The Edinburgh Network – Betrayal, Love and Ancient Power
By Lea von Löwenstein
Chapter 2: Digital Traces
Part 1: Expert Intervention
The snow was falling heavier outside Mae’s Diner when Jenny’s phone buzzed with a message from an encrypted number:
“IT specialist here. Listen carefully. Your phone is compromised beyond the visible app. Next steps crucial:
1. Don’t turn off your phone – it’ll trigger an alert
2. Keep it on, but activate airplane mode at exactly 23:15
3. Your usual bedtime routine shows phone charging by 23:20
4. He monitors battery percentage and charging status
5. I’m sending a loop of your regular evening pattern to mask our meeting tomorrow
6. Leave your phone charging at Amy’s – same GPS location as many Thursday nights
7. Use this burner number to contact us: [number]”
Jenny’s hands trembled as she showed Amy the message. The diner’s warmth felt like a cocoon of safety as they watched the clock inch towards 23:15.
“How did we miss this?” Jenny whispered, staring at her phone’s battery indicator – 42%, exactly where it usually was by this time on Thursdays. “He had everything timed, didn’t he?”
“Down to the minute,” Amy’s voice held controlled fury. “Even your coffee breaks showed patterns.”
Mae appeared with two takeaway cups. “Your usual evening tea order,” she said meaningfully. “The ones you always get before heading home.”
The familiar routine as cover. Every regular action now felt like a breadcrumb in his surveillance trail.
23:12 – Mark’s text arrived with predictable precision: “Heading home now, darling. Traffic’s finally cleared in Millbrook. Don’t forget to charge your phone – you were at 45% at lunch. Love you!”
Jenny’s hands went cold. She hadn’t checked her battery at lunch. He had.
23:13 – Another text: “Got you that herbal tea you like. The one that helps you sleep.”
The tea she’d mentioned once, months ago. The tea she’d started finding regularly in their kitchen cupboard. The tea that made her drowsy by 23:30 every night.
23:14 – Amy’s face had gone pale as she read over Jenny’s shoulder. “He tracks your sleeping patterns too?”
The IT specialist’s message flashed: “Almost time. His routine shows him checking your location one last time at 23:17. Then his own phone goes dark at 23:25 – when he’s supposedly driving.”
23:15 – Jenny’s finger hovered over airplane mode as another text arrived: “Almost home. Can’t wait to plan our weekend at the B&B. Sweet dreams, my love.”
The same moon emoji he’d used in Sarah Mitchell’s wedding website posts.
“Now,” Amy whispered as the clock ticked over.
Jenny activated airplane mode, her heart pounding as they waited to see if any alerts would trigger.
The silence lasted exactly thirty seconds before a shrill alert pierced the diner’s evening quiet. Through Mae’s front window, they could see a man at the far end of the car park, frantically pulling a second phone from his jacket.
“That’s Tony,” Mae whispered, recognition dawning. “Mark’s ‘old college friend’ who started coming in for coffee last month.”
The IT specialist’s message flashed on the burner phone: “Emergency contact triggered. He’s activated his backup surveillance. Stay calm. This is expected.”
Jenny’s hands shook as she watched Tony pace in the snow, his phone pressed to his ear. Her own phone lay dark in airplane mode, the screen reflecting the diner’s warm lights.
“He has people watching me?” Her voice cracked. “Actual people?”
“Network of spotters,” the specialist messaged. “Usually friends, colleagues, or hired help. Standard pattern we’ve seen before.”
Mark’s contact photo lit up Amy’s phone – the first time he’d ever called her directly.
“Don’t answer,” the specialist warned. “Stick to the plan. His next move will be calling mutual friends with concerns about Jenny’s ‘unusual behavior’ and ‘worrying phone issues.'”
Right on cue, Jenny’s sister’s number appeared on Amy’s screen.
Part 2: The Watchers’ Web
The snow outside Mae’s Diner had turned into a proper February blizzard, nature providing perfect cover as Jenny and Amy huddled over the burner phone. The IT specialist’s messages kept coming, each one revealing another layer of Mark’s surveillance web.
“Your regular booth isn’t accidental,” the latest message read. “Third table from the window gives clear sight lines from four different observation points. Check the regulars – particularly ones who arrived in the last three months.”
Jenny’s librarian mind kicked into cataloguing mode as she scanned the diner. The elderly man with his crossword puzzle – who never seemed to complete it. The young woman with a laptop – always typing, never ordering more than coffee. The delivery guy who took suspiciously long breaks.
“They’re all…” Jenny’s voice trailed off as recognition dawned.
“Part of his network,” the specialist confirmed. “Standard surveillance pattern. He’s built quite an elaborate system around your Thursday routine.”
Mae appeared with fresh coffee, her movements deliberately casual as she slipped them a note: “Back door clear. Car waiting. Five minutes.”
The specialist’s timing flashed on the burner phone: “23:45 – His primary check-in. Currently showing your phone as charging at Amy’s. Location loop holding steady.”
Through Mae’s frosted windows, Jenny could make out the outline of a dark sedan, its engine running quietly in the snow. The specialist’s message confirmed: “Your driver is Sarah Mitchell. Former fiancée #3. She knows every move in his playbook.”
