Both the basement and the seventh floor were possibilities. Both were mostly empty. I was tempted by the basement simply because I felt smug about having cracked the code. The problem was that it contained supplies for the coffee machines and a lot of cleaning products. People would come here. The seventh floor was only an issue if people were having a guided tour.
I spent some time establishing myself as a businessman who made frequent trips to Cologne, using it as a chance to get to really know the building. (Meanwhile, real me appeared to be going on quite a few thoroughly-Facebooked mini-breaks to Paris and Brussells. Was love in the air?) I’d often sit in my pretend office. I’d even have pretend meetings, by going down to the lobby expectantly, waiting until someone else came in for a meeting, and joining them in the lift. I’d make small talk in bad German with a reasonable French accent.
The seventh floor took a lot of exploring. The whole building had once belonged to a telecoms company who’d gone bust during the recession. The temporary office company was leasing the building from the receiver at a bargain rate, and, as they expanded, renovating each floor. The seventh floor hadn’t been touched, and was littered with old office equipment, old slogans and signs, old décor. Behind a still-filthy kitchen was a glass box of a meeting room, complete with scuffed up scummy carpet. Some of the carpet tiles had been taken up on the rest of the floor, and teetering jenga towers of it were everywhere. It was simple enough to clad the glass box with it, forming a blacked-out, pretty soundproof and even mildly airtight container. I removed the carpet tiles from inside the box, exposing a concrete floor that was pretty unlike the neatly-laid laminate in the rest of the building. I figured Todd would suspect he was in the same building, but he wouldn’t be sure.
In a storage cupboard at the back of the seventh floor was a computer so old, it was practically a museum-piece. Finger-stabs had erased the lettering from most of the keys, the processor was ancient, and the screen was a cathode ray box. I could have plugged it into the network here, but that might have given Todd a way out.
Instead I bought a portable wireless modem from a mobile phone shop. Todd’s computer would be too antiquated for wireless, but that was fine. Electronics stores sell a method of routing wireless internet through the electricity cabling in houses where thick walls make the signal otherwise weak. I simply connected the PC that way.
Having set all this up, I then went back to England. It would soon be time for another mini-break.
T
HIS TIME, WHEN
I booked a meeting room in the office in Cologne I set myself up with an entirely new identity. Not that it really mattered. Reception was pretty much automated, and I simply spent a little bit of time disguising myself. Whereas previously I’d looked like an identikit euro businessman with a completely forgettable suit, this time I spent a glorious hour or so making myself up as a travelling hipster. Possibly come over to talk about start-ups and synergies or something. It meant I could disguise myself a bit more, with a ratty ponytail poking out from under my beanie hat, and a fairly nice pair of sunglasses and slapped-on mutton chops disguising most of my face. If this sounded outlandish, bear in mind I’d been to Cologne a couple of times recently. People were at pains to look cool here, and I was actually a fairly close match for at least one other regular in the building. There was a chance that this would confuse people. Actually, I was pretty much counting on it.
“H
I, IS THAT
that Helpdesk?” I was at the limits of my A-Level German here.
“Yes, that is correct.”
“I’m at the Cologne bZzOffice, and I am afraid I am having difficulty connecting some new equipment to the network here.”
“No problem, we can probably talk you through that here.”
“If it’s all the same to you, can someone come out here and see to it? Someone who speaks English? I don’t mind paying the call-out fee—this kit is very expensive, and I also want to make sure it’s properly set up. That might be what’s causing the problem.”
“Okay, I can send Zara out to you this morning.”
“I’m afraid I have a meeting this morning. Can she come in the afternoon?”
“No, if it’s the afternoon, that’ll be Todd.”
“Okay, that’s fine.”
T
HE WEIRD THING
was that when Todd Halpern turned up, I realised I’d accidentally come dressed as a clone of him. I’d researched everything about him, but had somehow subconsciously parked his appearance. I had a mental image of him (fat boiled potato in a stained t-shirt) and had completely failed to properly lodge that he was tall, thin, and hipsterish. With a ponytail.
