Catwalk Criminal (19 page)

Jessica's phone beeped as she sat alongside the other models in make-up, backstage at BFC. She snatched it up while Marie began painting her eyes with a sparkly silver colour.

“Jessica? It's Lucas.”

“Lucas?”

“You know, from forensics?”

“Sorry. How's it going?”

“Great. Look, I couldn't get hold of Nathan so I thought I'd give you a heads-up about the threads you gave us.”

“Can you give me one minute?” Jessica mouthed to Marie. She scuttled over to the corner of the room. “Go on.”

“There was a match between the thread you discovered at Henry Murray's boarding house and one of the silver samples you took from Ossa Cosway's warehouse.”

“Brill. Thanks, Lucas. I need to scoot.” She walked back towards make-up again.

“Hold on, that's not the interesting bit.”

“Go on.”

“Neither piece of thread was normal. They weren't what you'd expect to find in clothing or in a fashion warehouse.”

She stopped, ignoring Marie, who was waving a scarlet lipstick at her.

“Go on.”

“They're both superconductive, but far more advanced than anything I've ever seen before.”

“Come again?”

“Conductive threads are a way to connect electronics on to clothing. They make electronics wearable when they're woven or stitched into a garment. The thread carries current for power and signals and conducts electricity. It's usually at quite low levels. Some people stitch the thread into the fingers of their gloves, as it enables them to work a touchscreen.”

She glanced around the room at the models. They all had mobiles glued to their ears. “Could this thread drain the batteries of phones and affect watches?”

“Undoubtedly, if the watches are battery-powered. I've never come across a thread as powerful as this. It can create small electromagnetic pulses that would affect non-battery-powered watches too, but not only that. It could interfere with other electronics from a short distance away – computers, iPads, laptops, public announcement systems. That's why it's so strange to find something like this linked with fashion.”

Jessica felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle. She dodged past the make-up station and headed straight for the rack of Ossa Cosway clothes. A few models who had finished in make-up were already getting dressed. She snatched her dress from the rack: the white chiffon one studded with gold flowers.

“Tell me, is superconductive thread always silver?”

“It doesn't have to be.”

Her fingers trembled as she touched the gold flower. “Could the thread be stitched into clothes and used to hack into computers?”

Lucas paused. “Yes, given the complexity and sophistication of this kind of thread, you could get into virtually anything you wanted. The thread could hack in and download a virus into any surrounding programmable electronics, such as laptops and phones. It'd provide unlimited access to a remote user.”

Jessica gripped the phone hard. “You need to pull Nathan out of his meeting.”

“I can't. His secretary says he's in with the prime minister and mustn't be disturbed.”

“Do it now. Tell him that LibertyCrossing has been hacking through Ossa Cosway's clothes. The superconductive threads have been stitched into the designer garments and sent to wealthy clients.”

“I'm on to it now.” He hung up.

This was scarily brilliant; the work of a genius. Ossa Cosway Ltd
was
a front for hacking; that must be how all those celebrities and affluent people in the US had been targeted, through deliveries of clothes, which were secretly stitched with superconductive thread. The garments had hacked into the home computers or iPads of the victims, leaving their security exposed. LibertyCrossing then found his way into the computers through the back door, draining online bank accounts and finding damaging online material that could be used for blackmail purposes.

She caught her breath, remembering
her
wardrobes back at home, stuffed full of Ossa Cosway clothes, and the clause in her contract that demanded she wore his designs at all times outside school. The clothes had probably hacked everything – her phone, iPad and dad's computer – months before LibertyCrossing revealed himself to MI6. She
had
hacked into MI6, but not deliberately. She'd worn an Ossa Cosway coat the day MI6 came under attack; it had hacked into her phone and then Nathan's laptop in the briefing room. Then the designer coat had hacked again, enabling a virus to be downloaded into the mainframe when she was in the comms room with the other agents.

What about her visit to Margaret's prison? Again, she'd worn an Ossa Cosway coat. That was how the security system had been brought down. LibertyCrossing had used Henry Murray to find glitches on the day of the major hacks. He'd then lured Jessica to the prison by planting evidence that made her suspect Margaret's involvement with The Collective. LibertyCrossing had banked on the fact she'd be wearing an Ossa Cosway coat and used it to hack in and open the locks on all the doors. The method was replicated in Lee's prison – the ultimate objective all along. The American reporter, Helen Hamlyn, had been sent a freebie coat, stitched with the thread, and was also persuaded to visit the prison by being offered an exclusive interview. She had no idea that she'd become Lee's get out of jail free card, just as Jessica had been with Margaret.

Her heart thumped madly. Had she been set up from day one? It had to be a possibility. She could have been put forward to become Ossa Cosway's muse not because she was the best model but because Margaret had sold info about her to LibertyCrossing. That person knew she was also a Westwood spy who'd provide vital access to MI6. So who was LibertyCrossing? Was it really Ossa Cosway?

She picked at a flower on her dress; Amanda had been doing the same when Christine Cooper blew her top yesterday. The junior dressmaker was right. The flower didn't sit right because the threading was heavily stitched. Jessica skimmed through the other garments left on the rail. Christine said she'd hand sewn every single flower in the collection. Up close, all the flowers looked quite ugly; they too were embroidered with lots of gold thread. No wonder a fellow dressmaker had spotted the poor finish, especially when Christine was such a perfectionist.

Someone had used too much superconductive thread.

