And she understood viruses as well.
But there were loads of other security threats.
DoS attacks were related to DDoS, and then there were trojans, worms, spyware and a whole load more whose names and functions she had already forgotten.
Hacker attacks had been going on for years, but according to Micke they had become much more intensified. Most companies were worried about viruses and other hostile attacks that could affect their day to day activities. But what really scared them, and what made them turn to Sentry for help, was the risk that outsiders might gain access to their customer details: dates of birth, credit and debit card numbers, medical records, insurance history, purchasing patterns, criminal records, bank account information. The list of information hidden away in supposedly secure databases was practically infinite. And if any outsider got hold of that information, the company or official body in question would suffer a massive loss of public confidence.
One large bank had already lost several hundred thousand credit and debit card numbers, and a gambling site had thrown in plenty of other details, including email addresses and IMS IDs.
Installations like the Fortress were supposed to be the solution to problems like that. All information stored in one place, protected by the very latest technology and guarded round the clock by thirty experts in IT security. What company or official body could offer anything like that?
She heard a door close further along the corridor and shortly afterwards she saw Thomas marching along the corridor with Kjellgren at his heels.
Thomas didnt look happy.
Ill be in touch! – Not fucking even!
He already knew who the Source was, and even where he was hiding.
And there he was, thinking hed seen a ghost and was going mad. But the pieces of the puzzle were starting to fall into place.
There was only one person who fitted that description, both physically and in terms of what he knew. The server king, the computer genius, the crazy backwoodsman, the outcast – the man, the myth, the legend:
Fucking Erman himself!
So he had survived the blaze in the outback. Managed to get himself a new identity, and then gradually returned to civilization while he finessed his plan. First finding a new hiding place, and then setting about gathering information.
Two years was a long time. Erman may have been pretty soft-boiled when they met, but there was no doubt that the guy was smart. Something of an IT genius, at least according to his own testimony. And once Erman had got himself and his head sorted, and got back in front of a keyboard, there was probably no end to the stuff he could dig out. Tasks that had been carried out, players who had failed …
Shit, HP had actually given the bloke the idea of wiping out the server farm because of what hed managed to do out in Kista.
And PayTags Fortress was obviously a hundred times bigger. The new, improved Death Star …
The Source said youd done stuff like this before. That youre some sort of expert …
Ha!
The evidence was watertight.
Erman was the Source!
Or rather, the new, improved version of Erman was.
Slimmer, clean-shaven, short-haired, and with less of an allergy to electricity than the last version. Those idiots at the vets seemed to think he was still working for the Game. Maybe that was part of his plan to seem credible. The truth about his real background, the nervous breakdown and the time he had spent holed up in the woods were hardly likely to inspire confidence. Better to pretend he was still part of the Game.
Now it was just a matter of finding the bastards hiding place, and he had a feeling hed already solved that one. It was actually ridiculously simple. After all, the bloke had said it himself out there in his cottage when he was banging on about the Game. The best hiding place was where no-one would ever think of looking.
What was the most visible place in Stockholm, the most talked about, the most over-populated?
Slussen, of course. And what was right in the middle of Slussen, surrounded by glass and granite walls in an effort to make it fit in with its surroundings?
A lift.
An innocent fucking lift for taking wheelchairs, prams and walking frames half a floor down to the City Museum.
He couldnt understand why he hadnt noticed it the first time he checked inside the lift, but now in hindsight it was crystal clear.
Hed probably been too tired, and his brain too screwed up to take in all the details.
There were four buttons on the panel inside the lift, but only two of them had floors marked next to them.
Södermalmstorg for street level, and the entrance to the City Museum one floor below.
The other two buttons didnt light up when you pressed them, which had made him think they were disconnected. Stupid, but on the other hand he hadnt been firing on all cylinders at the time.
