While they were online, someone at Minneman tried to interact with them, maybe some maintenance operator. Charlie did not give it too much importance, just typed a few stock phrases without revealing anything about the false identity he created. He had no time to waste, he had to find a way to strike the final blow.
«We have to change method», Charlie reasoned. «Rather than looking for information about you, we must try to understand what those scoundrels hide. So it will be easier to connect the dots.»
«Okay, but what? It is likely that Minneman is embroiled in dozens of businesses, both legitimate and not, it'll take weeks to get something useful. We need an intuition that saves us time.»
«Hmm, I can't think of anything that can help us filter the data. Unless...»
«Unless?»
«Unless we extend the search to Militia. Minneman cannot do what it does without its support, direct or indirect.»
«But it's like opening Pandora's box. We would find ourselves having to process even more information and the risks, in my opinion, would increase exponentially.»
«I don't think you have so many options», Charlie reproached him, «and we can't waste too much time. Will you allow them to put you in jail without reacting?»
«Don't talk bullshit!», William replied upset. «If I fall, a lot of them will go down with me.»
The threat came out of his mouth with much less conviction than he would have liked. He was not in a position to worry anyone and certainly not with brute force. He had to be smart and take advantage of the surprise effect. He had left Charlie free to search his own way, but now he was focused and determined to take charge of the matter. He looked at the computer screen in search of inspiration and suddenly began to rapidly roll his eyes.
«What is it now, Bill?»
«Nothing», he replied. «Maybe the intuition we were expecting.»
He moved closer to the screen and told Charlie to type the word Thomander. Charlie obeyed.
«Is it the cockroach who questioned you?»
«No, he works for Minneman. A big shot.»
The search took a few minutes, then, a little surprised, Charlie exclaimed: «Bingo!» There was an encrypted archive labeled Thom1. Maybe it wasn't much, but at least they had a starting point. Needless to say, the archive seemed immune to any treatment. They agreed that, if it was low-level stuff, they would not seal it with such thoroughness.
«Even the Thornston finds it difficult», said Charlie, getting nervous. After coffee, he ordered more orange juice, his throat was dry because of nervous tension.
«Finish it», William urged him, passing him the carton. Charlie gulped down greedily, then stared at William, waiting for new instructions.
«Maybe we should stop trying to force it», William considered. «We could instead do an alphanumeric search within it, associating it with databases of names, events and news articles. There are so many on the net.»
William made some gestures as if what he proposed could be explained with his hands.
«You know what to do, don't you?»
Charlie did not answer and immediately went back to work, with a cunning smile on his face.
A shapeless multitude of data presented themselves to the eyes of the two predators. At first they got a bit discouraged, but the other option was to randomly search documents inside Minneman Company's central server. They used different software which took advantage of the contents of the global network to convert those data into words that made sense or in numerical sequences with at least a minimum of logic. If they added too many search filters, they got no results. Reducing them, on the contrary, led to plenty of information, although not very useful.
«Let's widen the search, but grouping the results by categories, using tags», William pointed out to him.
Charlie executed the command. They immediately achieved a little success, in fact 54% of the results, in one way or another, was related to medicine. Of those, 27 results referred to genetics. Charlie, however, didn't look much convinced.
«I'm afraid it's nothing useful, Bill. It's their job, it's normal that the results refer to medicine. Probably this one is not different from any other archive in their database.»
William remained silent. He did not intend to resign himself, he had to understand the reason for such hatred towards him; justify the determination they showed towards a citizen who, until that moment, had always gone straight.
«We don't have much to work with», he said. «We must persist. Now, let me have a look at the results, let's see if I can figure out something.»
William and Charlie began to analyze the data extracted from the archive, waiting for the stroke of genius. William focused in particular on an article which referred to degenerative arthropathy.
«I know a person who suffers from that disease», he remarked.
While the sequences of hieroglyphics, on the one hand, and the medical-scientific articles, on the other, followed one another and remained etched in his visual cortex, William felt a strange sensation, as if something were not in focus. After he had held his breath for about ten lines, he stopped, rubbed his eyes and set his sights on the part relating to degenerative arthropathy.
«What's wrong?», Charlie asked him.
William was silent for a few seconds.
«I don't know. Let me read it again, it feels like I'm missing something.»
The screen was split in two and William moved his eyeballs over and over again from right to left and vice versa. As the minutes passed, he was more and more sure there was something hidden in the depths of the bytes that made up that data sequence. It was more like a hunch, something not rational. In particular, his attention was drawn to a string of six letters:
RTGGST
There was something familiar about it, yet he could not connect it to anything or anyone. He inspected the article on degenerative arthropathy again, almost whispering the text. “Degenerative process”, “thinning of the cartilages”, “joint pain”, “lower limbs”. He reread the string of letters which, according to his instinct, seemed to communicate something to him, and right after, his gaze fell back on the medical article:
RTGGST
Degeneration
RTGGST
Thinning
RTGGST
Lower limbs
«Damn!», William exclaimed.
«What's up? What did you find?», Charlie replied anxiously.
«Augusta Rottinger!», he pointed out to a rather bewildered Charlie.
«Augusta Rottinger! R-T-G G-S-T! R-o-t-t-i-n-g-e-r-A-u-g-u-s-t-a», William then repeated, spelling out, letter by letter.
