” Conal said. “It’s worth a lot of money to me.” Pulling out his wallet, he laid four twenty pound notes on the desk. “How about you give me a couple of hours head-start before you tell him?”

Brushing the crumbs from his trousers, Georgi picked up the notes, rubbing them between thumb and forefinger as he wriggled his eyebrows. Conal dropped two more notes on the table. Georgi smiled and nodded.

***

The sheep thundered across the field, eyes wide in terror. Reaching the barbed wire fence at the far side, they milled about, the ones nearest the fence getting caught on the barbs, tearing lumps of fleece from their coats. They moved constantly, the ones on the outer edge seeking safety within the mass of bodies.

Back on the far side of the field, a small group of eight sheep stood in a corner, their bleats loud as they desperately tried to join the rest of the flock. One broke free, but had taken only a few steps when it went down, screaming as it writhed on the ground, where it screams quickly stopped. Two other sheep broke free, both falling to the ground, thrashing around as their struggles slowed and stopped, until they just lay panting.

The five remaining sheep pushed against the fence, one tearing a long gash down its face. In its panic another jumped onto its companion’s back, leaping over the fence into the road. Landing awkwardly, it broke a leg, but quickly scrambled to its feet, running off down the tarmac at top speed, broken leg dangling uselessly.

Two more sheep went down, all screaming piteously as they were eaten alive. The last three spread out along the fence, turning this way and that, panting hard in their fear.

Then, as the sky began to lighten and the first rays of sun broke above the horizon, the sheep quietened and stopped their milling. Cautiously leaving the safety of the fences they roamed out across the lush grass again, heads down as they grazed.

Later that day, farmer, Rhys Cooper, shot the sheep with the broken leg. It had ended up on the far side of the village in a small garden. After arranging to dispose of the body, he went to check on the rest of his flock. They were spread across the field in small groups, eating peaceably. Everything seemed to be normal, except that five of the sheep were missing.

Reporting the theft to the local police, Rhys Cooper rang around the other farmers in the district, warning them to be on the lookout for rustlers, who seemed to be getting more prevalent in the present financial downturn.