Authors: Malcolm Rose
“Are you getting anywhere?”
“A complete blank so far,” she replied, “but I’m not halfway through the names yet.”
“You must know them.”
“I remember a few, yes, but only vaguely.”
“Wouldn’t you know if the cops had visited any of them?”
Raven grimaced. “I wouldn’t be slaving over a hot computer if I did. I’d just tell you.”
“Okay. Will you come and get me if you find anything?”
“Yes.” She faced him once more and said, “Are you going to Angel?”
Jordan shook his head. “Why should I?”
“To tell him what you’ve just found out.”
It hadn’t occurred to Jordan. When he still went to a normal school, none of the students reported anything to the teachers. If there was a disagreement, the kids sorted it out between
themselves, one way or another. “No,” he said. “This is between you and me. Oh. I mentioned it to Kate, but no one else. I’ll keep it that way unless...”
“Unless what?”
Jordan didn’t really want to say it, but she was forcing him. “Unless things stack up against you, making you look like Short Circuit.”
“So, you don’t trust me one hundred per cent.”
“How can I?”
Finally, Raven smiled. “I guess that evens us up. We’re both cautious of each other.”
“Me?” Jordan replied. “What have I done?”
“I don’t know. That’s the whole point. It’s creepy that you can see more than I want to show – and I’d know nothing about it.”
Kate was right that she disliked his terahertz vision. “So,” Jordan said, “you don’t trust me one hundred per cent either.”
Raven’s grin widened. “I think that’s called a one-all draw.”
Jordan left feeling pleased that he’d raised his suspicions with her. He left feeling more relaxed about her. A relationship built on open distrust was at least an honest and workable
relationship.
The loudspeakers in Jordan’s bedroom belted out the Lemon Jelly song, the voice of the ramblin’ man delivering the long list of places that he’d visited.
Really, the catalogue of towns, cities and countries was so vast that it could have been a total coincidence that Short Circuit had struck in several of them. Jordan listened to it twice, convinced
that he hadn’t overlooked anything significant, convinced that the song and its bizarre lyrics were irrelevant.
He lay back on his bed and sighed.
Hearing a knock on the door, Jordan called out, “Hello?”
A heavily made-up face and a cascade of black hair appeared around the door. “Can I come in?” Raven asked.
“Sure.” Jordan sat up straight, resting his back on the bedhead and pointed her towards the chair.
“We need to talk,” she said, but she didn’t sit down.
“Any luck with the list?”
She shook her head. “No luck involved. Just sheer hard work and talent.”
He smiled at her. “What have you got?”
“According to the Prison Service, Eli Kennington was locked up in 2008 for hacking into sensitive government documents – MI5 and that sort of thing. He was a HiSpec designer and he
served a couple of years for several violations of the Computer Misuse Act.”
“Brilliant!” Jordan exclaimed, jumping up from his bed. “Have you told Angel?”
“Not yet. You want to ask me a question in private first.”
“Do I?”
“Think about it.”
Jordan nodded. “Yes. Did you know him?”
“Sort of. But he seemed so...innocent. Kept himself very much to himself. Autistic, I think. Or is it Asperger’s syndrome? I’m not sure if there’s a difference. Anyway,
he didn’t have any friends. No social skills at all. He had a reputation for being clumsy as far as I remember, but the company thought he was the bee’s knees. I didn’t even know
he’d done a stretch in prison until five minutes ago. The story at the time was that he’d gone on an extended sabbatical.” Seeing Jordan’s puzzled expression, she added,
“Basically, a long holiday. I guess it was the company’s way of covering up for their favourite employee. They liked him so much they took him back afterwards. That’d be because
he hadn’t harmed HiSpec at all.”
“And that’s when he started corrupting the design of their chips? After a stretch inside.”
“I guess so,” Raven said. “If we’re right, he was preparing to get his own back on everyone who put him away. He honed his hacking skills or made a load of hardware
Trojans.”
Another head appeared round Jordan’s door. This time, it was Kate, and she was plainly surprised to find Jordan and Raven together. “Oh,” she said. “Sorry. Urgent meeting
in the bunker. Another message has come in from Short Circuit.”
