Lost in a Sea of Code

Mark Harding

Description

IT'S ONLY A GAME - RIGHT?Seemingly plucked from obscurity, troubled foster kid Jamie is to become the first to beta-test a new government military device disguised as the latest online war game.Jamie's unrivalled gaming abilities are invaluable, and in order to fully exploit him, the true nature of the operation is hidden from the vulnerable teen.When an underworld gang realises the financial potential for the technology, the fight for the talents of the brilliant young gamer begins.Switching seamlessly between the immersive world of virtual reality, the tension of war and the dark underbelly of city gangs, this fast-paced thriller will have you questioning what is real and whom to trust.

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 30 novembre 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528981163
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Lost in a Sea of Code
Mark Harding
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-11-30
Lost in a Sea of Code About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgement Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen
About the Author
Originally from Wolverhampton, Mark Harding is an aerospace engineer by trade and has always been driven by his interest in technology. In contrast, his great passions in life are music and the arts, and this dichotomy has led him to writing.
Mark currently lives in Wolverhampton, the city in which he was born, with his wife and two children.
Dedication
To my wife, Charlotte, and our children, Sebastian and Georgia.
You are my world.
Copyright Information ©
Mark Harding (2020)
The right of Mark Harding to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528981156 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528981163 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgement
This book was born out of the chaos of life. I needed an outlet of creativity, to find somewhere I could be selfish, to find a new world where I was king. I wanted to fabricate a world that I found exciting, where there were no limits.
To my wife and children, you have helped me become the man that I am today.
To Charlotte, thank you isn’t enough, it will never be enough for what you have done for me and our children, you truly are a special person. Love you.
To Sebastian, my beautiful, wonderfully caring son. Thank you for being you and always having the ability to put a smile on my face and give me a hug when I need one. Love you. To Georgia, this world is not ready for you, go and take it by storm. Love you.
To my parents, Brian and Maureen, without your love and guidance I would not be here today.
I would like to give a huge thanks to Dr Sarah Drury for helping me get through the first few drafts with editing and support.
Extra thanks also go to Wenonah Davies and Brian Harding for supporting my writing when I needed it.
Chapter One
The building looked like a giant black glass cube encompassed by a moat. The plush greenery around the water’s edge was stunning: a stark difference to the grey concrete suburbs which surrounded it. Chief , unshaven and bad-tempered, stood in front of a very large screen deep inside the glass cube’s belly. The screen seemed to be a living organism. The code in front of him appeared to be constantly changing through a spectrum of colours. It morphed from vague outlines of people to a swirling tornado of code like a murmuration of starlings dancing balletically in the air. The on-screen digital swarm became a window into a distorted battlefield bursting into life before him with sight and sound. He turned his head to the group of men behind him for a second and realised that they did not have the slightest inkling of how special this footage was; it was a live feed into a world they knew little about: online gaming.
They had hacked into the global server of this game for the sole reason of watching a certain individual. The person they were watching had a unique skill set which made him stand out head and shoulders above everyone else. It was not how many targets he had killed, it was how many times he had been killed. Anyone can go on a rampage and take out thousands of enemies and keep re-spawning, but there were very few who could play the game as if your life was actually at stake. The screen seemed to be focusing on a soldier with a digital tag above his head; he wasn’t charging ahead and jumping around being flash. He wasn’t unloading everything he had in his arsenal from the word go. He simply moved from position to position, sometimes leading, sometimes providing cover and sometimes taking in the view. All his movements were considered, never giving anyone a target to put a crosshair on. There were other bodies moving around the screen with weird and wonderful gamer tag names, like ButtP1G, Rufous_Bread, BourbonBoss009, AsheeKneez and ShinobiwanKenobi. Some had big guns and were charging around, yelling like cowboys and Indians. Some were just sitting back with a sniper rifle, high fiving each other with every kill they notched up. Chief was only interested in the tag that blinked JAX101.
In his ear, Chief could hear a voice, one he did not recognise or care about. The phone in his hand vibrated constantly as if his fingers were screening calls for him. It was five seconds away from being smashed against the wall: he watched JAX more and more closely with every minute. The screen began to show some data which JAX101 had achieved within this game. Chief spoke into his comms, and the voice that was constantly in his ear stopped. ‘These numbers I’m seeing—­are they real?’
The comms voice replied, ‘It all stands up, sir. The numbers put him inside our parameters to be watched. In fact, he is at the top of our list, sir.’ The Chief’s voice was a little croaky from the whiskey bottle with which he had spent the previous night; he squinted at the screen and asked,
‘How much data do we have on this guy?’ The reply sparked into life immediately,
‘Four months, sir.’
Chief looked around the glass boardroom and spoke to the twelve suits seated around the long, oval oak table. ‘Clear the room…now! Comms, get me GCHQ! I want them to point that ’full take’ machine they love so much at this guy. I want every single bit of connected data from the moment he first had a keyboard, mouse, phone, tablet or a fucking iTeddy in his hand.’ There was a click in his ear as the comms guy set about his task; by the time he had finished speaking, the room was empty. He sat down in a high-backed black leather chair and continued to study the battlefield scenario in front of him. He thought to himself, This guy moves like he has already got some tradecraft experience. Where did this kid learn to move like that? Did he have family members who were in the military? He began to wonder about the past JAX101 and his future. Was he going to be an asset or a waste of time? He suspected the former.
Earlier that morning, Chief sat up on the edge of his bed, reached for his sunglasses immediately and sighed. The sun was blasting incandescent rays directly on his face through the curtains which seemed non-existent. He looked at the whiskey on his nightstand, stood up, stretched and heard his back crack. Surveying the room, he recognised nothing, apart from the woman who lay naked on the other side of the bed. The sheets were coiled around her like a silky white snake. This was his second encounter with her, but he still couldn’t remember her name. The menu on the floor told him that he had just spent the night in a shitty hotel. The menu selections were limited and either started with ‘fried’ or ended with ‘fries’. He took a shower as quickly as he could and left before the woman even stirred. At the front desk of the hotel, he paid the bill; it consisted of snacks and whiskey. A small smile appeared on his face as he slowly began to remember the bar he had met the woman in. The live band was loud and the clientele, unusual, at best. There were neon signs everywhere advertising a huge array of beers. The selection of spirits was undeniably broad; the owner definitely knew his stuff. They had met accidentally at the same place before. He needed the men’s room and she was inquiring about directions. After some idle chit-chat, they thought it would be funny to go on a proper date there at some point. At that moment, he couldn’t remember her name,—probably still a little whiskeyclouding his memory.
The slow walk out into the sun and the fresh air was nice; at 6 ft 2 in, he cast a sizeable shadow. The breeze hit him in the face outside the hotel like a splash of cold water after a long hot night.
There would be no appearance at the gym for him today. A car pulled up to the curb in front of him; he looked at the black car and realised it was the standard government issue. The thought of being able to walk down the road and call a taxi was something alien and not allowed. Once you were under the pay of the man, your movements were never your own. Whatever hotel he walked out of, the same car would appear. Even when he was off the clock, he was tracked. In the back of the car, the air-conditioning was on full blast, denying him the feeling of the warm sun on his face.
The agenda on the seat was marked “confidential”; the first item was to address twelve suits and their cost-cutting objectives. None of which he had any interest in; first he had a little off-the-book meeting in a place called “The Room”.
The name “Cynthia” came to mind; might that be the woman he spent the evening with or was it the receptionist when he booked in? Whoever she was, he would have to get her full name and get her checked out before they met again: if they were to meet again. The fact he had seen her a second time was significant. He did