22 - Catch me if you can

Rotterdam – 5 am Wednesday

Welcome to my online cyber thriller, The Phisherman. To learn more about the story and meet the three main characters, click HERE. If you'd prefer to start at Chapter 1, click HERE. To select another chapter, click HERE.

Photo by Edurne Tx on Unsplash

WARNING
This chapter contains references to malicious activities that may trigger readers who have experienced abuse at the hands of trusted adults. If my work of fiction causes you distress, please accept my sincerest apology – that is the last thing I intend. For any readers struggling with what has happened to you, please find someone who can hear you and help you in a professional, caring manner.

Alan was thirty minutes ahead of schedule when he pulled over to the side of a Rotterdam bridge. As the sun was still three hours from rising, the dark provided sufficient cover to drop the stolen motor scooter off the bridge into the Nieuwe Maas¹ rushing past below.

While waiting for an empty taxi to drive by, Alan reflected on the longest journey he’d made in his forty years. His lengthiest outing before that was the three-hour train ride to London when he left his parents’ house in Kidderminster.

He laughed with pain and relief, remembering that first day of freedom. It was only a few weeks after he’d heard D3vast@t10N’s story that inspired him to pursue a career as a professional hacker. Alan had swiftly lost interest in completing a useless university degree.

Unsurprisingly, when Alan dropped out of university with one semester remaining in his degree, his father reacted as expected that night.

Violently throwing Alan’s bedroom door open, Charles had screamed, “You stupid little moron. You think you’re so clever, don’t you? But you’re not – you’re just another pathetic computer nerd who thinks he’s smarter than he is.”

As Charles continued venting his wrath, Alan turned away, cowering in his chair. He knew what was coming. He’d endured it too many times to remember.

“So let me tell you some home truths, moron. If you don’t return to university and finish your course or find a job by the end of this month, you’re out of here for good.”

Alan blocked the sound of his father unclasping his belt with its large, distinctive buckle as angry audible venom filled the stale atmosphere of his small, cluttered bedroom.

“I will not continue to sweat my blood so you can waste your life on that bloody computer, you little parasite. You’re an ungrateful blood-sucking leech – that’s what you are, boy. And it’s time for me to take some of my blood back.”

As it had been since that first night many years before, no sound leaked from Alan’s pursed lips, no matter what Charles did.

And the prat always tried.

When Charles eventually departed with his strength spent, Alan turned his battered body to gaze with dead eyes at the only person he despised more than Anne and her kind.

“Bye for now, loser,” he’d silently mouthed at Charles’ retreating figure. “One day, you’ll learn what I can do. And then you’ll pay a thousand times over for what you’ve done.”

Like everyone else in Alan’s physical world, Charles had never understood him. None of them could see how the rapid advances in technology created infinite opportunities for people like Alan to become wealthy at other people’s expense.

Of course, he wouldn’t be like his original mentor, D3vast@t10N, and use his powers for evil.

Well, not unless people deserve it.

To realise that future, Alan had to leave his lonely childhood behind and disappear amidst a sea of humanity. So, he packed a few belongings in a small suitcase, grabbed his laptop, and caught a train to London. He didn’t say goodbye to anyone, not even his mother. Instead, Alan left while his parents were at work. And having no non-cyber friends, it was easy to disappear without regrets.

That was how Alan had departed every place he’d stayed in since. He never let his housemates know. He vanished in the witching hour. No one saw or knew where he went.

The sound of a rapidly approaching car jolted Alan back to reality.

Fortunately, it was a passing taxi. He stepped forward and hailed the black sedan with its rooftop alight to transport him the final few miles to Rotterdam The Hague Airport.

He considered waving the driver on when he observed the fake-blonde woman in her garish makeup bopping to the plastic tones of Miley Cyrus. Alan knew he should have after climbing into the back seat – the overpowering stench of her perfume made him gasp.

“Goedemorgen meneer. Waar ga je naar toe?”²

Recovering from his coughing fit and ignoring her high-pitched words of welcome, Alan gruffly commanded, “L’aéroport.”³

The animated blonde was too garrulous⁴ to realise Alan was disregarding her incessant chatter. He was tempted to ask her to turn her music up so he couldn’t hear her.

However, that was even worse. Trapped with the music from hell, the stench of garbage, and that frustratingly annoying tone, I was grateful it only took five minutes for the stupid bimbo to reach the passenger drop-off zone. Any longer and one of us would not have finished that journey.

Alan exhaled a sigh of relief at the sight of the small airport complex. It was identical to the pictures he’d seen online and nothing like London’s hectic terminals.

That was important for Alan, though it wasn’t because it meant a smaller crowd. Large airports would be more efficient and effective in supporting law enforcement agencies.

Of course, fewer people to annoy me or get in my way is always better.

He paid for the taxi ride from a thick wad of euros, then exited the vehicle as fast as possible.

“What about your change?” the driver asked in a shriller, more annoying screech.

Alan ignored her as he walked away. He knew being ungracious would make him memorable to the driver.

But there’s no way I could thank that little vixen for turning a short trip into such a painful experience. And with my new wealth, change is for chumps.