“Okay,” Angel said. “This is what’s just arrived from Manchester Police. Don’t get excited, though. I’ve listened to it and he’s
telling us – in his own peculiar way – what he thinks we’ve figured out already.” He hit the return key of his computer and the familiar, highly distorted voice filled the
room.
Friday 18th May: Justice Edward Jackson.
Immediately, there was a noise like a snort on the sound file.
There was not one drop of justice in him. I don’t know why judges are called Justices. In court, they dispense the law, not justice. That’s what I think. But
I am getting ahead of myself. Everything has got to be in the right order. Here’s the proper timeline.
Tuesday 31st January: Paige Ottaway had laser surgery on her brain. I’m pleased I found out about that. It all went wrong actually but the result was good.
Saturday 11th Feb: I don’t care for music. Carlton Reed, the bass player, never made it home from Ecuador. My first downed flight. Easy.
Monday 5th March: Second downed flight. I’ll give Captain Phil Lazenby credit for being a good pilot. He landed the plane and walked away from it. Actually, I’m not sure if
it’s right to talk about landing a plane when it splashed down in a river. Landing should mean coming down on land, I would have thought.
Friday 18th May: When I last met Victoria Truman, she was healthy. She made a mistake and got sick. I don’t suppose one caused the other. Her disease was taking its time, though, so
I hurried her along. And that brings me back to Justice Edward Jackson. I know from experience that he’s heartless. On Friday 18th May, I made sure he’d got no heart at all.
The next day – last Saturday – Captain Lazenby’s credit finally ran out.
Sunday 27th May... Oh, I’m getting ahead of myself again. I can’t mention what I haven’t done yet. That would not be right. Sunday’s the big one – when it
all kicks off. I’m practised enough. I’m confident. I am ready to destroy society.
When the sound file ended, there was silence in the bunker until Angel said, “See what I mean? He’s opened up because he reckons his motive’s out of the bag. As soon as he
killed a judge, he knew we’d start piecing together a trial and a jury.”
Jordan said, “We know more than he thinks.”
“Oh?” Angel prompted, gazing at Jordan.
“Raven? You did it, not me.”
Raven seemed surprised that Jordan was giving her the opportunity to shine. “We’ve got a credible suspect,” she announced, telling Angel and Kate everything she’d
discovered from the Prison Service database.
“Right,” Angel said. “Get on to it. Find out where he lives, Jordan. Pay him a visit. If he’s not at home, maybe he’s still working at HiSpec, so get in there. I
don’t care how you do it. If the company doesn’t cooperate, use any means possible. We don’t have time to be polite. You heard Short Circuit. He’s going to do something big
on Sunday. We haven’t identified his likely targets, so we can’t protect them. We’ve got to go after him instead. We’ve got tonight and tomorrow to find out if Eli
Kennington really is Short Circuit. That’s all.” He looked at Kate and asked, “Is the Jaguar anything like ready?”
“Not a hundred per cent, but...”
“It’ll have to do,” said Angel. “You’re back at the wheel, Jordan.”
Some teenagers – almost certainly university students – were talking loudly by the unlit lamp at the end of the street. Darkness had not yet cloaked Cambridge, but
the students had probably enjoyed a few drinks already. The rest of the road was quiet.
Jordan got out of his Jaguar and surveyed the front of Eli Kennington’s home. It was part of a terrace of narrow houses. The small garden was overgrown and much of the paint had flaked off
the door and window frames. The state of the place suggested the owner didn’t have much time or money. Jordan imagined HiSpec would pay a valued designer very well, so Kennington was probably
too busy to look after his home. Perhaps he was also too occupied to find himself a better house.
There was no answer to the doorbell. Jordan’s fine hearing detected the faint chime from inside so he knew that it was working. He tried it again, but no one seemed to be home. The stakes
were far too high to walk away, but Jordan felt too exposed to break into the house from the front, especially with an audience of students.
Making a mental note of the number of houses, he strode to the end of the street, round the corner and through the parking area by the River Cam. He doubled back along the alleyway behind the
terrace and stopped when he’d counted back to Eli Kennington’s property. The rear of the house seemed to be in slightly better condition than the front, but it certainly wasn’t
well maintained. Jordan sneaked up to the back door. It looked quite solid. The kitchen window frame was rotten, though. It didn’t take much force from his right arm to split the wood and
yank the window open. Wasting no time, he clambered inside.
