end sat Tessa Gorman, the Foreign Secretary, whose face was also pinched and tired. To Gorman’s left sat Hugo Buckingham, an intelligence officer whose rise had, in recent months, been meteoric – much to Seldon’s dismay. Buckingham was a handsome bastard, a good Arabist and a decent intelligence officer, but he was also a backstabber and a sneak, and Seldon couldn’t help but think he had his eye on the top job. Trouble was, Buckingham had political backing – the CIA seemed to love him, and he was Tessa Gorman’s man. In the Firm, that was currency.
And even Seldon had to admit Buckingham had a habit of coming out of shitty situations smelling of roses.
Sitting next to Buckingham were three intelligence officers whose names Seldon couldn’t remember – two male, one female. And a female clerk, taking notes that wouldn’t be made public for another thirty years.
‘I want to know one thing,’ Seldon said, ‘and so will the PM: is this a credible threat?’
‘We take all threats to be credible, Sir Colin,’ Bixby said mildly. He didn’t – couldn’t – move his head as he spoke.
The chief closed his eyes in frustration. ‘For God’s sake, Daniel, it’s been a very long day. Give me a straight answer, would you?’
Bixby inclined his head. ‘What we have is this: a single message on a single internet forum. As you know, internet forums are a very popular medium for extremists to propagate messages. The message can be downloaded to a thumb drive, given to a courier, taken halfway across the world, encrypted and then posted from any internet-enabled computer. Even if GCHQ manage to establish the IP address of the computer that posted the message, it’s impossible to use that to find the location of the person who actually wrote it in the first place. To make things more difficult for us, we have thousands of people writing aggressive, extremist opinions on these forums, only a tiny fraction of whom will ever get close to providing a serious threat to our national security. So when it comes to internet forums, the challenge lies in separating the signal from the noise.’
The chief made a rolling hand gesture that said: get on with it.
‘It’s 20 April today,’ the analyst continued. ‘The London Marathon’s in six days. Before major events such as this, there’s always a spike in terrorist chatter. As I said, most of it’s noise rather than signal, and I’d be inclined to dismiss this message as just that, if it weren’t for one thing.’ One of Bixby’s sub-analysts handed Seldon a piece of paper. ‘This is the message, verbatim.’
The chief read the message. It was brief.
26/04. 74:26-30. Ordered by the Caliph. S/N 2121311.
‘You’ve all seen this?’ the chief asked the room in general. Everyone nodded. ‘And 26/04 is the date of the marathon, right?’
‘Yes, Sir Colin,’ Bixby said.
The chief and the Foreign Secretary exchanged a look. ‘We can’t cancel it,’ said Gorman. ‘The PM won’t have it, it makes us look weak.’
‘Not as weak as a re-run of the Boston Marathon bombings,’ the chief muttered. ‘But of course we’re not going to cancel it on the back of a one-liner on some obscure internet forum.’
‘I must say,’ Hugo Buckingham butted in loudly, ‘that it all looks rather obvious to me.’ He gave the analyst a bland smile. ‘I’d have though our analysts would understand that people aren’t stupid. Surely a real terror suspect would encode their messages in some way?’
‘I agree with Hugo,’ said the Foreign Secretary. She sounded relieved that somebody had seen fit to question the validity of the threat. ‘Messages like this must be two a penny in the lead-up to a major event . . .’
‘I disagree, Sir Colin,’ Bixby said. The Foreign Secretary gave the disabled analyst a dangerous look, but he continued regardless. ‘Encoded messages are much more likely to stand out. I agree that a message like this looks like one of
And even Seldon had to admit Buckingham had a habit of coming out of shitty situations smelling of roses.
Sitting next to Buckingham were three intelligence officers whose names Seldon couldn’t remember – two male, one female. And a female clerk, taking notes that wouldn’t be made public for another thirty years.
‘I want to know one thing,’ Seldon said, ‘and so will the PM: is this a credible threat?’
‘We take all threats to be credible, Sir Colin,’ Bixby said mildly. He didn’t – couldn’t – move his head as he spoke.
The chief closed his eyes in frustration. ‘For God’s sake, Daniel, it’s been a very long day. Give me a straight answer, would you?’
Bixby inclined his head. ‘What we have is this: a single message on a single internet forum. As you know, internet forums are a very popular medium for extremists to propagate messages. The message can be downloaded to a thumb drive, given to a courier, taken halfway across the world, encrypted and then posted from any internet-enabled computer. Even if GCHQ manage to establish the IP address of the computer that posted the message, it’s impossible to use that to find the location of the person who actually wrote it in the first place. To make things more difficult for us, we have thousands of people writing aggressive, extremist opinions on these forums, only a tiny fraction of whom will ever get close to providing a serious threat to our national security. So when it comes to internet forums, the challenge lies in separating the signal from the noise.’
The chief made a rolling hand gesture that said: get on with it.
‘It’s 20 April today,’ the analyst continued. ‘The London Marathon’s in six days. Before major events such as this, there’s always a spike in terrorist chatter. As I said, most of it’s noise rather than signal, and I’d be inclined to dismiss this message as just that, if it weren’t for one thing.’ One of Bixby’s sub-analysts handed Seldon a piece of paper. ‘This is the message, verbatim.’
The chief read the message. It was brief.
26/04. 74:26-30. Ordered by the Caliph. S/N 2121311.
‘You’ve all seen this?’ the chief asked the room in general. Everyone nodded. ‘And 26/04 is the date of the marathon, right?’
‘Yes, Sir Colin,’ Bixby said.
The chief and the Foreign Secretary exchanged a look. ‘We can’t cancel it,’ said Gorman. ‘The PM won’t have it, it makes us look weak.’
‘Not as weak as a re-run of the Boston Marathon bombings,’ the chief muttered. ‘But of course we’re not going to cancel it on the back of a one-liner on some obscure internet forum.’
‘I must say,’ Hugo Buckingham butted in loudly, ‘that it all looks rather obvious to me.’ He gave the analyst a bland smile. ‘I’d have though our analysts would understand that people aren’t stupid. Surely a real terror suspect would encode their messages in some way?’
‘I agree with Hugo,’ said the Foreign Secretary. She sounded relieved that somebody had seen fit to question the validity of the threat. ‘Messages like this must be two a penny in the lead-up to a major event . . .’
‘I disagree, Sir Colin,’ Bixby said. The Foreign Secretary gave the disabled analyst a dangerous look, but he continued regardless. ‘Encoded messages are much more likely to stand out. I agree that a message like this looks like one of
Similar Books
