32 - Splash some cash
Sydney Airport – 10 pm Thursday AEDT
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.
Alan climbed into the back seat of one of the many black and white cabs queued outside the airport’s front entrance and slammed the door shut. Delighted at escaping the airport’s maddening press of humanity, he emitted a grateful sigh as he settled his tired body into the worn yet comfortable cushioning.
“G’day, mate.1 Where are we off to today?” he was asked in a raspy Australian accent as the burly cab driver sporting a casual short-sleeved shirt turned to face him.
Alan struggled not to cough at the pungent smell of commercial nicotine blasting from the fifty-something’s thick lips.
“The city,” Alan imperiously commanded as he gazed vacantly through the side window.
After driving for less than a minute, Alan was perturbed to see the cabbie half-turn in his seat as he casually asked, “So, where ya from, mate? From the sound of ya, I’m guessing you’re a pommie2 come over to enjoy our bewdy3 weather.”
Alan wanted to make it clear that he was not interested in chatting. He hadn’t slept well on the long flights to and from Beijing, though he was never up for chit-chat with nobodies. Leaning forward in his seat so his mouth was less than a foot away from his annoying chauffeur, he hissed, “Listen, you stupid prat. You can either shut up or let me out here so I can find someone who will be grateful I’m paying them to drive me in silence.”
That time, he got the response he wanted, as the cabbie faced the front while muttering, “It’s alright, mate. There’s no need to get nasty.”
Alan sat back and emitted a deep sigh of relief as his body relaxed into the seat. Other than the country rock song playing quietly in the background, the silence within the cabin was glorious.
Alan was rapt that it took less than twenty minutes to reach the city, though he was disappointed with the trip.
It’s no different to driving through suburban London other than there’s less traffic. People even drive on the correct side of the road.
Glad to escape the awkward atmosphere in the cabin, Alan paid the cabbie using the third anonymous Visa Debit card he had acquired several years ago. It would also be the last time he used it.
He was tempted to abuse the cabbie when he heard the man mouthing something under his breath as Alan exited the vehicle. However, he decided to demonstrate his British superiority.
I’m not wasting any more of my energy on the senseless idiot. Stupid twats are precisely that because they are unwilling to learn from their betters.
It took him less than ten minutes to walk to a late-night chemist from which he acquired a few essential accessories necessary for the following day’s activities. The Asian woman behind the counter left Alan fuming.
Bloody foreigners. Where are all the white people? And her stupid accent made the experience so frustrating. If I’d had more time, I would’ve given the daft cow a good bollocking4 after telling me I was hard to understand!
Alan walked briskly to the hotel he had booked in Kings Cross, thirty minutes away.
The stale, claustrophobic foyer evoked painful memories of his parent’s house. The burnt orange, mission brown and olive-green décor was straight out of the seventies.
Unsurprisingly, the sleazy fifty-something front desk attendant wore a glittery harvest-gold shirt with the top three buttons undone and sported the largest, mouse-brown Imperial-style moustache Alan had seen in person.
Before Alan could say a word, he was greeted by what was becoming a painfully familiar refrain.
“G’day, mate. And ‘ow can I help ya on this bewdiful night?”
All Alan wanted was to get into his room and shut his eyes. He took a deep breath to calm himself before replying in a calm voice.
“My name is Alan Cooper. I have a single room booked for the night.”
The unkempt clerk rambled on, his alcoholic breath constantly washing over Alan in waves. Alan responded with single-word answers as he completed the necessary paperwork and paid for his one-night stay in cash.
The only thing that garnered his interest was when the shady custodian told him, “We got some great girls around here too, mate, that ya welcome to enjoy in ya room. Lemme know and I can make it happen. Or I can get ya a young fella if that’s more ya thing.”
Alan would’ve considered it if he had not been exhausted, though for vastly different reasons to what the clerk meant.
Wanting merely to sleep, Alan took the key with its large wooden attachment, then tiredly made his way outside. He carefully climbed the rickety metal stairs to the dark green door with his room number on it in worn, gold lettering.
By the time he flopped down onto the old spring mattress that stunk of sweat and sex, it had passed midnight – not that he cared. Time was irrelevant in his world. It existed to clock the lemmings on and off. Alan lived outside of the demands of the clock whenever he could.
I choose the when, where and what of my life. I’m a free man, and no one will change that.
That reminded Z to check his email server.
However, there was no news. Davies was still at his hotel in Chelsea, probably wondering where his hacker had gone.
The CIA’s champion is proving to be a total chump!
As an afterthought, Z checked Davies’ phone.
However, he got no response.
That’s odd. It’s two-thirty in the afternoon in London. Why would Action Man have his phone turned off?
Something wasn’t right.
However, there was little Z could do about it then. And the fact that his enemy’s laptop was still in the Chelsea hotel implied it was probably a local issue for Davies.
lul checked his chat with Abaddon before trying to sleep.
He was initially disappointed when he realised he’d missed Abaddon’s reply in Beijing by a matter of minutes.
However, he was glad he’d been ignorant of it after reading the short message. At least Alan squeezed in a few hours of broken sleep on the plane. He was sure he would remain awake for the rest of the night now he knew Abaddon’s reply.
i know wot u want. will help u if u help me. wot do u know about 831 Somehow, the one person Z knew could outsmart the CIA was aware of the dark secret he had stolen. Alan did not know how, but he could guess.