After walking through the rotating glass doors, Alan examined the clean, brightly lit interior, searching for the next step to his departure lounge.

His only luggage was a sizeable carry-on bag and his laptop. Subsequently, Alan joined the small line of noisy people progressing through the security checkpoints. He didn’t expect any problems, but he tried to look disinterested.

Thankfully, the burly, brainless security lads waved me through without issue.

After navigating his way into the departure area, Alan bought a small latte from a boorish brunette in a small kiosk nearby. He regretted it after the first mouthful.

He had half a mind to go back and abuse the skinny teenager but decided not to draw any unnecessary attention.

Besides, it’s airport coffee – what did I expect?⁵

Alan made his way to his flight’s departure lounge, then looked over his flight details, confirming everything was in order.

Z then used his trusted VPN⁶ to check his private chat room with Abaddon. He was disappointed there still was no reply.

Maybe my old mentor has stopped checking it?

He didn’t know what he’d do if Abaddon had gone underground. He needed someone he could trust to advise him on his best course of action.

Photo by Matthew Smith on Unsplash

When two slim, garishly painted flight attendants moved to the departure lounge PA to make an announcement, Alan gathered his belongings and headed to the priority queue.

Only four people were standing in line ahead of him when the blonde one announced the boarding call for his winged getaway.

He shuffled forward to have his boarding pass checked by the skinny brunette with bright red lipstick, the whitest teeth he’d seen …

… and some flowery stench I could smell a mile away.

After she’d waved him through with a fake, “Have a nice trip, Mr Smith,” Alan felt a nervous excitement stir in him. The time had come to leave Europe behind.

Another significant first.

Alan ignored the ditzy flight attendant welcoming him aboard the Boeing 737 as he located his seat in the second row. He carefully packed his bag in the overhead locker, then settled into the plush cushioning and closed his eyes.

Focusing his mind, Alan shut out the strident sounds of passengers fighting around him for a place to stow their onboard luggage.

He was glad Abaddon had not only demanded lul make an escape plan back in 2011. Alan had also followed Abaddon’s recommendation to review and adapt the plan every six months.

So, I’m familiar with every way I can stay ahead of CIA Action Man and his cyberbitch.

And Alan knew she was a bitch.

From the first time I saw her pretty face, I knew. Her eyes are like Anne Johnson’s, the only girl I’ve ever asked out.

Alan would never forget how Anne laughed and scorned him in a loud voice, ensuring everyone heard. It took only a few seconds for a crowd to gather as she sounded off continual taunts and barbs at “Wacky Watson.” And Anne clarified to everyone why no girls in the school would willingly go out with fourteen-year-old “Watson the whacker.”

Alan was glad he’d convinced his parents to send him to Chantry the following year. It had taken a lot of begging and pleading, but they’d sensed his desperation to escape that school.

I can’t even remember its name, though that doesn’t matter. All that counts is that Anne Johnson paid for belittling me.

It took Z several years to get the job done. However, after reading D3vast@t10N’s inspirational story of his revenge on his father, Z made sure Anne reaped her just reward.

And it’s not only Anne who deserves it. They all do – all those fancy young girls prancing around in their skimpy clothes, making visual promises that turn into reality nightmares.

An evil smile cracked Alan’s thin pursed lips as he relaxed back in his roomy seat.

Project 831 will definitely be useful. If I can get the weapon working, I can deliver justice using more than mere online trolling and social media hacks.

Granted, that has worked a treat for so many of Anne’s kind in the past. However, even with 831 only functioning at a fraction of its capability, I could hurt the precious princesses in their physical world. What D3vast@t10N did to his plumber dad will seem trivial.

And I won’t have to settle with those who have personally affronted me. 831 will empower me to deliver justice to whoever deserves it.

And Alan knew there were many such women he would never dare ask for a date. Experiencing their ridicule once had been too often.

I know what they’re like inside. They’re all the same. I can tell from the stupid look on their plastic faces, just like that brainless bimbo who dropped me at the airport.

However, once they experience the power of 831, those pretty, little faces will never be the same.

Guess who’s gonna be laughing then, bitches!

I hope you appreciated these insights into Alan’s life. Hopefully, you can understand why he sees the world from an unhealthy perspective, not that it will ever justify it. If you enjoyed this chapter, please click the heart-shaped LIKE button below. And if you have any suggestions to help make it better or you simply want to encourage me as a storyteller (either would be appreciated), please leave a comment.

1. This is a branch of the Rhine River that runs through Rotterdam

2. Dutch for: “Good morning, mister. Where are you going?”

3. French for: “The airport.” Fyi, a taxi driver in Holland would be expected to speak Dutch, French and English at a minimum.

4. Garrulous = excessively talkative in a rambling, roundabout manner, especially about trivial matters (dictionary.com)

5. Although Nick and Alan live in different worlds, neither of them willingly accept crap coffee. Neither should you!

6. A Virtual Private Network, aka VPN, provides an encrypted communication channel between you and your VPN provider so your ISP cannot spy on your activities. It also provides an alias IP address from your VPN provider to whatever site you are accessing online so no one can see your actual IP address. There are heaps of articles explaining it in more detail. A good one can be found at what-is-a-vpn [norton]