Chapter 12
Jo had just walked through the door of her home when her mobile began to trill.
‘Declan,’ she greeted the voice on the other end of the line, almost pleased to hear from the night news editor, he was becoming as much of an evening ritual as brushing her teeth.
‘Thought you should know, one of the children with whooping cough is reportedly in a coma and on life support. Just wondered if this is going to affect the copy I’m supposed to be getting from you tonight.’
‘A child is in a coma?’ she repeated, ‘Jesus. Yes, I’d say that pretty well affects everything.’
‘I’ll get Jeff to call you, shall I?’ Declan offered. ‘He’s phoning me back in five anyway.’
‘Right, OK, I’ll talk it through with him. How old is this child?’
‘Eight.’
‘Eight and… he? She?’
‘She.’
‘She’s just got whooping cough, no other complications?’ Jo asked.
‘It’s coming in on the PA newswire. No further info at the moment.’
‘Which hospital is she in?’
‘Northampton, I think. We’re sending someone there tonight to keep us up to speed, try to speak to the family and all that.’
‘OK.’ Oh God… writing a piece about the possible dangers of Quintet when someone’s child was possibly going to die of a disease that the vaccination supposedly prevented was possibly going to be too difficult.
‘The techies are at your desk again,’ Declan added. ‘Two of them this time, been there all evening. Occasionally I go over and ask how they’re getting on, but they’re saying they’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘Really?’
‘Has your computer broken down?’ Declan asked.
‘No, it’s just running really slowly. This is the first time I’ve asked them to come up and look at it, though.’
‘But… I’ve seen the tech department at your desk before. They’ve been in a few times over the last couple of months.’
‘No, Declan, this is the first time I’ve asked them to look at it—’ Jo suddenly thought about the unfinished bag of peanuts in her desk drawer that had attracted the rat. What if someone had been there – at her desk, tampering with her computer?
‘Jo, are you sure?’ Declan asked. ‘Because if no one’s been asked to check out your computer, then who was—?’
‘That’s just what I’m thinking,’ Jo broke in. ‘Why don’t you let me speak to the people who are there now?’
‘OK.’ There was the click of one receiver going down and a silent pause before a new voice picked up.
‘Ms Randall,’ came the voice at the other end.
‘Hello, I’m Manzour Khan, we’re running through some checks, but it looks like your computer’s been set up to spy on you.
’ He waited a moment to let the implication of this settle on her.
‘My colleague and I,’ Manzour went on, ‘think a program has been installed that forwards copies of your email and possibly other files on to another address.’
‘What?!’ she asked, trying to make sense of this.
‘My computer is spying on me? But who—and where would it send—oh my God.’ She suddenly realised what this meant.
Someone was spying on her. Someone who could send technicians to her desk and do this properly.
Was she at risk? Were her children at risk? What was going on?
‘Well, we don’t know that yet. It’s all passworded up, very clever.
Quite interesting, really.’ Manzour sounded caught up in the technicalities.
It didn’t seem to have registered with him yet what this really meant: that either a member of his department was happy to take on extra-curricular spying activity, or someone was coming in and out of the newsroom to her computer on a faked id.
Someone badly wanted to know what she was up to.
Whatever explanation emerged, whichever way you looked at it, it couldn’t be good.
Manzour added: ‘You’ll have to come to our department tomorrow and help us make a full report about it. Have you got a computer at home?’
‘Yes, a laptop,’ she answered.
‘Well, we’ll have to check that out, too, mate. It’s quite possible that whatever this is on your work computer, it’s got copied onto your home one.’
‘Oh my god,’ Jo exclaimed, beginning to feel properly shocked. ‘How long do you think it’s been going on for?’ Manzour asked.
‘The computer’s been slow for… months.’ Now when she thought about it, how stupid she’d been. ‘And Declan says someone’s been coming down from your department to look at it, although this is the first time I’ve put in a request.’
‘We’ll look into that, see what’s on the logs,’ Manzour replied.
‘Good, because I really need to know what’s going on.’
Her house phone began to ring. She told Manzour that she had to go but gave him her mobile number so he could keep in touch.
‘Jo Randall,’ she answered her other phone.
It was Jeff.
‘We can’t run your piece this week,’ he began. ‘This girl might be dead by Sunday. We can’t be critical of the vaccination now; we’d be accused of reckless irresponsibility. We’d be child-killers.’
He wasn’t wasting any time putting his side of the argument.
‘Look, Jeff, it’s Thursday night,’ Jo reminded him. ‘No need to rush this decision. I don’t think we should just do like the government wants and ignore the issue. They know a very small category of children shouldn’t have this injection and they need to make that public.’
