13 - Time for a change
London – 6 pm Monday
Welcome to my online cyber thriller, The Phisherman. In this chapter, you'll meet Alison, the third key character. If you wanted a quick overview (like a movie trailer) for all three main characters, click HERE. If you'd prefer to read Chapter 1, click HERE. To select a different chapter, click HERE.
Alison sighed as she navigated her way to the lift. She yearned for some excitement, anything to break through the mundane meetings and endless emails that consumed her professional life these days.
Sometimes I miss that crazy season when The Shadow and SF terrorised the online world.1 The cybersharks roaming the digital oceans nowadays are different beasts. They’ll exploit anyone for a few dollars. And they’re harder to catch. The primary reason I still catch hacker kingpins is because of my little secret.
“Have a good evening, Alison.”
Alison turned and saw Gareth waving from his cramped desk, just one of many in the open office area for the average workers.
“Thanks, Gareth – you too. I hope you don’t have another late-night call to make.”
He laughed as she walked away, though the sound was tinged with sadness. It had been a long time since he’d been given the freedom he had when he discovered Alison. And she was grateful he had never made her feel responsible for how he’d been treated since she joined the cyber team.
I feel sorry for him. He’s a good man. Unfortunately, good will never be enough to make your way out of the pit where he still works.
She examined her reflection in the glass as she awaited the lift, grateful most of her colleagues now only saw a tall, fit woman who always dressed with elegance and style. With the success she’d enjoyed over the last decade, the stares of overt lust or scorn she endured for the first few years had been replaced with resentful respect. After a lot of time and effort, a few shortcuts down some dark alleys online, and regular chats with a couple of cyber confidantes, she had escaped the pit and risen to the top.
Despite the change, she still chose to leave work late enough to occupy the lift by herself. Most of the lemmings in their cheap two-piece suits fled as soon as it was knock-off time. No one would disturb her musings as her mind drifted back to one early evening in January 2009.
She’d been preparing to leave London after enjoying her first white Christmas accompanied by her best friend, Fiona. After packing her suitcase, she’d laid down on the hotel room’s spongy double mattress to enjoy Maroon Five’s latest album through the tinny speakers of her laptop when a sharp knock sounded at her hotel door.
Disappointed that someone was interrupting her favourite song, Alison turned the music down and walked cautiously to the door.
After checking the lock was secured, she queried, “Who is it?”
“Is that Miss Alison Simpson?”
Slightly rattled at the man’s deep formal voice but unwilling to lose her right to ask the questions, Alison responded, “Who wants to know?”
Two male voices whispered outside her door. She pressed her ear against the door, desperate to overhear their words. However, they spoke too quietly. The few phonetic sounds she heard were muffled by the thick wooden door.
They stopped talking.
Then, after a brief pause, a whinier voice replied.
“Miss Simpson, did you submit a solution for a puzzle in last Wednesday’s London Times?”
Her mysterious visitors had piqued her interest. During her brief stay with Fiona, Alison had enjoyed the cryptic challenges in the London Times. She’d never seen anything like them. And they were complex, more challenging than any problems she had encountered. She was disappointed that most of them were unsolvable. The only enigma she’d deduced a possible solution for was from the previous Wednesday. And she was convinced that was wrong.
Yet, two men stood outside her door, responding to her answer.
“What do you want?” she asked in a curious voice.
“We merely want to come in and chat with you, Miss Simpson,” Whiny Voice responded. “You see, we’ve been running these puzzles every Wednesday for the last three years, and no one has come close to solving one. It’s rare anyone submits an answer. Yet, last Wednesday, you didn’t merely post a solution. You determined a result we hadn’t conceived. So, I hope you understand why we’re keen to talk with you, young lady.”
“You still haven’t told me who you are,” Alison replied, trying to get an answer that would alleviate her concerns.
Deep Voice spoke again, saying words that stopped her breath. “We’re with GCHQ, Miss Simpson. We are Her Majesty’s authority for cyber-security.”
Alison felt her heart racing at a million miles an hour. Forcing her mind to slow down, she took a couple of deep breaths before opening the door.
She nervously welcomed the two nondescript men with intelligent eyes and matching grey tweed suits, black ties, and leather shoes. With their brown hair identically fashioned, they could have been brothers. Even their body shapes were similarly average. The only visible difference was one had blue eyes and looked like he was in his forties. The other had dark eyes – almost black – and he was younger, probably in his early thirties.
Alison swiftly turned and walked back to her bed. She turned the music off as she sank into the worn mattress, then pointed the men to the two plastic dining chairs.
They entered the room and remained standing as the older man spoke. It was Deep Voice.
“Thank you, Miss Simpson. And so you know, my name is Edward. And this,” he said as he gestured to his companion, “is Gareth.”
Gareth gently nodded toward her as both men carefully sat down. Once they had settled in the hard chairs as best they could, Edward continued with his deep baritone.
