Cyber Knights 1.1

1

The knock on the office door caused Andy and Tommy to look up from what they’d been doing. After staring at it for a second, each took to regarding the other suspiciously, for no one visited the offices of Century Consultants without an invitation. Most of the other companies in the building didn’t even know who they were, beyond an unpretentious listing on the building’s directory in the foyer.

In contrast to their cautious frowns, Spence quickly tapped the save key and leapt to her feet, beaming as she scurried across the room. After sliding the peephole cover to one side and looking out to confirm it was who she’d been waiting for, she threw the door wide.

“You’re late,” Spence admonished with mock severity as she stepped back and allowed Pamela Dutton to enter the room. “I’ll just be a mo. There’s a program I need to finish going through before I can leave.” As she walked back to her desk, she noticed the looks her colleagues were giving her and Pamela. While Andy’s expression was understandably curious, Tommy’s was vintage Tommy as he ogled the tall blond model who possessed legs that, as Tommy later put it when he and Andy were alone, “went up to her armpits.”

In an effort to push past what was for her an awkward moment, Spence stopped in midstride and waved her hand in Pamela’s direction. “Guys, this is Pam. I met her while working the Milan case.”

Ever the gentleman, Andy immediately rose, stepped out from behind his desk, and greeted Pamela by offering her his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Andy Webb. Spence told me about the adventures the two of you shared in Milan and how you assisted her in bringing that case to a successful conclusion. Might I add my thanks for your help, Miss…?”

Pamela graced Andy an unaffected cover-girl smile as she lightly placed her hand in his. “Dutton, Pamela Dutton. Rest assured, the pleasure was all mine. It was a real joy to see a professional like Karen at work up close.”

Upon hearing the name Dutton, Andy hesitated as his mind ran through a long list of past acquaintances in an effort to recall where he’d heard that name before.

Before he was able to do so, Tommy had managed to remember his manners and close his mouth as he shot up from his seat, sending it flying backward. “Hi, Pam, I’m Tom,” he declared as his hand shot out to the alluring vision before him.

Having been warned of Tommy’s viselike handshakes and his habit of pumping the hand he was holding with all the grace of a trip-hammer, Pamela took care as she accepted his. “A pleasure, Tom,” she cooed mischievously in an effort to see if everything Spence had told her about the stubby little taffy was true.

As Tommy stood before her gobsmacked, Pamela glanced over his shoulder at the pile of components nestled haphazardly on the bed of candy wrappers and Post-it notes. In an instant her cool, well-measured demeanor was replaced by a burst of girlish delight. “Wow! Is that a Geforce GTX 690?” she exclaimed as she pulled her hand free from Tommy’s and stepped around him to get a better look at what he’d been tinkering with. “I’ve so been wanting to upgrade my graphics card. I’ve had one of them on my wish list forever. Is it as good as they say?” she asked as her eyes darted about the circuit boards in a manner that reminded Andy of a little girl who was beholding a hoard of gifts scattered under the tree on Christmas morning.

For a moment Tommy was taken aback by the sudden change of tack in the conversation. Then, as he was recovering his footing, he suddenly realized he had all but died and gone to heaven. “It’s pretty good,” he informed Pamela offhandedly as he did his best to rein in his enthusiasm while ever so carefully sidling up next to her. “I’ll give you that, but to get the best out of it you need to overclock it.” After waiting for her to respond, he tore his eyes off his latest acquisition and up at Pamela. “I take it you know your way around computers.”

“It’s something of a hobby of mine at the moment,” she muttered without ever taking her eyes off the wondrous bits and pieces of computer hardware before her. “I’ve always enjoyed taking them apart and upgrading them myself.”

Tommy laughed. “God, a girl after my own heart! All Spence wants to do is mess around with code. I’ll wager your folks are pleased to have a girl who is interested in something other than the silly stuff that fills most women’s heads these days.”

A small, sad moue appeared on Pamela’s lips as she decided to play along with Tommy’s appalling attempt at flirtation. “There have been times when I expect Daddy would take issue with that.”

“Why?”

“I once tried to upgrade his issue MoD laptop when I was twelve. The thing was a piece of junk. I knew I could improve its performance. Unfortunately, that little prank earned me a right proper what-for I didn’t soon forget.”

Her comment drew a startled look from Andy, who until that moment had been watching Tommy’s antics with amusement. “Your father’s in the military?”

“Yes, the army. He’s a member of the Black Mafia and, like all members of The Rifles, both current and former, is mightily proud of it.”

“Greg Dutton? Your father is Greg Dutton?”

Andy’s smile became slightly wooden as Pamela happily nodded her head, her bouncing ponytail catching Tommy’s attention and keeping him firmly distracted.

