Was he really so off putting?
Ryker moved up the stairs to the third floor then along the exposed corridor that ran along the inside of each of the four sides to the building. He stopped when he reached Ramos’s door, knocked three times, then waited.
The door was opened by a short and plump woman with scruffy brown hair and baggy unflattering clothes. Judging by the condition of her skin, she looked to be a similar age to Ryker, early forties at most, but her bedraggled appearance made her look older. She glowered at Ryker, no warmth in her eyes.
‘Habla Inglés?’ Ryker asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I need to speak to Miguel. Is he home?’
‘No,’ the woman said. But the fearful look in her eyes gave away the lie.
‘I’m not here to hurt him,’ Ryker said, placing his foot in the doorway to stop her from shutting the door. He knew the gesture was at odds with his words and that to this woman he was a threatening presence. But there was little he could do about that. He wanted to get inside.
The lady looked down at Ryker’s foot.
‘I’m not here to hurt him,’ Ryker said again, trying to sound comforting. ‘But Miguel is in a lot of trouble.’
‘Policia?’
‘No. I’m not.’
‘I’m sorry. He’s not here,’ she said, her accent so thick it took Ryker a moment to decipher the simple words.
She tried to close the door, banging it against Ryker’s foot. Ryker didn’t budge. He heard a noise in the back of the apartment and stared into the lady’s eyes. She gave him a pleading look. She needn’t have bothered.
Ryker shoved open the door, knocking the shocked woman back. He moved into the apartment and closed then locked the door behind him. He saw the look of fear on the woman’s face and knew what was coming. He reached out, grabbed her, and placed his hand over her mouth just as she screamed.
A door inched open at the far end of the apartment. Ryker already had a hand on his Colt before the face appeared.
CHAPTER 49
All Ryker could see in the dim light of the open doorway was the shadowed outline of a face and the bright whites of two eyes. Ryker assumed it was Miguel. But it wasn’t until the door opened further and the boy stepped out that Ryker took his hand away from his gun.
‘Miguel?’ Ryker asked.
The boy nodded. Fifteen? If Ryker hadn’t been told that he’d have said the kid was no more than twelve. He was five feet nothing, wore a pair of football shorts and a white vest that hung off his bony frame. His floppy black hair made his soft face look feminine.
‘I’m here to help you,’ Ryker said. ‘You’re in trouble. I think you know why. But please, you need to get your mother to calm down.’
Miguel shouted to his mother, rattling off words that Ryker didn’t understand with speed and purpose. Eventually his mother’s cries died down.
Ryker removed his hand from her mouth and stepped back. ‘Okay?’ he asked, giving her a conciliatory look. She nodded. ‘Good. Right, Miguel, we need to talk.’
‘In here,’ the boy said.
Ryker looked at Miguel’s mother again. She gave the slightest of nods. Ryker moved past her and followed Miguel into his bedroom. The room was small and dark. The black curtains were drawn, and the low glow of the overhead light struggled to illuminate the meagre space. The room was spotless, though – not an item of clothing out of place, not a dirty cup or a plate in sight. Not quite what Ryker expected for a teenage boy.
The walls were adorned with various pictures of footballers and movie stars. Ryker glanced at them then looked to Miguel who was hovering over a desk that was crammed with computer equipment and wires that seemed to snake in and out of hundreds of ports.
‘You know why I’m here?’ Ryker asked.
Miguel looked down at his feet. ‘Yes. You’re with the English police. You want to arrest me.’
His English was good, not perfect, the foreign accent was certainly clear, but for a teenager it was impressive. A lot better than Ryker’s Spanish, that was for sure.
‘No, Miguel,’ Ryker said. The boy looked up again, frowning. ‘I’m not going to arrest you. I’m not with the police. But that is why I’m here.’
‘Then what do you want? How do you know?’
‘Tell me what happened.’
‘It was just a game.’
‘A game?’
‘We hack. We dare each other.’
‘Who’s we?’
‘My group. Los Bandidos.’
‘And?’
‘I know it’s wrong. But... I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.’
The boy hung his head again and Ryker thought he could hear him sobbing.
‘You already know she’s dead?’
‘Yes. I saw it in the paper.’
‘Who asked you to do to the hack?’
‘I don't know who – another user. I never met anyone. We live online. It was just a dare.’
‘Name? Of the user?’
‘I don't know his real name, or if it’s really a he. We called him Anton.’
‘Anton? That’s it? No surname? Nothing else?’
‘That’s it. He came online a few weeks ago, then he disappeared again. We don’t ask questions. We get on with it.’
‘Did he pay you?’
‘Pay me?’ Miguel asked, sounding surprised. ‘No. I don’t get paid to do this. I told you, it’s just a game. A hobby.’ He shrugged.
Ryker couldn’t help but think back to Winter’s early report of the hack attack. One of the most sophisticated he’d ever seen, he’d said. But it was just a fifteen-year-old boy sitting in his bedroom hacking for a dare. He wasn’t even getting paid.
‘Okay. Let’s step back again. What exactly were you asked to do?’
‘Anton had a set of fingerprints. He said they belonged to a woman named Kim Walker. The game was to find her real name.’
‘That isn’t a game, Miguel.’
‘I know that now! But this wasn’t just me. We were all trying.’
‘How many of you?’
‘I don’t know. Five. Ten. Some started but didn’t get anywhere. Others broke into systems but didn't find matches.’
‘But you did?’
‘I got lucky. We weren’t told where to look. But she sounded English. I thought to look in England. Why would I ever expect someone to kill her?’
The more Miguel talked, the more Ryker felt out of his depth. This wasn’t a world he was used to. The hackers he’d dealt with before were highly trained agents working in the shadows, in bunkers in secret locations off the grid with cutting edge equipment. Here was a fifteen-year-old kid who’d managed to hack into MI5 from his bedroom in Malaga.
And to Miguel it was a bit of fun. One friend egging on another to see who was the best.
Except this time it wasn’t a game. This time a person had lost their life. Someone had found out about Kim Walker, found that she wasn’t who she said she was, and when Miguel connected the dots back to the profile of Anna Abayev – the Red Cobra – Kim Walker had been killed.
‘I need you to do something for me,’ Ryker said.