“Sorry for interrupting you at night. Hopefully, this won’t take much time. We just wanted to gauge your interest in a potential role in the CESG, the UK government’s authority on information security. Simply put, Miss Simpson, our job is to advise British organisations about protecting their IT systems against current and emerging threats.”2
Alison processed their answer before quietly asking, “And why are you interested in me?”
Edward resumed control of the conversation.
“We work in the cryptography team, Miss Simpson. As I’m sure you know with your background, cryptography involves creating and cracking complex mathematical problems. That’s why we place those puzzles in the Times. We’re looking for people who have a natural ability to handle the most advanced calculations on earth – equations used for encryption algorithms.”3
After a brief pause, Alison queried, “And you think I could help you how?”
“Well,” Edward responded, “if you’d allow me to explain what we’re looking for, you can then decide if you would consider meeting with our superior to discuss things further.”
As the two men discussed the specific role they wanted Alison for, she tried to understand what they were telling her. The job would be challenging, fulfilling, and presented opportunities for her to have a global influence. And every question she asked received an answer better than she hoped.
I should’ve known it sounded too good to be true.
Alison’s thoughts were disturbed when the lift doors opened in the secure car park.
As she hurried to her car, her phone dinged. She’d received an email from Nick Davies.
Alison was surprised. She hadn’t heard from Nick since they worked on Operation Venga two years ago.
That was not the response I expected to the courtesy email I sent him the day after we farewelled each other in Iraq.
The past was forgotten when she learned he was coming to London, seeking her assistance with a secret mission.
Alison climbed into the driver’s seat and opened her digital calendar. Pointless meetings were all that filled the following two weeks. There was little she could not postpone. Gratefully, she sent a brief yet amicable reply to find out when.
I hope it’ll be soon. It’s been too long since I’ve been on an adventure like those that follow Nick Davies.
She pressed the start button and sat back as the punchy female vocals of New Years Day blasted her current favourite song through the six-speaker system.
Closing her eyes, Alison allowed her mind to wander onto one of her favourite memories: the final night of Operation Venga as she and Nick sat by a campfire.
The asset had been recovered and sent back to London for urgent care. With the mission winding down, Nick had asked, “As a simple thank you, would you join me for a couple of bottles of local syrah around the fire before we go our separate ways tomorrow?”
Alison had been surprised by how effortlessly they talked and all they had in common. She’d never connected with another person like that before. As they lay near each other in the light and warmth of the flickering flames, her defences thawed when Nick revealed a vulnerable side as he talked about his sister. His sensitivity intrigued her, especially as she sensed a dark, painful secret drove him to do what he did.
Of course, she’d swiftly shifted the conversation when he asked about her family.
No one can know about the mess I’ve left behind.
Inevitably, they’d relished both bottles of wine, and the conversation dwindled into staring at the glowing embers. She was happy just being there, something she couldn’t remember for too long. And she sensed he felt the same.
After stifling another yawn, it was time to break the brief moment of serenity.
“Thanks, Nick, for a lovely evening. In fact, the entire operation has been a great experience. Hopefully, we can work together in the future. But right now, I need to sleep; I’m flying out first thing in the morning.”
He’d jumped up and stepped towards her as he said, “Well, thanks again, Ali. It’s been a real pleasure. I don’t know what we’d have done without you.”
They gave each other a friendly peck on the cheek, then she walked to her room without looking back.
No matter how much I wanted to.
Her reveries were disturbed by another email notification. Nick had replied. His plane would land at nine-thirty in the morning.
She hadn’t expected him that soon, though she wasn’t surprised.
Typical no-nonsense Nick.
She rapidly cleared her schedule, letting her co-workers know she would be busy for the next few days.
Whatever trivial tasks the parasites need my assistance with can wait.
She tossed her phone onto the passenger seat and gunned the engine.
Delighting in the roar of twelve powerful cylinders, she accelerated with a squeal of rubber towards the exit, excited by how her week had transformed within a few minutes.
Thanks for reading my online serial. I hope you enjoyed meeting Alison enough to click the heart-shaped LIKE button below. Hopefully, you also picked up a breadcrumb or two that might help you piece things together later on ... good luck with that! And if you have any suggestions to help make the chapter or story better or you simply want to encourage me as a storyteller, please leave a comment.Hopefully, you remember The Shadow and SF from Alan’s story in chapter 9 where you learned that both hacker collectives in this story have/had parallels in the real world.
The Communications-Electronic Security Group (CESG) was the information security arm of GCHQ. As mentioned in the story, its role was to advise organisations about protecting their information and IT systems against potential threats. In 2016, the CESG became part of the UK’s National Cyber Security Centre (NCSC).
Cryptography is the study ciphers that can encode and decode data so it can only be seen by authorised people. Because of this, you can do your banking online without having someone sitting in a café nearby, watching what you do on their laptop and then casually siphoning off your hard-earned cash or lumbering you with a multi-million dollar debt. The subject is based on complex mathematical algorithms beyond most people. You can find a simple explanation at what-is-cryptography [kaspersky]. However, if you want to understand more (or at least try), check out how-algorithms-keep-information-secret [csoonline]