But now that he was able to inspect the lift calmly, he noticed something else. Beside the panel of buttons there was a little card-reader. And you used card-readers to limit access – access to door, gates, entrances, and what else, if there was a card-reader in the lift, Einstein?
Other floors, obviously!
So Erman 2.0 hadnt just vanished, hed simply used his card, woken up the dead buttons and carried on down into the ground to a floor that wasnt signposted in the lift. A secret level, to which a technical genius could surely gain access pretty easily. A dead man hiding in a place that didnt exist …
You had to take your hat off to him …
All he had to do now was wait for Erman 2.0 to show up at Slussen again, and arrange to have a little chat with him. Pump the bastard for everything he knew about the Game and Sammer, how far theyd managed to drag Becca into it, and then think of a way to get her out.
Get them both out.
Once and for all.
But first he had to make a few preparations …
He saw the cop car the moment he turned the corner into his street.
An ordinary Volkswagen minibus with a ladder on the roof, nothing remarkable at all. If it hadnt been for the stubby little aerial …
A bloke in a fleece, cargo pants, boots and a tiny, scarcely visible earpiece was standing there talking to the driver through the window.
HP turned on his heel and went back the way he had come. He had to fight hard not to break into a run.
Hi, she said, standing up.
Thomas didnt return the greeting.
Is Mr Black in there? He pointed to the door.
Yes, but …
He pushed past her and knocked. Without waiting for an answer he strode into the room and shut the door behind him.
What the hell was that about? she asked Kjellgren.
Hes really pissed off. The police gave him a serious going over …
Hardly surprising, is it … ?
She smiled but Kjellgren seemed to be avoiding her gaze.
Then the door opened again.
Can you come in? Thomas said to her abruptly.
Sure …
Black and Ice Queen were sitting on the same side of the conference table. She nodded to them but neither acknowledged the greeting. Nor did they ask her to sit down.
Miss Normén, we wont be needing your services any more, Black said bluntly.
Sorry?
Youre fired, the Ice Queen added. Kjellgren will be taking over your job from now on. Youre to take his car back to Stockholm and empty your office. At 17.00 hours today your passcard will stop working, so I suggest you set off at once.
B-but, I dont understand? Is this because of the Grand Hotel?
Rebecca glanced quickly at Thomas, then back at Black.
His face was impassive.
You fired into the air, Thomas growled. Instead of taking action against the attacker, you intentionally caused confusion to stop me neutralizing him. At first we couldnt understand your actions, but recent information has made the whole thing abundantly clear.
Rebecca was having trouble understanding what she was hearing. Were they seriously trying to suggest that she had done something wrong? That she was trying to protect …
Henrik Pettersson, Thomas said. Thats the attackers name. And apart from being a suspected terrorist, he also happens to be your younger brother, doesnt he?
15
Double play
The needle of the speedometer had hardly slipped below a hundred for the past hour.
We wont be needing your services any more …
The bastards had fired her!
After all she had done, all the hundreds of hours she had devoted to getting the business set up. Putting together strategies, writing manuals, recruiting the right staff – not to mention all the sleepless nights.
None of that seemed to count for anything.
Had it been any other employer she would already have called the union . Fighting fire with fire.
But who was she supposed to call now?
She was on leave of absence, after all, and hadnt bothered switching union . The police union would hardly help someone employed by a private company. Which left getting hold of a good lawyer.
But what good would that do? She could hardly force them to give her the job back, and even if that succeeded, she had no desire to stay there and work for someone like Thomas.
Hed sold her down the river, that was obvious. Let her take the hit for his own stupid behaviour.
The idea that the man in the camouflage jacket could have been Henke was clearly utterly ridiculous.
Someone must have told Thomas about Henke, before or after he was interviewed by the police.
Maybe theyd even shown him a photograph? All Thomas had to say was yes, that was him, and it was all sorted.
Henke was already under investigation for terrorist activities, and if Thomas identified him as the attacker, his own actions outside the Grand would look almost praiseworthy.