As fast as he could manage Brown climbed the steep hill next to the road, hauling Jones with him, until they slumped in a heap at the top. Quickly jumping to his feet he pulled his injured friend away from the edge and into the trees that lined the top of the hill.
As he surveyed the carnage and smoke on the road beneath him, he couldn’t see any of the soldiers.
They aren’t going to risk exposure in such a public place with so many witnesses.
As his gaze moved upwards he could see more smoke spiraling into the air. But this smoke wasn’t coming from the mangled mess of cars. This was coming from the caravan park they had just fled from.
Not only had their hideaway been discovered but all their work and resources had been destroyed.
Michael looked nervously at his watch as the constant bustle of people on Clarence Street milled past him. Leaning against the lamppost opposite the Lloyds TSB in the centre of Kingston-upon-Thames he watched all the faces going by. Brown was almost half an hour late and he was starting to get concerned.
They’d agreed to meet so he could find out what progress they’d made on redeveloping the app for another attack on UKCitizensNet and Trevellion. There had been an agreement amongst the five of them that Michael needed to be seen at his house in case anyone was attempting to monitor his movements.
Michael was also under no illusions the four men were trying to safeguard their own skins in case he was successfully followed to their hidden retreat. None of them had ever articulated this. They didn’t need to. They hadn’t eluded the authorities for two years without having developed a selfish survival instinct.
Kingston was a good compromise. It was reachable by all of them and was always busy. They all hoped this would make avoiding capture easier. But since their four faces had been splashed all over UKCitizensNet and the news channels, maybe a sea of people wasn’t the best place to be after all. But despite these revelations the day before, Michael hadn’t heard anything from Brown. Either saying he wouldn’t be in Kingston, or suggesting a quieter location.
Maybe they’ve been captured? Is that why I’ve heard nothing? Or maybe the trains are just running late as usual?
Pulling his coat tighter across his chest, shielding himself from the chill wind and slight drizzle that had started to fall, Michael scanned once more up and down the street. Dozens of faces whirled past in front of him. A priest. Two policemen. A group of oriental male tourists studying a map. A fraught mother pushing a double buggy with two hungry babies screaming for attention.
But no sign of Brown.
Reaching into his pocket Michael pulled out his mobile phone, flipping it over and over in the palm of his hand. If only Brown and the others used a mobile phone he could put his mind at rest in a second and find out where he was. Shaking his head, and rubbing the tiredness from his eyes, he looked the other way up the street. His gaze fell upon the familiar UKCitizensNet sign which stood out above one of the many UKCitizensNet cybercafes now on every shopping street in the country. The risk of missing Brown wasn’t as important as finding out if something had happened to them he thought as he began to weave his way through the busy mass of shoppers.
The cybercafe was decorated in the familiar red, white and blue in keeping with its pervasive image. Michael grimaced as his shoes clicked noisily on the polished white floor as he approached the dark blue counter. Behind the handful of staff hastily preparing cappuccinos and lattes the wall was pillar-box red, from floor to ceiling. The gaudy decor was vile.
“
What can I get you?” one of the staff, a pretty brunette, asked as she turned to face Michael.
“
Coffee please,”
“
Cappuccino, Latte, Espresso, Americano?”
“
Just an ordinary coffee, please. Black”
The brunette quickly looked Michael up and down with a slight raised eyebrow at his sullen demeanour before turning to pour an ordinary filter coffee.
“
That’ll be PS2.85 for the coffee and it’s PS6 an hour for using UKCitizensNet. Keep your receipt and pay on the way out,” she said cheerfully, ignoring his previous rudeness.
Michael smiled thinly, sliding the cup off counter and heading for the nearest vacant computer.
As he sat down a tubby looking teenager wearing a Darth Vader T-shirt, and who was tucking into a huge white chocolate muffin, eyed him suspiciously from the computer opposite. Stuffing another mouthful of cake into his mouth he returned to the Star Wars chat room he was engrossed in.
At the back of the cybercafe a huge 48” plasma screen was erected on the wall displaying the UKCitizensNet homepage. Continually changing and flashing new messages and headlines streaked across the screen.
Looking down at the terminal and the compact black touch-screen device Michael slid his finger over the ‘Enter’ key. The UKCitizensNet screensaver dissolved from the screen to display the all too familiar homepage, mirroring what was on the wall in front of him.
Clicking on the ‘Latest News’ link the page quickly changed, displaying the full list of headlines. The story about the four men being sought by the police for cyber terrorism was still high up in the headlines alongside the latest updates on the Saudi president’s visit. Selecting the previous day’s article Michael quickly scanned through the text and all its outrageous lies.
There was no mention of the capture of his accomplices.
Scratching his chin thoughtfully, he rocked back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, feeling slightly relieved. Maybe Brown had just been delayed by the trains after all. Or he’d just got panicky about appearing in such a public place. It wouldn’t be a surprise.
He looked at his watch again, deciding he would return to their original rendezvous point. He’d wait for another half hour and then return home and wait for their call if Brown didn’t appear. At least they hadn’t been caught yet.
As he rose from his chair, Michael was aware the enormous UKCitizensNet screen at the back of the cybercafe had changed, flashing up a new message. Looking up his blood froze as he saw his own face looking back at him from the screen. Even from this distance he could clearly read the headline boldly displayed under his photograph, positioned alongside the four other men:
‘Fifth man sought in connection with attack on UKCitizensNet - police suspect link with death of SemComNet chief’.
He could feel his legs going numb. The colour was draining from his face as he read the words in front of him. The chubby teenager opposite looked up from his typing, saw the desperate expression on Michael’s face, and turned to look at what had stopped him in his tracks.
