Strange Tide Read Online Free PDF

that bloody difficult,’ he said. ‘I’ve shown you how to do it a hundred times, Margery. Have you opened the right application? It’s got a picture of a camera – it couldn’t be any plainer.’
    Ali stepped in. ‘You want me to take a picture with you both in the shot?’ he offered in impeccably precise English.
    â€˜No thank you,’ said the man.
    â€˜Yes please,’ said the lady at the same time. She happily surrendered her phone and scuttled over to her husband’s side.
    â€˜Just press the button at the bottom of the screen,’ said the husband briskly.
    Ali attempted to take several photographs and allowed the couple to notice his frown of frustration. He fiddled with the phone, looking increasingly puzzled. ‘I used to have one of these but there’s something wrong with the display on this one,’ he said.
    â€˜I told you,’ said the wife, feeling vindicated. ‘It’s not always me.’
    It was important to act before the husband came forward. ‘Why don’t I take a picture and send it to you?’ he offered, holding up a much larger and fancier phone than the one they had. ‘This is twelve meg and takes better shots in soft light than cameras with twice the amount of pixels. The quality should be very good.’
    A flicker of suspicion crossed the husband’s face but disappeared when Ali said, ‘That’s perfect – say
London
!’ and took the shot. ‘Just one more to be sure.’
    The couple stepped forward to see the photograph, and loved what they saw. Ali had framed the picture professionally. Those years spent hanging around Ismael’s father’s camera shop were paying off. ‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ said the wife. ‘My husband couldn’t do that. He hasn’t got the eye for it.’
    â€˜What’s your email address? I’ll send it to you right now,’ he said cheerfully.
    Before her husband could stop her, his wife told him their address. ‘That’s all one word,’ she added unnecessarily.
    He tapped it in and pressed SEND. ‘There you are,’ he said, gallantly waiting until they heard it ping in their inbox.
    â€˜Thank you, you’re very kind,’ said the lady.
    â€˜You’re welcome, and enjoy the rest of your stay,’ he told them both, sauntering away and pretending to take his own photographs. His scanner had transferred their personal, bank and credit card details, their contacts, email addresses and some pretty obvious clues about their passcodes. He could get anything else he needed from their daughter’s social network profiles. As soon as he was out of sight he would collate everything and send the information to a third party. Ali would get a small cash cut at the end of the week. Maybe the couple would remain unaware that the information about their lives was changing hands for money, and maybe he’d get a chance to skim a little off for himself; it made no difference as they had no way of tracing him. He managed to cull the details of over fifty tourists a day, so the law of averages put him into profit.
    Taking small amounts hurt nobody, and if he got enough of them he would be rich. There were a dozen other ways to get your hands on money using identity theft, but most required going through a hacker who would take the largest cut. What he needed was a bespoke system of his own. If he could just build that, he would be on his way to proving that even a poor refugee with nothing but the rags on his back and fast learning skills could become a rich man in London.
    He stayed clear of the ubiquitous CCTV cameras dotted around the tourist areas, knowing that the police had software that could check the crowds for recurring faces. The trick was to think like the security forces and stay one step ahead. He knew exactly what he was doing. London was too rich and confident. Its people could afford to lose a