The reality of that hit Jenny like a physical blow. Another woman. Another victim. Another life he’d tried to destroy.
“She’s the one who figured out his patterns,” the specialist continued. “Tracked his surveillance network. Found the others. She’ll take you somewhere safe.”
Mae’s back door opened silently as a woman in her early thirties slipped in, snow dusting her dark wool coat. Her eyes met Jenny’s with a recognition that went beyond their digital connection – the same haunted awareness, the same shattered trust.
“The crossword man just got a text,” Sarah’s voice was low, professional. “We have seven minutes before Mark’s next drive-by. Ready?”
Jenny stared at her – this woman who should have been a rival but was instead becoming a lifeline. Sarah’s engagement ring was conspicuously absent, the pale band of skin telling its own story.
“Did he…” Jenny’s voice caught. “Did he track you too?”
“Everything,” Sarah’s smile held no humor. “Down to my coffee order. But now? We track him.”
“Down!” Sarah’s command was barely a whisper as headlights swept across Mae’s back windows. The familiar rumble of Mark’s Audi Q7 crawled past the diner’s service alley.
Jenny’s heart hammered against her ribs as she crouched behind the industrial freezer, Sarah’s steady presence beside her, Amy pressed against the back door. The headlights paused, illuminating swirling snow in the February darkness.
“Right on schedule,” Sarah breathed, checking her watch. “23:52 – his ‘spontaneous’ check-up drive. Always takes the same route. Always slows at this exact spot.”
Through the frosted glass, Jenny could make out his silhouette at the wheel – the man she’d planned to marry, now a stranger conducting surveillance. Her phone lay charging at Amy’s, playing its loop of normal Thursday patterns while she hid like a fugitive.
“Wait for it,” Sarah’s voice stayed steady as the Audi lingered. “He’ll call the diner in three… two…”
Mae’s phone rang at the front counter, its sound muffled by distance and fear.
“Checking if you’ve left yet,” Sarah explained. “Standard procedure. Mae knows what to say.”
They could hear Mae’s practiced response: “Oh, Jenny and Amy? Left about twenty minutes ago. Their usual Thursday wrap-up…”
The Audi’s engine revved slightly before continuing its patrol.
“Now,” Sarah commanded, opening the back door to the swirling snow. “We have exactly forty seconds before his spotter at the corner reports in.”
Part 3: The Safe Network
Sarah’s sedan glided silently through the snowstorm, her driving precise and purposeful. The warm interior felt like a confessional booth as she began explaining what Jenny had stumbled into.
“We call it the Underground,” Sarah’s eyes remained fixed on the road, scanning for tails. “Started six months ago when Lauren – December bride – found Rachel’s engagement photos. Now we have safe houses across four counties.”
The city lights faded behind them as they took back roads that seemed random but clearly followed a pattern.
“Each house belongs to someone he hurt,” Sarah continued, her voice steady. “Ex-girlfriends, former fiancées, women who caught on early. We’ve turned his own surveillance tactics against him.”
Jenny watched snowflakes dance in their headlights, each one carrying a piece of her old life away. “How many?”
“Seventeen confirmed victims in the past three years. Eight engagements. Four planned weddings. All with different names, different stories, different lives.” Sarah checked her mirrors with practiced precision. “But we’re organised now. Each safe house has its purpose – some for first nights like yours, others for longer stays, some just for meetings.”
The car turned onto a private drive, motion sensors clicking on to reveal a charming cottage nestled in the woods.
“Welcome to Haven House,” Sarah pulled into a covered garage. “Lauren’s grandmother’s place. First stop for new escapees. Mark thinks it was sold two years ago to a retired couple.”
“First rule,” Sarah began as they entered the cottage’s warm interior, “No phones except burners. Each one activated for exactly 72 hours, then destroyed. We rotate numbers every three days.”
The cottage looked perfectly ordinary – a grandmother’s retreat complete with quilted throws and family photos. But Jenny’s librarian eye caught the subtle details: military-grade locks, motion sensors disguised as vintage decor, and security cameras masked as quaint birdhouses.
“Second rule: No predictable patterns.” Sarah moved through her briefing with practiced efficiency. “We operate on a randomised schedule. Different safe houses, different routes, different times. Everything he taught us about routine, we use against him.”
She pulled out a leather-bound notebook – identical to the one the anonymous messenger had promised to bring to Mae’s tomorrow.
“Third rule: Documentation is everything. We track his movements the way he tracked us. Each woman adds her data – dates, locations, patterns. We’ve mapped his entire operation.”
The notebook opened to reveal meticulous charts, timestamps, and behavior patterns.
“Final rule,” Sarah’s voice softened slightly. “You’re never alone. There’s always someone on watch, someone ready to move, someone monitoring his network. The same surveillance web he built to control us now keeps us safe from him.”
Jenny stared at the notebook, at the lives documented in painful detail. “How… how do we end this?”
“Tomorrow,” Sarah smiled, and for the first time, it reached her eyes. “At Mae’s. When all of us show up together.”