Going up together in the lift, we made an idiotically remarkable image for the CCTV. I was trying to work out if our near-identical appearance was a good thing or a bad thing. The lift was very slow, and we were grinning at each other sheepishly. For a man who’d goaded four people to their deaths, Todd was in person rather shy.
“Hey,” I said in my thick French accent.
“Hey,” mumbled Todd.
I thanked him for coming, spoke English, and explained the problems, and took him over to my laptop in the meeting room I’d hired on the third floor. He nodded and sat down, working away at trying to get the laptop to recognise any of the devices I’d got. I’d deliberately disabled all of their drivers, so he was immediately engrossed. The idea would be that he’d stop thinking about me, but instead he kept shooting me sly glances.
After his fourth attempt to install the scanner, he turned. “Excuse me,” he said, “but is this some kind of joke?”
I shook my head, and tried to look quizzically French. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s just”—he gestured at me—“you look...”
“I know!” I beamed. “We are top fashion! High-five?”
He reluctantly high-fived me. Inwardly I was cursing. Why the hell hadn’t I realised this was where I’d got my unusual beanie-hat and ponytail combo from? I must have seen a picture of him on an avatar at some point. I was trying to persuade him that this was all normal, and it was clear from the glances he was shooting me that he was far from at ease. Which was a problem, as I needed to sneak up on him, and I wasn’t getting a chance. The longer this went on, the more chance he’d have to study me, the more to...
He was fiddling away at the scanner, and looking at me curiously.
“Excusez-moi,” I said. “I must... the bathroom, yes?”
“Yeah, sure,” he muttered, for once not looking in my direction. I headed over to the stairwell and slipped out to the bathroom. The advantage of this was that he was trapped—because this floor was tenanted, the PIN number was supplemented by a key card which made the building as hard to access as a Travelodge. He couldn’t leave the office without a card. And I had plenty of time to change my disguise.
I hurried down to the basement in the lift, hopefully spreading some confusion as to who was leaving the building on the CCTV. I got out at the ground floor, then went down the stairs. I headed over to the supply room and helped myself to a cleaner’s overall and slipped into an abandoned hoodie advertising a long-forgotten conference. It smelt mouldy, but helped with the disguise. I then called the lift and ascended, seemingly just another cleaner doing the rounds.
I got out at the third floor, but didn’t go into my meeting room, instead circulating, going into other rooms and emptying bins, making myself known. No-one really noticed me. People try and ignore cleaners, especially when they’re not the normal ones you’ve established a bit of a relationship with. It made it easy for me to flit from room to room, occasionally going past the meeting room where Todd was working.
My plan at this point was twofold. Ultimately, I had to get him up to the box I’d prepared on the seventh floor. But firstly, I had to establish myself as a cleaner. I went into an empty unit and turned on a vacuum cleaner. It was splendidly noisy, thanks to some gravel I’d thrown into it earlier. I then let myself into my own office and proceeded to do a reasonable job of cleaning it, without Todd paying me much attention. He barely glanced at me when I entered, and by the time I was emptying the bins was totally ignoring me.
It was all going brilliantly to plan.
“
Entschuldigung,
” he began in halting German. He was asking if he could borrow my key to go to the bathroom. He wasn’t really looking at me, hadn’t recognised me, just wanted a pee. I replied in reasonable German that I couldn’t lend him a key, and he nodded, muttering something under his breath. I guess he really needed to go, which was a shame.
It was too good to last, of course. His eyes suddenly went wide and suspicious. “Hey—” he said, “Hang on, aren’t you—?”
My spray bottle had done a pretty shoddy job of cleaning up spilt coffee. This was because it contained home-made chloroform (the results of a messy evening in the basement experimenting with bleach and duty free). Todd caught a blast of it full in the face and lunged at me.
He punched me twice. As I went down I suddenly remembered he’d contributed quite a lot of answers to search.me’s martial arts forum. I’d made a huge mistake.
