The Codex File (2012) (38 page)

As Michael turned onto the high street he looked at his watch. It was just after 10.30am. The street was quiet except for a few pensioners walking up to the nearby row of shops at the end of the street and a dog walker absorbed in the music coming from their iPod.

As the dog walker moved past on the opposite pavement the Tesco delivery van came into sight, meandering down the road in Michael’s direction. He watched as the driver read the house numbers carefully, unable to find the one he was looking for. Passing where Michael was standing he did a U-turn, scanning the houses on the opposite side of the road in search of the one for his order.

Michael looked around anxiously. But there was no-one about. Eventually, as Brown had predicted, and after doing another U-turn, the delivery driver pulled up alongside him.

“
Do you know where I can find 212a along here?” said a balding, slightly tubby man, in his mid-40s as he leaned out the window. “I’ve got High Street, Odiham, here, but I can’t see 212a anywhere.”

Michael hoped Brown’s ruse would work.

“
There’s no 212a along here. I live at 212 and the wife ordered some food on UKCitizensNet. She must have typed the wrong address accidentally. I’ll take the food now if you like.”

The delivery driver gave Michael a quizzical look, reaching for his clipboard perched on the dashboard.

“
What’s the name?”

“
Wilson. Mrs R. Wilson.”

Nodding, the driver jumped down from his van and opened the backdoors to his van.

“
I’ll take them inside for you, if you like.”

Neither Michael nor Brown had anticipated this question.

“
Er, that’s OK. I’ve locked myself out the house. I’ve phoned the wife and she’s going to be back soon to let me in.”

The driver raised his eyebrows slightly.

Michael felt his breathing become more rapid, hoping his story sounded plausible.

“
What about your fresh stuff? You need to get that in the fridge.”

“
She’s only going to be five minutes. It’ll be fine.”

Shrugging his shoulders, but conscious he had other deliveries to make, the driver began to unload the three boxes of food onto the pavement.

Closing the back door of the van, the driver turned to Michael.

“
I must rush, I’ve got four more deliveries to make. Although it looks like I’m going to be late, what with the roadblock they’re putting up.”

Michael felt the knot in his stomach begin to tighten.

“
What roadblock?”

The driver pointed up the High Street towards the row of shops.

“
When I came through just now the army was setting up a roadblock. I only just got through myself. Not sure what they’re doing. Always up to something round here the bloody army. If it’s not those bloody guns going off over on Ash Ranges then it’s something else. If you ask me, I reckon they could be looking for those cyber terrorists. There’s lots of computer bods live round here. All those commuters. Don’t understand it all myself.”

Michael could feel the colour draining from his face. The driver quickly noticed it too.

“
Are you alright mate?” he said, as Michael looked anxiously up the street.

Further up the street a small company of soldiers, automatic rifles slung over the soldiers, were moving from building to building on either side of the road. Michael knew who they were looking for. Without picking up the boxes that had just been delivered he turned and ran down the quiet side street in the direction of his car.

The delivery driver stood next to his van looking bewildered before a realisation struck him. The image of a man shown on UKCitizensNet came flashing back to him.

Leaving the boxes on the pavement he turned and began to slowly jog in the direction of the armed soldiers.

The weight of his rucksack was starting to hurt Michael’s back as the two men trudged across the recently ploughed field and through the sprawling farmland. After spotting the soldiers in Odiham he’d fled back to his car in an attempt to escape. Every road he’d taken to get out of the village had been blocked by either army or police cars as the forces worked effectively in tandem. The area had been completely sealed as the army conducted their house-to-house hunt for them. Finally he’d spotted a gate into one of the many fields dominating the rural area and had turned the car off the road.

Following a narrow gravel track up the side of the field he eventually exited on the outskirts of nearby South Warnborough. From there it had been a rapid four-mile journey back to Blounce. He knew it wouldn’t be long before they discovered the safe house.

As they’d rapidly packed up clothes from the bedroom in the bungalow Brown had ‘borrowed’ a few items of equipment from the computer room that he said he needed. Michael didn’t have the faintest idea what they were, or what they were for.

Brown had also quickly stored the work he’d been doing on the app on the secure R.I.G server for safekeeping before moaning about how he needed more time to be sure it worked and was stable. It was the same rhetoric the four men had been giving him ever since he’d met them. But there hadn’t been anymore time. Not unless they wanted to get caught.

And he needed to watch Brown like a hawk now he knew the four men hadn’t been all that they seemed. If they’d been waiting for a moment to turn him over to the authorities, or even UKCitizensNet, just to save their own skins, and catch him unawares, then they’d missed their chance. He’d wised up to them. And the only thing that mattered now was staying alive so he could complete his mission and avenge Colette and Clare.

Within ten minutes of returning to the bungalow they’d packed up all the items they needed and could carry and had set off across the farm fields backing onto the bungalow’s long garden. They’d had no choice but to leave Jones’s body lying on the bed. In some ways Michael was pleased to be leaving. The body was starting to smell. But, as they set off they didn’t have a map, so they weren’t sure where they were heading. All they knew for certain was the house and the area weren’t safe anymore. Brown hadn’t disclosed the location of the other safe house he was aware of, only to say that it wasn’t nearby.

“
Look,” Michael said, pausing for a breather and dropping the rucksack onto the churned soil.

In the distance, no more than half a mile away, a farmhouse and a number of outbuildings had come into view from behind a small wooded area. Brown nodded, reaching for a bottle of water and taking a much-needed swig.

