“Welcome to Liverpool.” As Greg walked past the taxis, John Jackman was waiting for him with his car.
“I don’t think I’ve ever actually been here before.” Greg looked up at the Victorian glass roof of Lime Street station. “Quite elegant, really. I’d need to fill in a mountain of forms to be allowed to drive in to Euston to pick you up in London.”
“You wouldn’t need to. I could get the Underground. I suppose it has a certain...” Jackman paused. “Call it a country charm. As long as you’re not easily bored. Can’t wait to get back to London myself.”
“Well we may have some progress on that.” answered. It felt good to be out of London. And this might actually turn into a real case. “Your client list has at least five terror suspects on it so Eileen – my boss – has authorised us to talk to your friend Fielding. If he’s credible we might be on the way to taking a closer look at Mr Corby.”
“Doctor Corby. As Mister Fielding will instantly point out. With a load of technical double speak to explain why Corby doesn’t deserve it. But I’ll let you sort that out face to face.”
“And you’ve set up the interview room?”
“Yes. I’ve booked a suite in the Hope Street Hotel. We can talk comfortably and the foods good. We can take a break for lunch. Fielding’ll meet us there at eleven.”
“And he’s a reliable witness?” The last thing Greg needed was another flake.
“A bit of an axe to grind. But he knows his stuff. And he’s known Corby since they were students. Corby’s always been dodgy, apparently, so there’s no surprise he’s got himself in trouble at last. And there’s more this end as well. Doctor Corby’s been shopping.”
“What did he buy?”
“He’s after weapons. Guns. On of our sources down in New Ferry where he lives was tapped by a friend of his. Not fussy what type. Te told our man they’d also discussed explosives.”
“So we just pick him up?”
“We don’t think he’s actually got hold of a shooter yet. And quite honestly, if he had one that’s not really the threat he poses.”
Jackman pulled up on a double yellow line and placed a blue ‘Disabled’ sticker in the windscreen. “Saves having to buy tickets at the machine. This is close to the university so Fielding’s walking down. I’ve checked in and occupied the room, so we can go straight up.”
In fact, Adrian Fielding was waiting for them in hotel reception. Impressive, really, better dressed than you would expect for a country boffin. They made their way with him directly to the room.
“Mr Fielding, thanks for joining us today.” Not a northerner, from the accent and maybe someone to do business with. Certainly more interesting and civilised than lurking outside Islamist bookshops for hours at a time. “I appreciate that you’ve already briefed Sergeant Jackman so I am very grateful you could spare the time to go over your evidence again with me. It’s important to make sure that all the details are properly recorded. This could be going to the very top levels of government and it has to be absolutely bomb proof.”
“It’s a pleasure.” Fielding replied. “I only hope that I can help to make the country a safer place. Computing really is the weak spot of our modern society. With every facet of life run by computers it would be disastrous if terrorists were able to take advantage of that to attack us in some way.” Yes! Right on message for Eileen!
“I think that DS Jackman has explained to you that w need to record this interview. He’ll operate the equipment and we start by recording the time, 11:42. Present, Sergeant John Jackman of Merseyside police, Mr Adrian Fielding of the Liverpool City University and myself, Gregory Lyons of the United Kingdom Security Services.
“Sergeant Jackman tells me that you’ve known the suspect – Steven Corby – since you were students?”
“Yes. He and I shared lectures as undergrads from second year onward. Generally we took similar courses. Even then he tended to be a loner. Missed lectures and tutorials, late handing in assignments, few friends and didn’t mix readily with the other students.”
“You were friendly with him, though? Knew him well?”
“Nobody was friendly with Steven Corby. He had no social life. I don’t think anyone really knew him.”
“And the quality of his work? Was he a good student?”
“That’s more difficult to say than you might expect. As I say, he tended to hand assignments in late and he was always in trouble for sloppy preparation. I would say he did the minimum required to meet the course requirements.
“So was it a surprise when he went on to do postgraduate work?”
“Absolutely.” Fielding frowned. “Most people thought he was a borderline pass. On one course, I met him the day before the exam and asked him how he thought he would do. Seeing that he’d attended almost no lectures, I wasn’t surprised when he said he was worried. He told me he didn’t have a copy of the course text. He’d tried to borrow one from the library but theirs were all out on loan.
“I’d finished my revision so I lent him mine. When the results came out he’d scored a first. Highest in the year for that topic. Even better than my mark.”