‘Well, we might just have to sit on this for a week or so. As you know, timing is everything.’
‘It’s always a mistake to sit on anything!’ she said, realising how petulant she sounded.
‘Oh, come on, Jo. You know it’s not. Reporters can never bear to wait for stories to come out. But the Mail won’t run the story about those twins they pinched from you tomorrow. I’m willing to bet my pension on that.’
‘Don’t talk about pensions,’ Jo sighed. ‘I think I just kissed my share of a juicy one away tonight.’
‘So, all did not go well with the doctor?’
‘No, not really. Tonight I surpassed myself… I smacked the doctor,’ she confessed.
When this met with a stunned pause, Jo quickly jumped in to justify herself: ‘Reasons, Jeff.’
‘I’m sure. But be careful, Jo. Lawyers are involved. You don’t want things to get nasty.’
It was Jo’s turn to fall silent.
Then she remembered to ask, ‘Did Declan tell you about my computer?’
‘Yeah, I’m pretty concerned about that. I’ll talk to Spikey in the morning and make sure it’s investigated as a top priority.’
‘Yup.’
‘We have to keep your work secure and you safe,’ he added.
‘Oh, thanks,’ she answered. ‘Very reassuring. So, should I get bulletproof glass for my car like Vincey, then?’
‘Bulletproof glass!’ Jeff laughed. ‘I don’t think they do that for family hatchbacks. But Jo, we’ll make this a top priority. We’ll find out what it’s about.’
‘Yeah… I am a bit worried,’ she added. But honestly, that was an understatement.
This was horrible. Every journalist expected some hassle but industrial espionage and feeling unsafe…
she had not signed up for that. But… her reporter brain was also thinking – I’ve really rattled someone.
There’s a story here. ‘So, what are we going to do about the story?’ she asked.
‘I’m not sure yet.’
‘Can’t wait too long,’ Jo reminded him. ‘It’s Friday tomorrow.’
‘No, I know that. But don’t bother writing up the Canadian stuff yet. Get to bed early, sleep on it, we’ll brainstorm in the morning, see how this girl on life support is getting on, see what line the other papers are taking.’
‘Fine, see you tomorrow.’
‘Likewise. Goodnight, Jo.’
‘Goodnight.’ She stayed on the line to hear the click of Jeff hanging up, appreciating how much calmer she felt now that she’d spoken to him, and then she dialled the number of the friend who knew a lot more than she did about computers, viruses and internet espionage.
‘Hello?’ Bella said on picking up.
‘Hello, you, it’s Jo. Are you still up?’
‘Of course I’m still up, it’s not even 9.30 yet, what kind of a wuss do you think I am?’
‘That’s my girl. How’s work and everything?’
‘Everything’s good. And with you?’
‘Well, I’ve had better days: my exclusive for the week has gone tits up, I slapped Simon, oh, and my work computer is being bugged.’
‘Your work computer’s bugged?!’ Jo loved her friend for immediately homing in on the most important thing.
‘Simon deserved a slap,’ Bella added. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t done it before now.’
‘Yeah,’ Jo agreed, ‘that’s what I was thinking.’
‘Just maybe don’t do it again, because lawyers, divorce etc etc. Now, tell me about the computer.’
‘It’s been slow for weeks, so finally I get the tech department in to take a look at it and they say my email’s being forwarded somewhere else and, basically, I’m being spied on.’ Jo was surprised to feel a lump press up in her throat as she said this. ‘And that’s quite scary really.’
‘Bloody hell,’ was Bella’s reply. ‘But look, don’t feel too paranoid.
It happens a lot. For a cheap day rate, you can hire out a technical assistant to do the work and if you’ve got access to someone’s computer, bingo.
Try not to get too freaked out, there’s some poor noddy sitting in an office somewhere in Bombay, probably, who has a mountain of your spam to sort through for whatever it is he’s after.
He’s only getting paid a few quid, so he probably won’t look properly and may never find it anyway. But you know what?’ Bella asked.
‘What?’
‘I’m quite impressed. You must have rattled somebody’s cage. For a change,’ she couldn’t help adding. ‘Am I allowed to tell Don? Or shall I get it leaked to Media Guardian?’
‘Tell me what?’ Jo could hear Bella’s husband asking in the background.
‘Oh, thanks, I’m so reassured,’ Jo said huffily.
‘No, honestly, keep me up to speed with what your techies are going to do and if I can think of anything better, I’ll let you know… Any chance it’s anything to do with the company… you know the one?’
It struck Jo as slightly strange that Bella didn’t say the name out loud on the phone.
‘Why aren’t you saying who?’ she asked.