Digiphage V – Drinkies

AJ: another stream of consciousness.  I’m beginning to see a pattern here.

So, the story’s like this right?

We’re in Stockholm, in a rusty transit, must be twenty years old. I hate the fucking thing coz I have to drive it. Not an insurance thing right? I’m on a false passport anyway, but I’m the only mug who’s had any experience driving on the right, Kurt’s never had a licence in his life. We’re parked under a tree on Svarvagatan, it’s pissing it down, and we only have five fags to last us until the shops open in the morning. We can’t even take a spin to the nearest gas station in case we miss our connect.

I remember the rain bouncing off the tin roof, and the biggest hole through the rust dripped straight down into a hole in the rust of the floor, we didn’t even need to put anything down to catch it.

It was about a year ago right? Months before we had to swing up north, and our connect yeah, he was putting down a route into the Okarshamn nuke plant on the swedish east coast. We needed at least one in for every major power network that had been compromised by our friends back east on the RimPac.

I’ve got Kurt with me, Newky Mike too, they’re my backup, in theory, although we’re all pretty green, and not speaking the language always brings you down and makes you nervous. I know the Swedes speak English pretty much perfect, but you know? Fuck it, we didn’t even have a stereo, and we couldn’t afford to run the radio off the battery as the thing started like a dog. We’d been starting to save what finances we had at the time for the big one, and we couldnt spare the cash for anything better. We didn’t know how bad it was going to get back then anyway.

So we’re rationing the fags, and just sat back in the rear end of the transit. I say sat, but we’ve got a makeshift mess of cheap fleece blankets from Ikea, and a tarpaulin, to keep the body heat in and the rain out. I mean, we looked a right bunch of muppets, hands up opposite sleeves of my hooded top, hood up, you know, any copper, even a Swedish one, is going to bust us on general principles, contraband or not. So we get a call, it’s our connect. Lets just call him Johnny for now, I never did find out his name in the end. He says he’s put in the link, some screwy radio shack microwave link I think it was, on the roof of the plant, and wired the receiver into a sub-exchange a mile away. He’d sat there in a fucking tree for 2 hours lining the receiver up with a tolerance of only about a tenth of a degree until he got the best signal. This is after drifting up to the outlet on a rubber dinghy he bought at the fucking seaside.

He said he needed picking up pretty sharpish though as he thought he’d seen some none too subtle black Mercedes SUVs all along his route, I thought he was just being paranoid, but in retrospect, it gave us an indication of how bad things were going to be, breaking into the energy grid systems. You have to remember, this was only the third system we’d compromised, so we could monitor things when the balloon went up with the shit attached to it.

It took us a few minutes, but the van got going, and we hauled ass onto the main drag going into the city centre, we were only a mile away from the Central Station we were going to pick him up from, it was dark though, and it was one of the last trains in.

We got there in time to see him, just the once. We’re pulling into the station, and i think it’s only coz we pulled in a row over, but out of nowhere, there’s a Merc cutting us off, big black one, just like Johnny told us about, and then it’s passed us, and another one follows, and Johnny’s not there any more. Not upright anyway. They must have tracked him all the way from the coast, and turned him into a fuckin’ stain just before we picked him up.

True story.

Now give me another fuckin’ drink.

No, they didn’t find the “in” he’d set up for us, worked like a dream. They just wanted him for crossing them, mucking around on their turf, they didn’t give a shit about the link, or us. They pulled in front of us to cover their move on Johnny, they didn’t even know what he’d done.

Private security, never cross them.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.