“So he’s clever?”
“I can’t say he isn’t. But it could be more sinister. If he had access to the paper in advance, he might have used that book in a very different way. Looking back, maybe he was always outside the rules.”
“And as a postgraduate?”
“He kept himself to himself, as always. Did some work on neural networks for his PhD. The application of parallel processing to pattern recognition. I didn’t bother to read his thesis but it was a collaboration with a research project in North Africa. Funded in part by the then government of Libya. I guess that was when he started to become involved with radical Arab factions.”
“He travelled to Libya? Did he say what he did there?”
“He was very cagey about that. I know he went during term time and stayed there into the vacation.”
“Oh yes.” This was starting to look quite promising. “You could check the stamps in his passport.”
“Better than that. Since 9/11, we’ve been recording entries and exits through UK airports, so we can get chapter and verse on that.”
“Then, once he had his PhD, he began accumulating obsolete computing equipment. Everyone wondered what he was up to. There were all sorts of theories and he set up a security system that logged everyone entering or leaving the Intelligent Systems office building. That certainly raised eyebrows. Now, of course, we all know he was developing some sort of virus attack.”
“And he was working on this alone?” Greg made a note. This was a crucial point.
“No-one in Liverpool was involved. But we know some of the work he published was co-authored with his Arab collaborators. He was applying for permission to release his programs into the university but, thank God, he was stopped and his computers were confiscated. My guess is he then made a desperate attempt to do it anyway and it went off half cocked.”
“How do you know he couldn’t have done this on his own?” Greg needed to be able to reassure Eileen Griffin that the conspiracy angle would stand up.
“Even a simple hacker attack takes months of effort. Steven Corby told people a Artificial Intelligence system was writing his programs for him. And his grant applications. Computers just aren’t that sophisticated yet. You write a program and it generates a result. The sorts of things he was claiming are just science fiction at the moment – especially when you think of the obsolete computers he claims he was using. He clearly had help he wasn’t going to admit to and where else could it have come from?”
That sounded plausible. There was obviously no love lost between Fielding and Corby but Fielding was an expert and if he said Corby would have needed help... “But he wasn’t successful?”
“We were lucky. He reckoned without the human factor. He never allowed for the fact that his computers would be scrapped and then someone would reply to his e-mail. That reply was the clue that showed up the attack. The virus itself was deleted from the university network. But we managed to get hold of a copy of the macro he’d used to do the initial installation, using a false identity. A smoking gun that linked him to it.”
Not conclusive. But a qualified, expert opinion. Enough, surely, to justify at least a direct check. “So, in your professional opinion, was he engaged either directly or indirectly in terrorist activities? Think carefully, Mr Fielding. Your answer here is of critical importance.”
“Directly. Yes. Definitely directly.”
When Fielding had gone, they went down to lunch in the hotel restaurant. Greg turned to Jackman. “I see what you mean. And you say the Crown Prosecutor won’t act?”
The reply was unprintable, ending in “lawyers!”
“And aside from that?” Greg laughed. “Seriously, though, what’s stopping you from getting more evidence?”
“Everything. We haven’t got access to the files on his Islamists. Or the lawyer’s clients. The surveillance comes up with trying to buy a firearm – enough for a slap on the wrist. The university case hangs on a legalistic thread and in the meantime, this guy is walking the streets, free as the wind. You’ve got to help me. There’s no telling what he’ll do next. Not everything in England happens in London you know.”
“I know. But your Doctor Corby could be quite harmless.”
“But he’s not. Or at least, we don’t know he’s harmless. Not every threat to security involves explosives. You should know that in your job. This is a global village, you know. What if he got his virus directly onto the Internet and it was to disrupt the Bank of England? Or the New York Stock Exchange? What would you say to your bosses then? ‘Oh yes. It was in Liverpool, so we thought it didn’t matter’? How would that sound?”
That was a real risk. And the food in Liverpool – The London Carriage Works restaurant, at any rate – deserved another visit. Specially if the alternative was another shift eating stale ham sandwiches in the back of a BT van outside the mosque in Finsbury Park.
“Ok. I’ll talk to Eileen. See if we can clip his wings a bit. It’s worth a try. I can’t promise anything, mind. But I’ll give it a go. Best shot and all that.”
“Thanks, Greg. You’re a mate.”
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