Chapters (58)
- Cover
- Also by Oliver Harris
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
‘First he thinks about replacing a keyboard with an identical one containing a keylogger, thereby getting all the passwords. He says his client would be able to make the swap and then retrieve the memory chip.’
‘Which suggests his client is someone already inside the organisation.’
‘Right. This is the make of keyboard in the office: Corsair K95.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Then he says his client reckons the target’s too savvy for that. So he sources a replica ethernet box and puts a device in it that can sit on the Local Area Network, between the target and the server, grabbing all the traffic as it passes through. It’s a classic man-in-the-middle attack. From what he describes online, the device involves a crossover cable and a wireless card: the data he or his client wants to see is transmitted wirelessly and he’ll have picked it up easily enough. Gets in, does all the things I did, except then he disappears off the face of the earth.’
‘What happened?’
‘His messages stop. Rumours start a few days later: he’s either been killed or arrested. Someone says they think he was in Astana, but there’s nothing on the news. Someone knows his family and they say he’s disappeared. A few friends drop into the forum to say he’s not contactable in the real world either. The last they heard, he’d stumbled across something crazy, something way bigger than he expected. The whole thing’s become news in the community, people circulating the pictures he posted, trying to figure out what he was on to. There are rumours that maybe the British intelligence services were involved, then CIA, Mossad, FSB.’ Stefan turned to me. ‘Now I’ve just tried to hack the same organisation.’
‘Do you know who he is?’
‘Nomad9 is a guy called Ruslan Batur. Pretty shit-hot, worked for the Kazakh government on cybersecurity between 2012 and 2014, but fell out over some of the things he was asked to do. He’s got a history of using his skills for political ends: hacktivism, connections with human-rights groups.’
‘Got a picture of him?’
‘Mugshot, from an arrest in 2015.’ Stefan clicked the mouse and brought up Ruslan Batur’s mugshot. Batur was twenty-two in the photo: with shoulder-length dark hair, large eyes and a wispy attempt at a beard. ‘According to people online, at least ten individuals have been questioned about him over the last few days, in six different countries.’
I showed Stefan the CCTV footage of Batur in the Mega Mall on his way to pass what he’d found to Joanna, and then the shots I’d taken of his corpse.
‘You knew it,’ Stefan said. ‘You knew he’d been killed and still sent me in.’
‘I didn’t know who he was or what he’d done. I’ve been trying to find those out.’
‘Jesus Christ. You said Joanna Lake was working for Vectis. Now she’s spying on them. So who was she actually working for? I’m trying to figure out who’s most likely to kill me.’