“And he knew what you and Spence were doing in Milan?”

“Yes, of course he did,” Pamela exclaimed mischievously. “When I told him how Spence and I played it, he couldn’t keep from laughing. He thought it was hilarious.”

“Does he know Spence works here, for me?” Andy asked hesitantly, half hoping, half fearing, the answer.

Pamela’s laughter was all he needed. “God yes! That’s mainly why he thought it hilarious.”

By now Spence had finished shutting down her laptop, tidying her desk, rinsing out her coffee mug, and collecting the outbound mail from Andy’s desk. “Right! Ready to go?” she asked when she was finally able to turn her attention back to Pamela.

Pamela offered a smile to Andy and Tommy as she hoisted her own bag back up onto the shoulder it had slid off. “It’s been a real pleasure meeting you, Tommy,” she cooed while giving him a mischievous little grin before turning toward Andy and offering him her hand. “Daddy did ask me to pass on his regards.” With that, she pivoted about on her heels and, with Spence at her side, made for the exit.

For the longest time Tommy and Andy stood rooted to their respective spots, both staring at the door. Tommy was the first to break the silence. “Think I’ve got a chance?” he asked without taking his eyes from the door.

“No,” Andy snapped abruptly as if waking from a trance.

“And why not?” Tommy shot back, aggrieved by Andy’s blunt, uncompromised response.

“Three reasons,” Andy intoned as he turned his full attention to Tommy before ticking off his justification for wishing to keep him in check. “First off, she’s young enough to be your daughter. Second, she’s the daughter of Major General Dutton, a man who was a hardnosed and uncompromising SOB when he was my CO in Bosnia. I seriously doubt he’s changed much since. Finally, and no less important, I have no desire to tell someone from my own regiment that their pride and joy is carrying on with someone who’s not only a Welshman, but was cavalry to boot.”

Taking Andy’s comment in stride, and determined to have the last word, Tommy grinned. “Well, nobody’s perfect, mate.”

Having no wish to continue with this exchange, but equally needing to have the last word, Andy grunted as he took to critically regarding Tommy from head to toe. “True, true. All anyone has to do is spend five minutes with you to know that for a fact.”

“God! I am so going to get the third degree in the office tomorrow,” Spence mumbled, shaking her head mournfully as her pizza arrived.

“Yeah, but the look on your boss’s face was priceless. Anyway, how were you to know that Daddy was a general? I never told you.” Pamela snickered, as she still found it impossible to keep from being amused by the way she’d played Spence’s coworkers whilst she toyed with her Caesar salad.

Spence, on the other hand, was anything but amused, going out of her way to point this out to Pamela. “You don’t know Andy. He’s the kind who expects us to know everything about everyone we deal with well in advance. No doubt he’ll hit me with one of his maxims tomorrow, reminding me how time spent in reconnaissance is seldom wasted, or”—she paused, her fork halfway to her lips—“if he’s really annoyed he’ll do it in Latin and snicker while he watches me go online to a Latin-English translation program to see what he just said.”

The ever cheerful model dismissed Spence’s grim thoughts as she chirped brightly. “Stop worrying. We just finished a lingerie shoot. I’ll give you a signed photo from it you can give Tommy tomorrow morning.”

With her slice of pizza halfway to her mouth, Spence stopped as she regarded her friend quizzically. “And how exactly is that supposed to help me deal with Andy?”

“If I’ve pegged Andy right, he’ll forget all about any transgressions you committed against the good order and discipline of Century Consultants as he rounds on Tommy in an effort to impress upon him I’m no-go territory.”

Spence had to laughingly agree until another thought struck her. “Don’t you ever get fed up with the way guys follow you around with their tongues hanging out?”

“You get used to it,” Pamela replied dismissively. “You’ve seen what I look like in grunge cammo. When I’m out and about sans makeup and dressed in trackies and baggy tops, I’m just another face amongst many. The only reason I came dressed as I was today was the shoot I was on was running late. God,” she suddenly added as her entire demeanor darkened. “If that wretched photographer Emmanuel was using today called out, ‘One more shot, darling,’ one more time, he’d be in the hospital right this very minute where a team of proctologists would be doing their all to extract his camera from you know where.”

Then, after taking a bite of her salad, a thought occurred to Pamela, one that caused her to frown as she was chewing. “Naturally, there are some creeps that have a thing for models who aren’t put off by such tactics. Those of us who know better quickly learn to avoid doing anything that might encourage them,” she added.

There followed several moments of silence as the two women turned their attention to their meals before Pamela, wearing a look of concern, put down her fork. “That reminds me. There’s something I’d like to ask you.”

Spence saw the change in her friend’s attitude right off. “Go on.”