“
We need to be careful,” Michael continued, surveying the rolling fields. There was no sign of anyone working on the land. “We don’t need to be chased down by an irate farmer in his tractor. Let’s head for the trees over there on the right and approach from there. We can then keep ourselves concealed from anyone on the farm or those bloody soldiers.”

Resuming their progress Michael was struck by how he’d changed. A few weeks ago, when he was still convalescing in the care home, he knew he wouldn’t have survived in this environment. He wouldn’t have had the guts or the confidence to plot an escape across country. Nevermind contemplate what they were planning for when they met up with Digger again.

Assuming we ever make it back to SemComNet again. How many soldiers and police are in the area looking for us?

He let the thought slide away as they reached the small bank of trees, disappearing amongst them.

The farmhouse could just be seen through the trees as they made their way carefully to the other end of the wood. Crouching down just before they reached the edge of the small wood the two men scanned the ground surrounding the quiet farmhouse.

There were no vehicles to be seen. No obvious sign of life anywhere. All of the windows of the farmhouse were shut. And there was no sign of lights or movement inside. To the right of the farmhouse three outbuildings, a milking station and a couple of grain silos, were also deserted. Seemingly locked up.

“
Looks deserted to me,” Brown finally said after five minutes of silent observation.

“
Yeah, I reckon so. Let’s head round the back and see if we can find a way in.”

“
What do you want to break in for?”

“
Firstly, I want to know exactly what UKCitizensNet is reporting and why there are troops on the streets looking for us. Secondly, I don’t know about you, but I’m bloody starving and we’ve got no food.”

As the two men stole out from where they were concealed Brown followed as Michael darted across the yard between the farmhouse and the outbuildings and round the back of the house. Turning the corner Michael looked out onto the large back garden which was less than immaculately kept, needing its grass cut at the very least.

To his left the large double kitchen window was closed. The backdoor was a little further on. Slowly, Michael moved round and peered through the kitchen window. In the middle of the room was a large wooden table with one chair sitting at it. To the right was a large dresser, crammed full of books and folders. At the back of the kitchen was an impressive green Aga, dominating the room. Michael half-smiled at the stereotypical farmhouse kitchen. There was only one thing missing. And that, thankfully, was the farmer.

In the right hand corner was a doorway leading into house. Michael watched carefully for a full two minutes. There was no sign of movement. Moving past the window he placed his hand on the back door and turned the handle. It was locked. As his elbow smashed one of the glass panes on the kitchen door he reached through, turning the key in the keyhole on the inside, hoping the house wasn’t rigged with an alarm.

As the kitchen door creaked open and the two men stepped inside they were met by silence throughout the house. Brown heaved a sigh of relief, dumping the rucksack onto the kitchen table before slumping into the chair.

Passing him, Michael walked through the kitchen and into a dining room. Even more papers and files were sprawled across the table. He glanced down at a selection of sheets that caught his eye. There were numerous letters from a mortgage company and a bank demanding various payments. One letter threatened repossession of the farmhouse if the debts weren’t settled. Clearly the farm wasn’t doing well.

To his right he could see a shotgun propped up against the wall.

Is that to stop the bailiffs getting in, or for the farmer to end it all if he doesn’t turn a profit this harvest?

As he exited the dining room he found himself in what appeared to be the main living area. In the centre of the room against a long wall was a television. As he’d been hoping, an eCitTV touch-screen console was in the seat of the armchair.

As the television flickered into life Michael scowled as the familiar red, white and blue UKCitizensNet logo appeared on the screen. Sliding his finger over the ‘Web’ icon the screen melted into the interactive area. Quickly clicking on the ‘News’ link he waited expectantly.

What are the lying bastards saying about me now? Can it get any worse than being branded a cyber terrorist?

Michael read the latest headline on UKCitizensNet and was thankful he was sitting down, as he feared he would have fallen down. His face was again on the screen next to the offending headline.
‘Children’s bodies discovered at house of cyber terrorist’.

His hand was shaking as tapped the story to read the full grisly facts. He began to weep as he read the terrible report that showed a picture of his back garden shrouded in police forensic tents.

“
Police are reporting that they have discovered the bodies of at least eight children in the back garden of wanted cyber terrorist, Michael Robertson. The police were tipped off to this grisly discovery by a neighbour who reported he had regularly seen children coming to the house, even after the death of Michael Robertson’s own daughter two years ago.

Police had originally obtained a warrant to search the house following investigations which identified Michael Robertson as a potential cyber terrorist thought to have been involved in the recent death of SemComNet President, Sir Donald Allison.

The macabre discoveries were made in the back garden of Robertson’s house in Hersham, Surrey, where forensic detectives are still collecting evidence they hope will identify the children and help their investigation.

Police have also not ruled out the possibility that Michael Robertson may have been involved in the murder of his own daughter two years ago. Initially, anti-net campaigner Davey Wilkes, was charged with the killing, although police have never been able to apprehend Wilkes.

Chief Superintendent Miles Robson, who is overseeing this investigation, said the case would be reopened and examined in the light of these recent discoveries.”

For a few long seconds Michael felt faint as waves of nausea spread through him. He could read the words in front of him, but he couldn’t reconcile what they were saying. As the nausea subsided it was replaced by anger as his muscles tensed and his colour returned.

Is there no depth to which SemComNet won’t go to destroy me? Haven’t you taken enough from me by killing Colette and Clare?

Holding his head in hands he didn’t hear the sound of the Land Rover pulling up in the drive outside the house. Or the dull thud of footsteps approaching the front door.