“
Fuck me, you’re a terrorist,” he bellowed with typical teenage subtlety.
The sudden outburst caused everyone else in the cybercafe to look up from their screens and in Michael’s direction as he stood motionless. Two dozen eyes quickly turned to the large plasma screen and then back at Michael. Jaws dropped as recognition quickly dawned.
The pretty brunette who had served Michael previously was the first to speak.
“
Oh my god. Someone call the police.”
Michael shot a glance at the girl who quickly ducked down behind the counter. To his right he was aware of several people rising from their seats in order to stay out of his way. The chubby teenager also quickly moved out of the way as he barged past him and ran for the exit.
Bursting onto Clarence Street the sea of people still milling between shops met him. Without even thinking where he was going he turned right, zig-zagging through the crowd as he ran. Looking back he could see a congregation of people gathered at the front of the cybercafe. The two policemen he had seen earlier were moving quickly in their direction.
A few yards further on he turned again and could clearly see the policemen had broken into a run, heading in his direction. He felt his heart beat quicken as he shot glances from side to side, looking for a means to escape.
“
You fucking wanker,” a voice yelled in his direction as he barged through a middle-aged blonde women who was sent sprawling, colliding with the pavement as she fell. As Michael turned he could see a thin middle-aged man helping her to feet, still swearing in his direction.
Turning again to his right Michael raced through the doors of the imposing Bentalls shopping centre which dominated the street. Without breaking his run he headed straight for the escalators at the front of the complex.
Barging through more shoppers Michael ran up the escalator, two steps at a time, until he reached the concourse of the first floor. Stopping in front of the balcony overlooking the ground floor shops he caught sight of the two policemen who had followed him into the centre. Spotting Michael from his elevated position the policeman split up in their pursuit. The first officer headed for the elevator to block that escape route whilst the second jumped into the nearby lift which had just opened. Feeling the sweat pouring off him, his breathing becoming more rapid, Michael continued running. Heading deeper into the centre and straight into the multi-level Bentalls store itself an idea began to take shape.
Rushing through the clothes section he looked around quickly, mentally noting the layout of the store. To his left he noticed the in-store lift. As he pressed the button to call the lift he glanced behind him, his pursuers were nowhere to be seen. As the door opened he slipped inside, pressing himself into one side of the lift, pushing the button for the ground floor. As the door began to slide shut he caught sight of two officers as they entered the store. As the lift began to descend he hoped they hadn’t seen him.
As Michael left the Bentalls store he walked quickly along the ground floor and towards the sign for the Wood Street exit from the shopping centre. Slipping out into the cold air and the quieter Wood Street he jogged back onto Clarence Street and walked briskly in the direction of the river. Every few yards he looked back over his shoulder. He seemed to have shaken off the two policemen.
Turning into Market Square he hastily headed for a narrow alleyway signposted to the river. As he reached the alleyway he turned once more. Just coming into the Market Square were the two policemen, looking from side to side. As he darted down the alleyway and broke into a run he was sure they hadn’t seen him. But he couldn’t be certain.
A few strides later the alleyway opened up onto the Thames path. Looking from side to side he turned left and headed for where a medium size boat was docked, but more importantly offering trips up the river.
A small queue of Japanese tourists were handing over their money and walking onto the boat whilst chatting noisily and snapping photos of Kingston Bridge away to their right.
Michael began to sprint as one of the cabin crew began to untie the boat’s moorings, preparing to leave. Gasping for breath he stopped alongside, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.
“
Room for one more?”
The stocky young man, who looked no more than about 20, frowned at Michael but turned to look at his colleague already stationed on the boat. Michael hoped he hadn’t sounded too desperate in his request. The older man, who had rosy red cheeks on his haggard face, and looked as if he’d spent most of his life outside, probably on the boat, nodded before returning to drinking his coffee from a flask.
Passing him the required money Michael slipped onto the boat. But unlike the Japanese tourists he sat downstairs in the enclosed section avoiding the open roof top. The stocky young man threw a quizzical look in Michael’s direction before finishing unmooring the boat, jumping aboard just as it pulled away from its jetty.
As the boat cruised noisily into the middle of the Thames Michael peered through the boat’s grubby perspex window. The two policemen appeared on the Thames path before turning in the other direction and towards the nearby Gazebo pub, milling with possible witnesses who might have seen a cyber terrorist running past.
Breathing a sigh of relief Michael sank back in his chair before looking at his watch.
What the hell happened to Brown?
He didn’t want to risk heading back to the dilapidated mobile home park in Aldershot at the moment to try and find out. Not if the police were now looking for the five of them.
If Brown or the others didn’t get in contact with him, then he was in this alone. And how would he get to Trevellion then?
Desperate situations called for desperate measures. And as Michael watched the elderly women pull another Tesco’s shopping bag from the boot of her car and hobble back into her house, he knew this was one of them.
He’d been walking the streets for almost two hours now looking for a suitable opportunity. He could feel the proverbial net tightening around him. And since seeing his picture in the cybercafe in Kingston he knew he couldn’t go home. They’d either be waiting to arrest him when he returned, or try and follow him from his house in the hope he’d lead them to his four accomplices. He now had nowhere to go. And everyone who used UKCitizensNet or watched TV knew his face.
After the narrow escape up the Thames at Kingston he’d exited the boat tour at Teddington, catching a taxi to Guildford from a particularly bored looking taxi driver. Looking at the driver’s demeanour he hoped he’d been working for several hours and hadn’t seen his picture on any computer, smartphone or TV screen yet. The taxi driver appeared oblivious to the manhunt, dutifully and speedily taking him to Guildford, dropping him in a quiet street away from the busy town centre.