“One of the girls at the agency is being stalked online by a real lowlife git, one she can’t seem to shake.”

“Has she reported him to the police?”

“It’s not like he’s following her or has confronted her face to face, at least not yet. But if what Eva is saying is true, which I have no reason not to believe, this one has been proving to be particularly persistent.”

Without having to hear more, Spence knew what her friend was telling her. “I hate cyberstalkers,” she glowered. “As far as I’m concerned, they’re lower than pond scum. They’re the slime under the scum. What’s she done about it?”

“Nothing. That’s the problem. She’s not much more than a kid. Well, she’s eighteen, but seldom acts as if she is.”

“Immature?” Spence ventured.

“Her mother,” Pamela replied bitterly. “That cow tries to control every aspect of the poor girl’s life. She told Eva it was the price of fame. According to that cow, if Eva wanted to be a first-tier model, she’d have to get used to it.”

Spence snorted. “Oh, pushy mom syndrome. I’ve seen that more times than I care to think of. If she’s eighteen she could go to the police herself.”

“Like you said, pushy mom syndrome. I tried to talk to Eva about it, but Mummy dearest insisted she didn’t need the adverse publicity of being dragged through the courts, even if they did catch the slimeball.” Pamela sighed. “It’s a pity. Eva’s such a nice kid. She may not be the brightest bulb in the box, but she’s really sweet. The worst part is she’s taking this to heart. I’ve seen some of the vile stuff he’s sent. It’s enough to turn your stomach.”

“You need to get her to talk to the police. I’ve got a friend in the Met who might be able to help, a Detective Sergeant with the cybercrimes section who hates stalkers as much as I do.”

Pamela nodded before sitting up and motioning to the waiter for the bill. “I’ll try, but don’t hold your breath. If Mummy gets wind of it, she’ll put her foot down. Now,” Pamela chirped as she did her best to change the subject. “Let’s not spoil the evening. Any news on the blog?”

“Oh yes, I almost forgot,” Spence replied as she suddenly set aside all thoughts of Eva and hurried to share the news about their Beauty and the Geek blog. “I received an e-mail today from the editor of a magazine who is interested in picking up our blog.”

“Is it one I might know?”

“I seriously doubt it. It’s called The Lady.”

Pamela stared wide-eyed at Spence. “Shut up!”

“You’ve heard of it?”

Leaning over the table, Pamela looked at Spence in total disbelief. “How long have you lived in England?”

Spence shrugged. “Four, no, five years. Why?”

“And you’ve never heard of The Lady?”

“No, I haven’t. What’s so special about it?”

“Dear girl, you have so got to start watching Downton Abbey.”

“Honey child,” Spence replied in her best Scarlett O’Hara accent as she batted her eyelashes. “I’d rather chew glass.”

“God! You are such a Yank! No wonder we decided to cast your lot out of the Empire.” Pamela giggled, her earlier concerns forgotten. “Now, you promised to show me this monster of an HD screen you got. I hope you’ve got something worth watching to go with it!”

2

As she was reaching over to scoop up another handful of popcorn from a bowl nestled in Spence’s lap, Pamela took a second to look about the only room in Karen Spencer’s flat that did not have a computer in it. “You’ve managed to fix the place up nicely after your late-night visit by the brute squad,” she observed in a soft, lyrical voice that came as naturally to her as the stunning looks that left her in such demand in the fashion world.

Spencer’s response was as different from her friend’s as the image she projected. “It bloody well took me long enough to sort this place out,” she grunted. “If it wasn’t for the fat check from an obscure agency even Andy had never heard of that accompanied the official unofficial, kind-of sort-of apology by Her Majesty’s Government, I’d still be sitting on the floor.”

Like Spencer, Pamela’s father had been military, so she knew how government agencies tended to cover their errors by throwing money at problems even as they were going out of their way to pretend they had done nothing wrong. “I take it all is well and your firm has been accepted back in the fold?” Pamela asked as the two young women sat watching a vintage black-and-white movie starring John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart, and Vera Miles.

“I guess,” Spence replied without much conviction. “Andy made his peace with Eddie Telford, the guy I told you about who hops about various ministries like Doctor Who, solving problems and fighting off the Daleks that run your government.”

“What do you mean your government?” Pamela shot back without taking her eyes off the movie.

“While it may be true I have no choice but to drive on the wrong side of the road these days, I’m still a flag-waving colonial rebel, remember?”

“And they let you root around in Her Majesty’s affairs?” Pamela asked incredulously as she glanced at Spencer out of the corner of her eye.

Spence chuckled. “Andy doesn’t give them a choice. We’re like the Three Musketeers, a package deal. All for one and one for all.”

