She’d worked with Steve several times before, turning to him when she needed something non-specialised from the surveillance division, and as the car rolled towards Shoreditch high street she reflected on how much he and Brigitte Sharp had in common, now that she thought about it. Both began as self-taught hackers running afoul of the law, and both seemed to operate on a combination of equal parts instinct and logic that marked them out from their colleagues in the computer divisions.
Andrea realised with surprise that the main difference between them was to be found in her own reactions. In Brigitte she found those qualities maddening, but in Steve she found them reassuring. No doubt Joan would have a field day with that, but gender aside, perhaps the difference in their ambitions was also a factor. Despite her protests, Brigitte obviously wanted to be a field officer. By contrast, Steve was never happier than when sitting behind a keyboard. He was only with Andrea now because, when she’d looked into the Shoreditch offices to which she’d followed the young man from the pub two nights ago, her guess had been proven right. The third floor did indeed belong to a tech startup, a relatively new outfit called ‘SignalAir’. They were something to do with wifi technology, a subject way over her head, so she wanted someone there as a bullshit sniffer. And while the security service still employed some technical specialists, these days the best and brightest geeks were generally found at GCHQ.
“When did you call them?” Steve asked.
“Yesterday afternoon. Said I was from ‘Hackney Modern Business Bureau’, that we advocate on behalf of local businesses, and we’re always recruiting for new members.”
“Is that real?”
“The bureau? Oh, yes,” said Andrea. “But only as a shell company with a PO box address, and some planted online puff pieces, thanks to some of your lot. It comes in handy from time to time.” She produced a business card from her handbag: Andrea Thomas, Outreach Manager, Hackney Modern Business Bureau.
Steve smiled. “Do I get a card?”
“No,” said Andrea, replacing it in her bag, “you’re just the boffin. If he asks, tell him I pulled you out of the IT department so you could talk shop.”
“Not far from the truth, then.”
“Exactly the point. The closer you stay to the truth, the easier it is to lie your socks off without giving anything away.”
“So the cover is that we’re approaching now because they’re a new business?”
“Incorporated four months ago. I told him we normally wait three months before contacting firms, just to make sure they’re going to stick around.”
“Him? Male secretary?”
“Not sure they have one. Startups are often just two guys doing everything themselves, right? The chap I spoke to was Nigel Marsh, one of the directors.”
“And he agreed to see you right away. Does that strike you as odd? Is it possible he knows it was you that followed him?”
“Not a chance. We didn’t speak directly in the pub, he didn’t see me tailing him, and yesterday I was just a voice on the phone. But a visit from a local business org is an opportunity for him to look legit, so I’m not surprised he jumped at it.”
“Or maybe he really is legit. You said you don’t have anything conclusive. It could all be coincidence and mistaken identity.”
Andrea nodded. “Sure, it could. But Giles Finlay and I both got the same vibe. There’s more to this than meets the eye.”
The cab dropped them off near the startup’s corner entrance. While Andrea paid, Steve quickly looked around the street, glancing up at building corners, lamp posts, above road signs. “Plenty of cameras,” he said. “Anything dodgy going on here, not much chance we’d miss it.”
Andrea leaned past him and pressed the top button of an intercom buzzer next to the entrance keycard reader. “It’s inside I’m worried about, not the street.”
“Hello, SignalAir.”
“Oh, hi there. It’s Andrea Thomas, from the Bureau. I spoke to Nigel yesterday.”
“Sure, sure. Third floor, yeah?”
The door made a buzzing noise, accompanied by the sound of heavy locks disengaging. Andrea pushed it open and they entered the lobby. Just as before, it was cold and spartan. No desk, no receptionist, not even a sofa. A single dragon plant stood in the corner, next to the fire escape stair entrance, simultaneously in need of water and yet threatening to outgrow its pot.
The elevator was steel and glass, like the lobby. It arrived unbidden, sent by whomever had answered the intercom. They stepped inside, and Steve pushed the button for the top floor. “What’s on the first two floors?” he asked.
Andrea shrugged. “More tech businesses, but they’re older and unconnected, as far as I can tell.”
The doors opened onto a spartan corridor of whitewashed brick and harsh lighting, with two doors; the fire escape stairs, and a code-locked entrance to SignalAir, complete with company logo ‘plaque’ made from an inkjet printout. The door opened, and the young bearded man Andrea had followed two nights before greeted them with a smile, extending his hand.
“Hi, I’m Nigel.”
As they shook hands, Andrea looked for any trace that the young man might recognise her, but saw nothing. “Andrea Thomas, and this is my colleague Steve. He’s the technical one,” she smiled.
“Right on, brother,” said Nigel. “Come in, come in.”
The office was open plan, with whitewashed brick surfaces, a concrete floor, wall-mounted wiring, and exposed ducting in the rafters. The bare minimum necessary to make a functioning office, thought Andrea, which was typical of tech startups. The business itself seemed to follow a similar ethos, with five desks arranged in a quarter of the room, and only two that looked to be in use. The