He was standing in the sink, beside a draining board that was stacked with used bowls, mugs and glasses. Jumping down, Jordan noticed that every surface of the kitchen – including the
floor – was littered with plates, pots, pans and cutlery, both clean and dirty. Obviously, Eli Kennington had no time to look after his living space either.
Half of the hallway was piled high with junk that had probably been salvaged from skips around Cambridge. It left only a narrow gap for squeezing between rooms. The bathroom was not dirty, but
every other room was obstructed by clutter. The living room was an amazing sight. It was filled with cannibalized computers, circuit boards, voltmeters, and other components. Jordan suspected that
they’d been reclaimed from all sorts of discarded electrical equipment. Twisted wires dangled down from every shelf, chair and table. The entire room was a weird electronic grotto.
Surrounded by Eli Kennington’s mess, Jordan had to remind himself that it wasn’t a crime to be the ultimate geek and an obsessive collector. An unusual lifestyle didn’t make
Eli Kennington guilty of murder.
Hearing a car engine decelerate, Jordan ducked down and made his way to the window. Outside, a blue Nissan slowed down as it approached his Jaguar. Then it swerved round his parked car and sped
to the residents’ parking area. Tyres screeching, it executed a U-turn and suddenly accelerated back past the house. Jordan couldn’t see the driver clearly, but it was a man.
Guessing that Eli had just returned but taken fright when he’d seen the Jag, Jordan dashed out of the front door, jumped into his car and took off after the Nissan. Following it, he turned
right and headed north-east.
He wasn’t close to the Nissan but his eyesight on maximum could pick out its registration. “Give me a trace on CE12 XTX. Does it belong to Eli Kennington?” Jordan barked into
the hands-free secure phone.
“Searching,” Raven’s voice replied.
“What’s happening?” Angel asked.
“A man was coming to Kennington’s house but he took off instead.”
Keeping his eye on the distant Nissan, Jordan put his foot down. There was little response. One of the most powerful cars on the planet was keeping to a steady thirty.
“Did he see you?” said Angel.
“No chance.”
Raven interrupted. “Confirmed. It’s Kennington’s.”
Angel continued, “Did he see the Jag?”
“Sorry. I didn’t think,” Jordan answered. “It was right outside his house.”
Angel’s voice became urgent. “Short Circuit would recognize it from Ipswich when he used it as a weapon against Phil Lazenby. If Eli Kennington recognized it, that tells us who he
is. Don’t let him get away, Jordan.”
Spinning the wheel to avoid three cyclists, Jordan said, “Tricky. No one told me how to override the speed limiter.”
“Stay on air. I’ll consult.”
Ahead of him, two students were carrying a mattress across the urban road. A man at the front and a young woman at the back, they were holding it upright so it blocked Jordan’s view. He
knew only that Eli Kennington’s car was speeding towards a traffic island. Jordan cursed under his breath. Closing in on the obstacle, his collision avoidance system began to slow the Jaguar
automatically. The woman let her end of the heavy mattress slip from her grasp and it hit the tarmac. She giggled and said something to her companion. Jordan broke into a sweat. By way of an
apology, she waved a hand at him. Then she clutched the mattress awkwardly and manoeuvred it out of his way.
Luckily, the road in front of him was straight and Jordan caught sight of the Nissan turning left at a large roundabout.
Angel’s voice boomed into the car. “Right. It’s quick and easy. Think your way through the on-board computer to
Speed Limiter
. Your password is like an on/off switch.
Enter it and you’re away.”
The Jag responded immediately. Its rapid acceleration pushed Jordan against the backrest of the driver’s seat. He zoomed up to the wooded traffic island and swung to the left. But
he’d lost sight of Kennington.
There was another roundabout ahead. The third exit was Milton Road, a major route out of Cambridge. Guessing that Kennington might have taken that turn, Jordan tried it as well.
Two hundred metres ahead, there was a set of traffic lights on red. As he neared the junction, the lights turned green. Pulling out of the lane as much as the oncoming traffic allowed, Jordan
spotted the Nissan at the head of the queue. Breathing a sigh of relief, he said aloud, “I’m still behind him. On the A1309, north out of Cambridge.”