“Well, you’ve just shot my faith in my government’s judgment all to hell,” Pamela muttered as she slumped further down in the sofa.

When she realized what her friend was implying, Spence reached into the bowl, scooped up a handful of popcorn, and threw it at her friend without looking away from the movie. “That’ll be enough of your sass, Little Miss Muffet,” she muttered. “Now hush and watch the movie. One of my favorite scenes is coming up.”

Karen Spencer didn’t bother to tell her friend why she loved the movie they were watching as much as she did. It was one of those secrets she shared with no one, not even Andy. Jimmy Stewart, who was playing a dedicated but painfully shy lawyer who had gone out west to bring justice to a land ruled by lawless miscreants, reminded her of her father. And Vera Miles, the love interest in the movie, was the way Spence liked to remember her mother, a strong, self-assured woman with a kind heart.

Pamela watched spellbound. She had rarely seen any old black-and-white movies and, when Spence had told her about her choice for that night, hadn’t been sure what to expect. So she wasn’t quite prepared to be as drawn into the movie they were watching as completely and utterly as she had. With rapt fascination, she watched the drama play out. It was during the scene where Lee Marvin, a lowlife hired gun, was bullying Jimmy Stewart that a thought occurred to her.

“Why can’t we do that?”

“Do what? Beat up lawyers?” Spence asked playfully.

“No, you twit. Take out the bad guy.”

“What bad guy?”

“The slimeball who’s stalking Eva, of course,” Pamela replied as she sat up straight and stared excitedly at her friend.

“I thought you were going to talk her into going to the police?”

“Yeah, I know. But wouldn’t it be great if we could do it? You said yourself that friend of yours is overstretched. We could sort of help out.”

Spence couldn’t remember saying anything of the sort as Pamela plowed on with growing enthusiasm. “What if the git is overseas or something? It’s the Internet. He could be someplace where they don’t have indoor plumbing, let alone prosecute someone for sending foul and abusive e-mails and messages.”

“We really oughtn’t take the law into our own hands, Pam.”

Pamela grinned mischievously as she did her best to affect a John Wayne drawl that did not mesh at all well with her distinctive British accent. “There don’t seem to be much law south of the Picket Wire, pilgrim.” After they both enjoyed a good laugh over this, Pamela gave Spence’s arm a tug. “Come on, it’d give us something to write about in the blog. The Lady would love it!”

Spence took a long, hard look at her friend before answering. “Give me a call tomorrow,” she finally muttered halfheartedly. “I need to check a few things.”

“Brilliant! Now that we’ve got that little problem sorted for the moment, we can enjoy the rest of the movie.” Satisfied with herself, Pamela flopped back on the sofa as she grabbed another handful of popcorn. “Rewind it, would you?” she asked innocently. “I want to see that last part again.”

The next day was a busy one for Pamela. Between a commercial shoot in the morning, a session in the gym, and fittings for the forthcoming Emmanuel Zspartov collection for the rest of the day, it was six o’clock by the time she got home to her flat. After turning on the kettle, she grabbed her phone and hit Spence’s number on the speed dial with anticipation. “Hi, Spence. Just got in. Well?”

There was a long pause as Spence, who’d been in the middle of deciphering a program, frowned at being interrupted. “Well what?”

Pamela couldn’t help but grin as she wondered if her friend was toying with her by keeping her on tenterhooks as a means of revenge for the previous night, or if she had forgotten their exchange.

“You know very well what!” Pamela snapped back to be rewarded by Spence’s laughter.

“Like I said, I asked around and did some research.”

As she listened, Pamela fumbled the phone behind her ear as she started to make herself a cup of tea. Knowing Spence, and suspecting this could take some time, Pamela prepared to settle in and enjoy her tea while her friend engaged in a full-blown explanation that covered all sorts of technical minutiae. She was therefore quite surprised when Spence cut straight to the chase.

“We can do it,” Spence chortled. “And best of all, it’s completely legal.”

After waiting near a full minute for her friend to go on, Pamela realized Spence was definitely messing her about. “So, are you going to tell me how, or do I have to rush round to your place and beat it out of you?”

“Hmm, and here I thought you were switched on,” Spence snorted dismissively, launching into an explanation before Pamela could come up with an appropriate response. “We’re going to set up a honey trap, sort of like we did in Milan. Only this time we’re going to use Eva as the bait.”

An hour later the two young women were hunched in front of Spence’s laptop as she outlined her plan to her coconspirator. “I got the idea from a real-life case that happened a few years ago. This slimebag is fixated on Eva, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Pamela nodded.

“So, we set up a blog for her that allows people to respond to it. Everyone will naturally think it’s no different from any other personal blogging site. But this one will be. The special bit is that we include a private area with lots of her photos available so prospective clients can see if she’s a good fit for their project.”