Had Christine known about the high-tech thread and not wanted Amanda to draw attention to it? Jessica remembered the fashion shoot for
Teen Vogue
earlier in the week when Ossa had lost his temper because Christine had brought the wrong dresses. Back then, the dressmaker had claimed that someone must have switched the outfits at the last minute. But what if she had deliberately replaced the gowns herself because she daren't risk dresses stitched with electronic currents coming into contact with water?

If that were correct, Ossa was probably telling the truth. He had no idea what was really going on at his business. He didn't know his garments were being stitched with electronic thread, or perhaps he simply ignored anything suspicious. Ossa concentrated on rising to the top of the fashion world, enabling Christine, his ever-helpful personal assistant and dressmaker, to have a free rein.

She
was LibertyCrossing, not Ossa.

The dressmaker had access to the computer in the warehouse and to all the garments that were used for hacking. Christine could easily have disguised her voice when she broadcasted her message to MI6. She helped with model castings and could have persuaded Ossa to give her the modelling job. But why did Christine want Lee Caplin released from prison and how had she discovered a way to hack using superconductive threads? She'd been a dressmaker all her life after leaving school. Jessica couldn't see the connection.

She scanned the room but couldn't see Christine anywhere. She glanced back at the clothes on the rail. She'd never noticed the superconductive thread on the clothes she'd been given before. It must have been a lot more subtle, possibly stitched into Ossa's distinctive ribbing around the collars and hems. Christine had deliberately overdone the high-tech thread for this show, but why? Was she planning to drain the bank accounts of celebs sitting in the front row? Jessica rang Nathan and left a message, relaying her suspicion that Christine was the superhacker, not Ossa.

She skirted around the room, trying to find Zak. Where was he when she needed him? She spotted Bree being helped into her dress by an assistant. Most of the other models were now dressed. No way was she putting
her
hacking dress on. The show would start any minute. It couldn't be allowed to go ahead. How was she going to stop it? Bree looked up, her eyes narrowing. She raised an eyebrow quizzically.

Jessica couldn't confide in
her
. Zak was the only person who could help, but he must still be doing security checks. She hadn't seen him backstage at all. She tried his phone, but it went straight to voicemail. Doubling back, she headed towards the front, where she could hear the rumble of voices and scraping of chairs. She peeked out from the wings; most of the guests had already been shown to their seats. The front row was still vacant; the VIPs were always the last to arrive. She caught a glimpse of Zak near three men in dark suits at the back. They scanned the crowd, looking for potential troublemakers ahead of the president's arrival at the next show. She'd already checked the timetable. There was a twenty-five-minute break between Ossa Cossway's collection and Burberry. Christine had to be arrested before the president got here. Jessica edged through the gap, trying to get Zak's attention.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“What are you doing here? Why isn't your face done yet?” The stage manager glared, taking in her jeans and blue-and-white starred sweatshirt. “We're about to open and you're not even dressed!”

“You need to cancel the show.”

“Come again?” The middle-aged man's tiny grey moustache quivered.

“I'm telling you, it's not safe for the show to go ahead.”

“I've no idea what you're talking about and I don't want to hear it.” He dragged her back towards the dressing area. “Get ready or I'll make sure you're never booked for London Fashion Week again!”

She opened her mouth to try again, but stopped. What was the point in arguing? It was wasting time. She couldn't tell him exactly what was wrong with the dresses; MI6 would definitely want that kept secret.

“Have you seen Christine? I wanted to check she's happy with my dress.”

“She's out front, waiting for the show to begin, and I'm sure she'll be ecstatic when she sees you're finally wearing it. Now scoot!”

Jessica turned around. The Ossa Cosway models were already lined up in the order they were walking. What was she going to do? She no longer had the gadget she'd used at the Shard, which could take out the music system using an electromagnetic pulse. The models' wired-up dresses could probably interfere with that anyway. But the secret service had the power to close down the whole event due to the security risk. She had to get to them.

“What's going on?” Bree tottered over in gold stilettos and a short gold rose-studded dress. “You're not ready and you're acting really strange.” She paused. “Even for you.”

Jessica sucked in her breath. She slid her mobile into her pocket; it was probably a futile exercise. No doubt the dresses on the rail had hacked into her phone already, which meant that Christine could have heard the voicemail message she'd left for Nathan. Had she managed to delete the warning?

“I get that you don't trust me,” Bree said.

“Can you blame me? I know your secret. And you're right; I don't trust you an inch. I haven't since the Shard.”

Bree flinched. “I don't know—”

“You have precisely ten seconds to get dressed, Jessica Cole,” the stage manager interrupted. “Or you'll be replaced in the line-up and Hanna will close the show, wearing
your
dress.”

She took a deep breath. “So fire me.”

“What?” Bree looked startled.

Jessica fled, dodging past stylists and PRs, and made her way towards the audience area. Beyonce's distinctive vocals boomed down the corridor. She wriggled past latecomers, through the door and into the standing-room-only section. The white runway stretched the length of the room, with rows of chairs on either side. Her jaw dropped as she took in the front row.

No way.

Sitting directly opposite was Robert Eastwood, the president of the United States, and his daughter, Lydia. They'd arrived early to watch Ossa Cosway's show. The lights dimmed. This was bad. Christine had deliberately ramped up the superconductive thread, which would come into range of the most powerful man in the world. Was the dressmaker planning to hack into his phone and download top-secret data right under the nose of secret service agents?