Dead if You Don’t

82

Sunday 13 August

13.00–14.00

Kipp Brown stood outside his office building, staring at the contents of the envelope. He was shaking, his eyes blurred with tears, his heart filled with anger. Staring at a severed human ear, partially covered in congealed blood, that looked fake, like something you’d buy in a joke shop. But this was palpably real. As was Mungo’s terror in the Polaroid photograph that accompanied the ear. It showed the bloody bandage taped to the right side of his head. The ligature round his neck.

The palm of a hand was in shot, holding a wristwatch on which the time, clearly visible, was 11.55 a.m. Just over an hour ago.

God, you bastards.

His mind was spinning. The detective said they’d identified the kidnappers’ cars. But they hadn’t arrested them. They didn’t know where Mungo was. Time was running out. They wanted two and a half million pounds but were willing to accept a deposit today, of a quarter of a million. That felt like one businessman talking to another. His language. If he paid the deposit, the kidnappers would know he was real, that he was going to pay the full ransom. They wouldn’t be cruel or dumb enough to harm Mungo, would they?

One of them was clearly watching his office, from somewhere nearby, and had put this on his car the moment he had gone inside. He spun round. Looking at the ASDA superstore across the road. At the parked cars alongside the pavement. No one in sight.

His phone rang. Number withheld. The kidnappers?

‘Mr Brown?’

‘Speaking.’

‘It’s Clive Bennett.’

‘Oh — hey, Clive — right — thanks so much for calling back.’

‘How can I help you?’ He sounded friendly but direct.

‘I need to make a Bitcoin transaction, but I’ve never done anything with cryptocurrencies before — and Steve Crouch said you might be the man who could help me.’

‘Sure. What do you need to know? There’s Bitcoins, but there’s also a whole range of other altcoins, too — Ethereum, Ripple and Litecoin are some of the bigger ones — there’s a pretty wide choice these days.’

‘It has to be Bitcoins,’ Kipp said.

‘OK.’

‘What I need is a helping hand to make the transaction.’

‘Sure, I could meet you sometime this week?’

‘I have to make the payment now,’ he said. ‘I mean — literally now.’

‘How much money are we talking?’

‘Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds. I need to buy Bitcoins to this value and then deposit them.’

For a moment, there was no response. Then Bennett said, ‘That’s a big lump for your first Bitcoin transaction.’

‘I know, that’s why I need help to make sure I don’t screw up. And tomorrow I have to send a further £2,250,000.’

‘Excuse me asking, Mr Brown, but are you under some kind of pressure? It’s not my business, I know, but I’m just getting a sense of something not quite right here. But feel free to tell me to mind my own business.’

‘No — I–I’m not in any trouble — I’m acting on behalf of a very big client who wants to get into this emerging market.’

‘Emerging, but pretty volatile,’ he warned. ‘So urgently it can’t wait until business hours tomorrow?’

Kipp’s head felt on the verge of exploding. ‘OK, look, I’ll level with you, Clive, if you just keep this to yourself.’

‘Sure.’

He told Bennett, in quick summary, what had happened. When he had finished, Bennett replied, sympathetically.

‘God, I’m sorry. I don’t really know what to say — what a nightmare for you and your wife. Of course I’ll help you, but you do need to be aware that once you enter the ransomer’s code on your Bitcoin wallet, that will be it, the money’s gone, irretrievably. It’s an uncrackable code even with today’s technology. Are you confident this will get your son back?’

‘No, I’m not, but I don’t have any choice. They’re threatening that my son will die this afternoon if I don’t pay it.’ He pictured in his mind the photograph of Mungo running towards him. ‘Maybe I’m being a fool but I can’t risk it. I’ve just got to do what they demand.’

‘OK, so are you in front of your computer now?’

‘Just give me thirty seconds.’ Kipp went back up to his office, switched on to speakerphone and listened to Bennett’s instructions as he guided him through logging back on to Coinbase. This time he clicked on INDIVIDUAL.

Bennett continued talking him through the process, with Kipp in turn sending him screenshots of each stage. Within five minutes he had purchased, with money from his clients’ discretionary fund, Bitcoins to the value of £250,000 and placed them in his virtual wallet.

Next, he downloaded the QR reader app and scanned the square, black-and-white QR code.

After a short delay a window appeared on his computer screen. At the top, it said: DEPOSIT BITCOIN (BTC)

Below was the warning: I acknowledge the following information: By depositing tokens to this location you agree to our deposit recovery policy. Depositing tokens other than BTC to this address may result in your funds being lost.

It was followed by a code of letters and numbers written inside an address box.

GP1tr57a30ZxgF3di9nH7a904ft2hbV6x

Thirty-three digits, Kipp counted. From what he knew about security codes, six numbers were extremely hard to crack. Thirty-three, alternating upper- and lower-case letters and combined with numbers, was way beyond the capability of any computer system currently in existence.

His fingers hovered over the keys. Was he making a huge mistake? He thought of Detective Branson’s cautioning words.

‘What do you think, Clive?’ he asked.

‘I can’t tell you what to do, Kipp. All I can tell you is that your Bitcoins will go to the address you’ve been given. Once you’ve sent them, they’re gone, no getting them back. It’s your call.’

Kipp looked back at the photo of Mungo on his desk.

Then he hit the keys.

Seconds later he received an acknowledgement.

Thank you. Your funds have been received. You may not reply to this message.