“Tracy already does that for us. You’ve seen it.”

“Tracy doesn’t monitor every IP address that logs on to the site,” Spence explained. “Nor does she serve up super cookies that are pretty much impossible to delete, the kind that are able to tell her every site people visit before coming back to hers.”

Pamela frowned. “Are you sure this is legal?”

“Of course I am. In order to enter the site and gain access to the private photo area we’ll be setting up, visitors will have to accept cookies associated with it, acknowledging their acquiescence by clicking a tick box accompanied by lots of terms and conditions in the small print. It’s something just about every big website does these days.”

Pamela still found she was a little uncomfortable with the idea, despite Spence’s assurances. “How long will it take us to set this all up?”

“Not long. I’ve already done my bit. Evasmodelblog.com is ready to go. Now all you have to do is get Eva, her mother, and Tracy to play along. After that, we’ll need her to write the blog and of course, provide me with the photos they wish to have posted.” Having finished and quite satisfied with her own plan, Spence grinned as she waited for her friend to respond.

When she realized she’d drawn the short straw, Pamela rolled her eyes. “Is that all?” she muttered. “Why did I open my big mouth?” she sighed under her breath.

“Because you’re a good friend,” Spence chirped brightly.

“The least you can do is help me pitch this to Eva and her maternal slave driver,” Pamela grumbled.

“Oh, I suppose I could, provided you say the magic word.”

With a grunt, Pamela set aside the dread she felt over what she suspected was going to be a contentious row. Instead, she replied to Spence by flashing her a hand gesture used universally to express displeasure. “Meet me at the London Eye this Friday. There’s a charity event that Eva and I are both involved in.”

“I take it Mummy dearest will be there as well.”

Pamela snorted in a most unladylike manner. “Oh, rest assured, dear girl, you can put money on that.”

“I’ll be there, unless Andy decides to drag us all off somewhere, or Ed Telford needs us to fight off a fresh incursion of Daleks.”

3

Despite the spring sunshine, a chilly breeze sweeping up the Thames made Spence glad of her coat as she waited in the event organizer’s tent that nestled in the shadow of the London Eye. She watched with unfettered amusement as Pamela and the other models rushed in and out as they changed from one flimsy summer outfit to another, swearing and complaining bitterly as they did. Whilst the designers and photographers thought the playful afternoon breeze that fluttered and displayed the light fabrics was wonderful, the girls’ view was decidedly less enthusiastic as they huddled around a single space heater for as long as they could between sets.

Spence was far from alone. Among the straphangers who were drawn to such events, a woman who’d been pointed out to her as Eva Mumford’s mother hovered vigilantly in a corner of the large tent, rushing outside whenever Eva was called forth. Spence could not help but miss the self-satisfied gleam the woman had in her eye each time she returned with her daughter in tow. That all changed the moment Tracy Ireland appeared at the entrance. In a heartbeat, Mrs. Mumford made straight for the modeling agency’s chief executive, leaving her daughter on her own huddled like the others around the heater and clutching a Styrofoam cup of tea as she struggled to warm herself up.

Spence came to her feet when she saw Pamela duck back inside and head toward her, eyeing the thermos and shawl Spence was holding at the ready.

“Dear God, it’s cold out there,” Pamela exclaimed as Spence wrapped the shawl around her friend’s bare shoulders. “I swear that artistic director is a complete and utter sadist.” She smiled her gratitude as Spence neatly poured her some hot tea and handed it across. “I see Eva’s guardian dragon has flown off to pester Tracy,” she added as she took the cup from Spence, holding it under her chin a second as she savored the warmth rising up from it.

Spence grunted. “That woman is the type who gives stage moms a bad name. She could be the star of her own reality show, Obnoxious Mums of the West End.”

“Damn, why couldn’t the cow have waited until I’d warmed up?” Pamela asked mournfully even as she headed toward the young girl, tea in one hand and shawl clutched tight in the other.

“What, and give Tracy a nanosecond of peace?” Spence replied as she followed Pamela.

“We’ve a lot of work to do, pilgrim, and not much time,” Pamela muttered.

“Hiya, Eva, how’s things?” Without waiting, Pamela plunked herself down on a stool beside the girl. “I’m sure you remember Spence from Milan.”

For the first time, Spence carefully studied the young model, who was not much more than a girl. Although she knew from Pamela that Eva was eighteen, she looked far younger. Her heart-shaped face radiated an innocent and fragile vulnerability that Spence decided was probably her main attraction, for both the fashion clients her mother courted and the stalker she feared. Spence offered her hand as she smiled encouragingly. “You attended my cyber self-defense course, didn’t you?”

