identify yourself. If you want to stay completely below the radar, it’s a piece of piss.’
The laptop has now booted and Alan’s opened the TOR browser and is busily scrolling through a list of websites. ‘Here, try this one,’ he says, clicking a link. ‘It’s basically an underground dark web version of CraigsList. If you thought the original was bad, this is just mental.’
I’m vaguely familiar with CraigsList, which is basically a catalogue of online classified adverts. Everything from second hand cars to coin collections, right through to escorts and prostitutes. I had an inkling there’d be far fewer coin collections on this version, though.
‘This is great, thanks,’ I say. ‘Should give me a few ideas and help keep it all realistic.’
‘Yeah, good thing. I’m totally sick of the way all these books and films do the computer stuff, y’know? “Oh, let me just zoom in on that grainy image and read the inscription on the guy’s ring.” “Let me just tap the keyboard a few times and hack into NASA.” It’s all bullshit, man.’
I chuckle. ‘Yeah, tell me about it. Mind if I go and have a browse? I’ll keep away from the weird shit,’ I say.
Alan laughs and sits back at his computer. ‘You’ll have a fucking job.’
Once I’m sitting at Alan’s dining room table, I explore a little further. I find a section on the website titled Favours in Kind , which seems to list mainly non-financial transactions people are interested in. Most of the language is odd colloquialism, with obscure references to what seems to mostly be drugs and guns, although there are some posts which are clearly even heavier than that.
I decide to take the plunge and click the Register link. The first thing that hits me is that this is the only website I’ve ever come across which asks me for only two things: a username and a password. No email address, no name, nothing. I look around the room and try to pick something obscure. I see the drinks cabinet, have no clue what kind of wood it’s actually made from, but type walnut6676 in the username box and choose a password I know I’ll remember but which I’ve never used anywhere else.
That’s it. I’m signed up and back in the Favours in Kind section of the website. I take some time to drill down through the locations so I know the advert will be seen by users who are relatively local. I don’t want to push it too far, so I keep my options open. I’m pretty sure someone’ll travel for three grand.
I click the New thread link and type in the title to my advert, trying to think of a cryptic, underground way to word it. Do I need to? This is the dark web after all. In the end I plump for: Garbage disposal expert needed. Cash available . In the text of the advert, I write: I have need for the removal of a particularly nasty piece of rubbish. Generous cash payment available for experienced and knowledgeable removal expert.
I read it through again. It’s cryptic, but not so much that no-one’ll know what I’m after. Perhaps just enough to weed out anyone who’s not serious. If someone’s capable of doing the job for me, they’ll know what I’m on about.
I spend the next hour or so browsing the dark web as well as checking my emails on the internet and generally catching up on some of the stuff I’ve missed. When I’m done, I hand the laptop back to Alan and ask if I can use it again as and when needed, just until I’ve got my own laptop back.
It’s always handy to know you’ve got someone you can count on.
25
When I get back to the house, Jane McKenna’s already there, waiting for me. She smiles at me a little too keenly as I walk into the living room. Tasha seems a little uneasy.
‘Hello, Nick,’ McKenna says as she finishes drinking her cup of tea. ‘I was just updating Natasha on the search. We’ve had officers combing the woodland out towards the motorway and the radio appeals are going to go national. It’s looking likely that
The laptop has now booted and Alan’s opened the TOR browser and is busily scrolling through a list of websites. ‘Here, try this one,’ he says, clicking a link. ‘It’s basically an underground dark web version of CraigsList. If you thought the original was bad, this is just mental.’
I’m vaguely familiar with CraigsList, which is basically a catalogue of online classified adverts. Everything from second hand cars to coin collections, right through to escorts and prostitutes. I had an inkling there’d be far fewer coin collections on this version, though.
‘This is great, thanks,’ I say. ‘Should give me a few ideas and help keep it all realistic.’
‘Yeah, good thing. I’m totally sick of the way all these books and films do the computer stuff, y’know? “Oh, let me just zoom in on that grainy image and read the inscription on the guy’s ring.” “Let me just tap the keyboard a few times and hack into NASA.” It’s all bullshit, man.’
I chuckle. ‘Yeah, tell me about it. Mind if I go and have a browse? I’ll keep away from the weird shit,’ I say.
Alan laughs and sits back at his computer. ‘You’ll have a fucking job.’
Once I’m sitting at Alan’s dining room table, I explore a little further. I find a section on the website titled Favours in Kind , which seems to list mainly non-financial transactions people are interested in. Most of the language is odd colloquialism, with obscure references to what seems to mostly be drugs and guns, although there are some posts which are clearly even heavier than that.
I decide to take the plunge and click the Register link. The first thing that hits me is that this is the only website I’ve ever come across which asks me for only two things: a username and a password. No email address, no name, nothing. I look around the room and try to pick something obscure. I see the drinks cabinet, have no clue what kind of wood it’s actually made from, but type walnut6676 in the username box and choose a password I know I’ll remember but which I’ve never used anywhere else.
That’s it. I’m signed up and back in the Favours in Kind section of the website. I take some time to drill down through the locations so I know the advert will be seen by users who are relatively local. I don’t want to push it too far, so I keep my options open. I’m pretty sure someone’ll travel for three grand.
I click the New thread link and type in the title to my advert, trying to think of a cryptic, underground way to word it. Do I need to? This is the dark web after all. In the end I plump for: Garbage disposal expert needed. Cash available . In the text of the advert, I write: I have need for the removal of a particularly nasty piece of rubbish. Generous cash payment available for experienced and knowledgeable removal expert.
I read it through again. It’s cryptic, but not so much that no-one’ll know what I’m after. Perhaps just enough to weed out anyone who’s not serious. If someone’s capable of doing the job for me, they’ll know what I’m on about.
I spend the next hour or so browsing the dark web as well as checking my emails on the internet and generally catching up on some of the stuff I’ve missed. When I’m done, I hand the laptop back to Alan and ask if I can use it again as and when needed, just until I’ve got my own laptop back.
It’s always handy to know you’ve got someone you can count on.
25
When I get back to the house, Jane McKenna’s already there, waiting for me. She smiles at me a little too keenly as I walk into the living room. Tasha seems a little uneasy.
‘Hello, Nick,’ McKenna says as she finishes drinking her cup of tea. ‘I was just updating Natasha on the search. We’ve had officers combing the woodland out towards the motorway and the radio appeals are going to go national. It’s looking likely that
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