It also made a lot of things add up when he thought back over the heady days of The Shadow and SF, and how it all ended. The only ones to escape were lul and Abaddon. The FBI and Alison Simpson had unveiled and arrested the rest of SF’s core.
When Z chatted it over with a few trusted cyber lads in the following weeks, they all agreed. There was a mole. They also decided that whoever it was must have been working closely with GCHQ’s cyber bitch.
And lul was sure he had uncovered who that mole was.
Abaddon. How else would he know about Project 831?
Alan felt alone and exposed. lul’s greatest ally had potentially become his greatest foe, the one who could expose him to the woman he despised above all others.
There’s no way I’ll sleep without help.
Thankfully, he’d brought a bottle of the most potent Diphenhydramine tablets money could buy. He ingested two pills and lay down on the malodorous mattress, hoping the powerful sleep aid would overcome the thoughts that threatened to make his head explode.
In the morning, I’ll dig into the mystery of Action Man’s phone.
He would also take the other steps he’d planned to secure his physical getaway.
However, his greatest threat had shifted if his latest suspicion proved correct.
Abaddon was one of only a handful of hackers who could hunt and trap lul in the cyber universe. Solving that problem was his highest priority.
After a solid night’s sleep, of course. Well, as much as I can with the nightmare playing in my head.
He set an alarm for five am, hoping the tablets would enable him to sleep before the brash noise sounded its wakeup.
Beijing – 6 am Friday
The pilot announced it was a chilly minus ten degrees Celsius as the plane taxied into Beijing Capital Airport. That was reasonable for a New Yorker, though it was several degrees cooler than London. Nick was glad he’d brought his winter clothing from the States, especially as he didn’t know how long he would be hunting in China.
Nick flicked his phone’s airplane mode off once the crew announced that passengers could turn on their phones. He was eager to learn if Alison had made any progress during his long, broken flight. Unfortunately, he had hardly slept a wink. The two stopovers were at annoying times, leaving him extremely tired and crankier than usual.
That was forgotten when Nick’s phone sounded its message alert.
Impatiently, Nick opened his message app. He had a few messages from Alison. There were also a couple from the Agency that would wait until later.
He couldn’t believe Alison’s first message.
Watson is in Sydney. Have booked yr ticket. Flight leaves in 2 hrs.
There were several more from her, including one informing him that Alison had requested two of her colleagues in Australia to assist him on the ground with the tech side. Nick would need to liaise with the Agency for the pure grunt factor.
Ahh … that’s not going to happen.
Nick gleaned all the information he could from her messages, then sent a short reply thanking her. He would not apologize for their last conversation on his way to the airport. That could wait until a more appropriate moment.
Besides, she owes me an apology just as much. And there’s nothing of the sort in her messages, though I doubt I’ll ever get that from her. Like all women, Ali thinks she’s always right.
Thankfully, Alison had organized to transfer Nick’s luggage. All he needed to do was get through the lesser security checks and make his way to the next departure lounge.
Despite her emotional crap, Alison is a professional. She never misses a beat when it comes to getting the job done at her end.
After a short but productive shopping trip to acquire a new duty-free laptop, Nick sat in the lounge area and planned his strategy. He was sure Australia was where his enemy intended to hide. And he understood it in many ways.
However, it provided Nick with a home advantage that nobody else knew. Although he could not utilize Agency resources, an important ally lived there. That particular person was incredibly useful to Nick. He possessed extraordinary skills after fighting with the US Army’s elite Delta Force. Sadly, a life-threatening incident resulted in him suffering extreme Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, resulting in his discharge.
He spent several years recovering from his dark experience, then reinvented himself as a keyboard warrior. And he had developed a fearsome set of cyber skills. Nick had been indebted to the guy since he knew about him. He was the legend who provided the intel to locate and subsequently kill the man responsible for destroying Nick’s family.
Funnily enough, Nick didn’t know the guy’s real name. He was not aware of anyone who did, not that it mattered. All that mattered was what he promised Nick many years ago.
‘If you ever need my help for anything, let me know. After all you’ve done for me, I’ll drop everything for you, mate.’
Accordingly, before boarding his flight to Sydney, Nick’s final message was to an old friend who liked to be called Vengador.5
Thanks for reading my online serial. I hope you enjoyed this chapter enough to 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.G’day, mate is the traditional greeting in Australia, no matter what someone’s gender. So, no matter how you define yourself as a person, if an Aussie greets you with a hearty g’day, mate, don’t be offended.
Please also note that I spelt it as it is to pronounced – never say gi-day; it’s g-day.
If you want to learn a genuine Aussie greeting, practice the following: g’day, mate. ow ya garn? which translates into “Well, hello there, my friend. How are you going?”
I once got in trouble in China for teaching some university students how to speak Ocker (i.e. Aussie slang). But it was so worth it, especially when one class greeted the University Administrator one day, though not with the traditional Aussie welcome. Thankfully, she took it with the best attitude after she got over her shock.
Pommie is Ocker (Aussie slang) for someone from England
Bewdy is Ocker for ‘beautiful’’
Bollocking is British slang for a severe reprimand
If you’ve forgotten the references to this guy so far, that might be worth looking into. And make sure you go all the way back …