Before she could reply, Pamela took the girl’s free hand in her own. “Eva, have there been any more of those messages you showed me?”

Eva’s eyes dropped to the floor whilst Spence and Pamela waited for her to answer. When she did, her voice was little more than a whisper. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.” A sudden surge of fury caused Spence to tense up as the girl’s thin shoulders hunched further together under her wrap. But before she could voice the anger she felt over the way Mrs. Mumford was handling this sordid affair, a warning glance from Pamela stilled her.

Satisfied she’d checked her friend’s righteous indignation for the moment, Pamela gave Eva’s hand an encouraging squeeze. “What if I told you we’ve found a way to deal with the slimebag, one I think your mother wouldn’t object to?”

Eva’s head jerked up, her eyes darting between Pamela and Spence. “You could do that? Mum said the police wouldn’t be interested in bothering with that sort of thing.”

“Really?” Spence muttered, doing her best to rein in her anger even as she was scrounging up a reassuring smile. “We can and we will, provided you agree to play along. Everything we’re about to propose is not only legal, but we won’t need the police.”

Pausing, Spence took a long, calculating look at the young girl whose face had lit up in the space of a moment. “Besides ridding yourself of this problem, you’ll get your own website and blog, one that’d be fully under your control. No one else’s.”

“Could I put what I want up on it?”

“Yep.”

“Within reason,” Pamela interjected. “You don’t want to create a whole new slew of problems for yourself.”

“No, of course not,” Eva replied as she gave Pamela a reassuring shake of her head before turning her attention back to Spence. “I could separate my modeling and my real life online, just like you told us to do on the course,” she murmured, more to herself than Spence.

“Yep.” Spence grinned. This girl had actually been listening to what she had been telling them, and had taken her advice to heart. Setting that thought aside, and with Pamela’s help, she turned her attention to explaining briefly how the new blog would work and how they would catch the stalker.

A pretty frown creased Eva’s face for a long moment as Spence sat back. “Can you talk to Mum?” Eva asked as she bit her lip.

“Yes, of course,” Spence replied.

“Only don’t tell her just yet about the other bit of the plan,” the girl implored in a painfully shy voice, one that reminded Spence of the way she would have done not all that long ago had she been in such a position.

Reaching out, Spence laid a hand on the girl’s arm, one covered in tiny goose bumps. “Rest assured, Eva. I’ll do whatever you want.”

The next couple of weeks crept along at what Spence felt was a glacial and all too often painful pace. In setting up Eva’s blog, Spence had to endure putting up with the constant “advice” and guidance of Eva’s mother, a woman who Spence imagined would be a wonderful selection to play the role of the Wicked Witch of the West in a remake of the movie The Wizard of Oz. While she was doing this, with Pamela’s help and Tracy Ireland’s permission, she monitored cookies on the agency’s site, keeping tabs on Eva’s stalker as he continued to send lurid and obscene messages and images to the girl with a regularity that left Spence and Pamela needing to spend several hours on the phone with the increasingly distraught model every week, calming her down, bucking up her spirits, and reassuring her all would be well in the end.

Despite her early confidence in the project, after seven weeks Spence found herself beginning to doubt her plan. Had she raised Eva’s hopes unfairly? Was the stalker smarter than her? How long could she keep telling Eva and Pamela that these things took time before the two of them lost faith in her and abandoned the effort?

On the Monday of the eighth week, all that changed.

4

Spence looked up from her monitors where a customer’s mobile application that she was currently running a batch of penetration assessments against continued to flash its garish logo. Stretching her neck, she glanced around the room to see what her colleagues were up to. Tommy, who had recently acquired an endoscope, was busily investigating the innards of a new router without needing to break the warranty seal. Andy was doing the sort of thing he was good at but hated, which was looking after the administrative end of the business. At the moment he was slowly making his way through a stack of invoices stacked neatly on the desk before him, painstakingly cross-referencing each against time sheets and statements of work.

In need of a break, Spence got up, put the kettle on, and without needing to ask, made tea for the three of them. Milk, three sugars, and orange as a builder’s boot for Tommy, just milk for Andy, and lemon and ginger for her. When all was ready, she dropped each off on her way back to her desk, getting the usual grunt and nod from one and a distracted and perfunctory thank-you from the other. After taking her seat, she looked at her monitor to see the batch job she had started earlier was still running as she sipped her tea. Seeing it still had a ways to go, she sighed before turning to her personal laptop, hoping that maybe, just maybe, today would be the day when something of use popped up on Eva’s blog.

A sudden flurry of tapping caused Andy to look up from what he’d been doing and over to where Spence was madly typing away on her laptop. “Got you, you evil little sod,” she muttered to herself as her fingers flew across the keyboard.