L
YING ON THE
floor, being kicked in the kidneys by my victim, I wondered how this was all working out for me. I blame the media. They make killing people look so easy. Let me assure you, it’s really very hard. I wished I’d brought a Taser. Instead I had to wait until the diluted chloroform took effect. And that was a whole lot of kicks.
W
HEN
I
WAS
a kid, I loved shows like
The Crystal Maze
and
Knightmare
—you know, you go into a room, and you’ve got to complete a challenge against the clock in order to get out. Well, I guess you could say that I’d built my very own tribute to these games on the seventh floor.
Todd’s prison was a trap. He needed to get out within a certain time before it turned deadly, but I’d carefully left him all the signposts to his escape.
At the risk of giving you spoilers, his room contained:
• Blacked-out walls (with instructions to escape written on them in UV ink).
• A UV pen-light taped to the back of the monitor.
• A door with the handle removed.
• A door handle stuck to the underside of the desk.
• A bucket. In case of toilet needs.
• An ancient PC with very limited internet access.
• An ancient webcam that would allow him to take pictures.
• Hidden in the browser’s bookmarks instructions to allow him to escape.
• Hints written on the ceiling tiles.
• A small, but reasonably lethal bomb linked to a timer switch.
• Unlimited access to the people of search.me.
Want advice? Search.me.
HotToddy84[12.14AM]
Guys. This is serious. I’ve been kidnapped. Help.
ScarodPibs
Woah! WTF?
HotToddy84
I dunno. I’ve woken up in a dark room. There’s no door. There’s just an old PC, and the only site it’ll link to is search.me
Diskloth
>Go west, young man.
LiloPadwa
LOL!!!!
YelloYelloYello
Use PC, get door, open wishing well, seek Gnome.
LiloPadwa
Sorry, I do not understand “Use PC”.
Diskloth
Turn on the bloody light.
LiloPadwa
Sorry, I do not understand “bloody light”.
HotToddy84
Fuck you all. This is SERIOUS.
LiloPadwa
Sorry, I do not understand “Fuck you all”.
Isolder
(Screencapped for Quotefile) :):):)
HotToddy84
YOU CAN ALL PISS OFF RIGHT NOW. Idiots. I have been kidnapped, I am asking for help. Cockroaches.
LiloPadwa
oooooh, Get her.
HotToddy84
You. Are. Blocked.
LiloPadwa
Bit of a hasty move considering there are only 3 of us following this conversation. If you really are kidnapped and needing our help.
YelloYelloYello
I call HOAX.
Isolder
Seconded.
HotToddy84
Guys, seriously. NEED HELOP.
YelloYelloYello
*HELP.
Isolder
*ATTENTION.
LiloPadwa
“I don’t begrudge him the oxygen of publicity. It’s the oxygen of oxygen I have a problem with.” Linda Smith.
HotToddy84
Get Fucked.
LiloPadwa
Sorry, I do not understand “Get Fucked.”
Isolder
^ Amazing. YOLOL.
HotToddy84[1.02AM]
Guys. This is serious. I’ve been kidnapped. Help. This is NOT A HOAX. I have been knocked unconscious and have woken up in a dark room. There is no door. There is no light. Just this old PC that can only connect to search.me. I have no mobile.
I need someone, anyone to CONTACT THE POLICE. URGENTLY.
Pizander
“Dear Friend. This is serious. I’ve been kidnapped and woken up locked in a room with no wallet. All have is an old PC and the title deeds to this Nigerian Gold mine. I need someone, anyone to SEND ME CA$H. URGENTLY.”
BooBooBare
^ PWNED
HotToddy84 [1.04AM]
Guys. This is serious. I’ve been kidnapped. Help. This is NOT A HOAX. I have been knocked unconscious and have woken up in a dark room. There is no door. There is no light. Just this old PC that can only connect to search.me. I have no mobile.
I need someone, anyone to CONTACT THE POLICE. URGENTLY.