“Who have you got?” he asked, looking for an excuse to avoid the rest of the billing reports stacked in front of him.

Spence didn’t even bother to look around. “I’m bringing law to Shinbone, pilgrim,” she intoned in an overly affected drawl as she continued to scroll through what appeared to be a text file.

When he realized her attention was firmly elsewhere, Andy shrugged as he returned his attention back to the stack of paper before him. These billing reports weren’t going to do themselves. With a sigh he pulled the next one from the pile and groaned. It was one of Tommy’s. As a result he didn’t notice when a few minutes later Spence went very still. She sat and stared at her screen for long moments, her eyes wide with shock.

“Andy?”

“Yes?” He hardly glanced up.

“I need to go and see Hannah Marbury. Is that okay?”

Having no idea she’d moved onto an entirely different matter than the one he’d assigned her, Andy was confused by her request. “What, about the pen test?”

“The current batch jobs won’t finish until around midnight,” she replied, making no effort to explain what lay behind her request. “I’ll be in to check them first thing. Can I go?” Even as she spoke her hands were busy dropping a blank DVD into her laptop and grabbing a couple of sheets that had just popped out of the printer.

“Okay,” Andy nodded. “If you’ve got everything under control, I don’t see why not.”

The problem was that Spence knew that everything most certainly wasn’t under control, at least not in regard to the Eva Mumford case. The information her cookie had captured from the stalker’s machine had very definitely seen to that.

The canteen at New Scotland Yard wasn’t renowned for its tea or ambience. But today Spence didn’t care. In front of her a slightly bemused Detective Sergeant Marbury watched the young security consultant as she waited for Spence to explain why they needed to meet so urgently.

“Hannah, I need your help.”

“What? Century Consultants is coming to the poor underfunded coppers for help?”

“It’s not exactly Century Consultants,” Spence admitted uncomfortably under the suddenly sharp gaze of DS Marbury. “I’m doing a favor for a friend.”

“What sort of favor?”

“Do you remember the work I did for a modeling agency?” When Hannah Marbury nodded, Spence continued. “Well, one of the girls at the agency is being stalked by a particularly nasty piece of work. Unfortunately, her mother didn’t want to make any waves, so the girl didn’t come to you to report it, as she should have. Instead, I was asked to see if there was anything I could do to help identify him.”

“And did you?”

Spence nodded. “Sort of.”

“And this ‘help,’ it was all perfectly legal?”

Spence couldn’t help but notice the change of tone from the woman she considered both mentor and friend. “You’ve no need to worry about that. I checked before I did anything. I assure you, everything is completely aboveboard.”

“Go on,” Marbury muttered warily as she brought her cup to her lips.

“We set up a blog for Eva, the model being stalked, and ran it as a honeypot. Sure enough, the stalker showed up there pretty quickly.”

“So why have you come to me?”

“I was using third-party tracking cookies to collect data. As I said, all legal and aboveboard. He ticked the box to allow cookies. Today, when he revisited the site, the cookie dumped all its data back to the server. Apart from his IP address and some other stuff, it also collected the address of every website he’d been to.” Spence pulled out the list she had printed out earlier and slipped it across the table. She watched as DS Marbury pulled her reading glasses from her bag, picked up the first page, and scanned down the list.

“Did you visit any of these sites?” Her tone was sharp and clipped whilst her eyes glittered with a fury Spence had never seen before.

“God no! I printed the list off thirty minutes ago and came straight to you.”

“You can prove that?”

Spence pushed her laptop across the table. “If you want, image my machine and check. I have full audit logging enabled.”

“Has anyone else seen this? Have you spoken to anyone?”

“Just you.”

Hannah Marbury stared hard at the young woman seated across from her for a long minute before she reached a decision and her stern gaze softened. “Hold on to your laptop for the moment. We are going to need statements from you and possibly the models involved, plus full access to the blog you set up. Until then, say nothing to anyone, understand?”

It was times like this that made Spence appreciate why Hannah Marbury was one of the youngest Detective Sergeants in the Police eCrime Coordination unit. She was good. She was better than good. She was everything Spence aspired to be and then some. “Yes, ma’am.”

5

“Wow,” was all Eva could say as she watched the train in the movie chug off into the distance before the end credits began to roll up the screen of Spence’s TV. “So that’s where the two of you came up with that idea.”

“Yep!” Spence replied in an affected drawl as she fished around in the bowl for a piece of fully cooked piece of popcorn amid the unpopped kernels that lined the bottom of the bowl.

“You know, despite what you did for me and the way you were able to bring that git to justice without me having to go through being called into court, Mum thinks the two of you are a bad influence on me,” Eva admitted sheepishly.

From where she was seated on the other side of Spence, Pamela leaned forward and winked. “Your mum is right. We are.”

“Maybe if I told her what you really did for me, if she knew the truth, she wouldn’t be so down on the two of you,” Eva offered.

After glancing at Pamela and giving her a sly little smile, Spence turned her attention to Eva. “This is the West, little lady. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”

It took Eva a second to catch on that Spence was having fun with her. When she realized it, the three of them broke out laughing.

Neither Eva nor Pamela ever became aware that the real reason the miscreant had been arrested had precious little to do with the way he’d been stalking Eva. It was the child porn sites he’d visited and the messages he’d shared with like-minded perverts that had allowed Hannah Marbury to take the bastard down. In the end, both she and Spence agreed this was a case in which the legend Spence carried back to Eva and Pamela was far better than the truth.

Coming to her feet, Spence rolled the near empty bowl about and glanced down at its pitiful remains a second before regarding the two models seated on her sofa. “Why don’t the two of you decide what we’re going to watch next while I go pop more popcorn?”

“Stuff the popcorn,” Pamela cried out. “If we’re going to be a bad influence on Eva, we might as well go all the way. Order a pizza.”

Spence, who was always in the mood for comfort food, particularly when celebrating a victory, grinned. “You got it. One pizza coming up,” she chirped before heading out to the kitchen, humming “Don’t forsake me, oh my darling” to herself as she went.

THE GIRL WHO HACKED LIBERTY VALANCE: THE STORY BEHIND THE STORY

Although this story has taken a lighthearted and at times humorous approach to the subject, cyberstalking and cyberbullying can be devastating to the victim.

On September 22, 2010, Tyler Clementi, a nineteen-year-old college student, jumped to his death from the George Washington Bridge.

On January 14, 2010, fifteen-year-old Phoebe Prince hanged herself.

Rebecca Ann Sedwick, twelve, jumped to her death on September 12, 2013.

In the United States, cyberbullying had been defined as including cruel or malicious text messages or e-mails, rumors sent by e-mail or posted on social networking sites, and embarrassing or compromising pictures, videos, websites, or fake profiles. A Pew Research Center survey conducted between 2007 and 2010 showed that 43 percent of teens aged thirteen to seventeen had been victimized by some form of cyberbullying during the previous year, and 88 percent admitted to having witnessed such acts being committed against another. It is not confined to children and adolescents alone. There is a growing problem with workplace cyberbullying and extortion, not to mention spurned lovers who use social media to exact vengeance.

Laws protecting victims of cyberbullying and — stalking are either woefully inadequate or are not enforced. In the case of Rebecca Ann Sedwick’s death, no charges were brought against the two girls who initiated the messages. One even admitted on national television she felt she had done nothing wrong. Hopefully you’re not on her friend list.

It is the Wild West nature of the Internet and the chaos and damage predators and miscreants can cause that reminded me of one of my favorite Westerns, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance. It is the story of people who, in the absence of law and order, did what was necessary to do more than simply survive, by taking matters into their own hands. While I am not an advocate of vigilante justice, I do believe there are times when people must stand up and protect themselves and those they care for when no one else is willing or able to do so.

HAROLD COYLE

THE GIRL WHO HACKED LIBERTY VALANCE: THE TECHNOLOGY BEHIND THE STORY

This story actually came about after watching the film The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance the day after reading a news story about how one online victim, with a very technically competent friend, was able to track down his anonymous attacker within a few short months, following nearly three years of foul abuse on Twitter and his blog. If you want to read the real story that inspired us, search for Leo Traynor online. What he and his friend did, and how he dealt with the troll when he eventually uncovered him, is impressive.

However, having devious and paranoid minds, we wondered how someone could do the same if the attacker was using a proxy service (an online service that basically hides your real IP address from the destination sites you visit), but more important, how someone could do it legally. The answer was cookies.

Cookies are simple little text files that are stored in your browser and are generally pretty useful. They make sure you don’t lose track of what’s in your basket on shopping sites and remember flight details when you try to book a vacation online. However, all cookies are not created equal. There are cookies, super cookies, tracking cookies, third-party tracking cookies, and even zombie cookies (ones that come back from the dead even after you delete them). The information they can collect about who you are, what you like, and where you’ve been is scary. This is why laws in Europe were put in place making it compulsory to get the visitor’s agreement to the use of cookies. However, as long as the site owner does that (or even posts a notice saying that by continuing you are considered to have agreed to cookies being put on your machine), they are legally covered to collect a treasure trove of data about you, and if they want to, sell it to advertisers. If you want to worry yourself, we suggest you learn how to view the list of cookies currently stored by your browser. And if you’ve never looked before, be prepared for a shock.

JENNIFER ELLIS