«Is it someone you know?», Charlie asked.
«She's my neighbor!», William clarified, accompanying the explanation with an eloquent gesture of stepping aside to allow him to examine the screen more carefully.
«Bloody hell, it can't be random. There's something shady. What reason would there be otherwise to have a file on Mrs. Rottinger? What could they possibly want from that old lady?»
William slid his index finger up and down several times, confident he would find other useful information for the investigation.
«Why, why her?», he repeated.
«Bill, take it easy», Charlie said. «It's not necessarily what you think it is, we're just guessing right now. It is indeed true, the letters match, yet it's likely that, if you do a check, you'll find at least a dozen words or names that match those letters. Maybe it's nothing but a...»
Charlie stopped when he noticed William's astonished eyes. That look froze the blood in his veins. He was almost afraid to ask if he discovered something else.
«D-V-E... L-I-A... of course! Deveux William! Hell, I'm on this list too!»
«List?», Charlie asked.
William did not answer and just typed the words Lore-Burr into the search function. He found the match he was looking for.
«Yes! That's right! They have a file on me! But I still can't understand what Mrs. Rottinger
has to do with all this.»
«Damn... you sons of...», Charlie swore, trying not to yell. Up until that moment he had doubted – or more correctly - had hoped that it was only a conjecture. When it came to conspiracy theories he was completely at ease, yet sometimes he just wanted to put his head on the pillow and sleep peacefully, knowing that most things, good or bad, happened by accident or human error, without any secret agenda or basic strategy. And, in that case, he hoped William would be nothing more than the unfortunate victim of a manifest error of assessment and, in the end, everything could work out for the best. Instead, as new evidence emerged, he was surrendering to the idea that there was something fishy about that story, which could relate to William as well as it could involve other unfortunates somehow related to him.
«Where's the link? Where?», William repeated, turning to his friend. He realized he had kept his eyes on the monitor for so long that he could no longer properly focus on Charlie's face. He rubbed them a little more.
«Let's keep searching, Bill», Charlie suggested, without much conviction, as if he wanted to buy some time and delay the inevitable.
They continued to comb through character by character to look for what could be the final proof of the conspiracy. And once found it, how would they go on? Neither was able to make suggestions at that moment. In any case, they kept searching: if it was a list, it had to include other names whose identification would finally allow William to identify the link.
Once the task of breaching the Minneman's computer system was completed, Charlie stepped back and left William the investigative activity. It was up to him to find useful information and he alone could be able to guess whether a particular element might turn out to be useful for the investigation or not.
«How long have we been online?», William asked.
«Longer than we should have», Charlie said, getting straight to the point. «But there's no other chance, it's better to complete the search than to disconnect and try to crack the system again later. It would increase the risk of getting caught.»
William got back to work, using his precious right forefinger to try to extrapolate more hidden secrets. Up until that moment he had been somehow lucky, because he had managed to associate character sequences with medical-scientific articles with which he was familiar; but in the next phase he felt even more the sensation of groping in the dark. In any case, they had found the right link, so they had to insist.
«All these symbols we're trying to decipher will give me nightmares!», he complained. Charlie tried to put on a smile, but it turned into a grimace. «Not that I'm sleeping much right now», William remarked.
Augusta Rottinger and William Deveux. Two apparently different individuals. Different sex, different age, different geographical origins, different uses and habits, but perhaps linked together by a mysterious thread. Three pieces of evidence prove a fact, William recalled. He had no idea to whom that old saying belonged, yet it was very appropriate for the circumstances. Two pieces had been found, they needed the third one to close the triangle. The only thing that connected him and Mrs. Rottinger was that they were neighbors. Too little, it was obvious. The lady had always been a housewife. Her late husband had done a different job than William or his father, Dominic. No, that was not the right track. William was sure to remember that, around the time he was transferred to Numbered District, Mrs. Rottinger was already living there. He had printed in his mind the image of that old lady with a somewhat pained expression. So even the time factor did not help him untangle the knot.
While he was struggling to formulate various hypotheses, he was attacked by the intercom ringing, which made him jump.
«Who the hell's that now?», he cursed. He then lowered the screen to prevent any nosy person from spying, better not to take unnecessary risks. He took a look at the closed-circuit camera and breathed a sigh of relief. It was a kid who lived in the building next door. He could not remember his surname, just the first name, all too easy to memorize: William.
«Yes? Who's there?», asked William Deveux, not at all inclined to waste more time than necessary.
«Hello Mr. Bill, I'm William McGuire, you remember me? You came to my house last year for that little computer trouble. Could you let me in? It'll just take a minute!»
William Deveux got a little annoyed, but agreed. Charlie DeClerk instinctively checked his watch.
«S-sorry to disturb you, Mr. Bill», said William McGuire, once he showed up at the front door. The glance William Deveux gave him back was anything but friendly.
«Umpf, what's wrong?»
The kid pulled out a portable memory unit from his jacket and handed it to him.
«You're my only hope, I need the data recovery program we used last year. My computer crashed again and I can't reboot it anymore. I don't really know who else to ask, I beg you...»
William Deveux did not say anything, he just hurriedly collected the memory unit from the teenager's trembling hands and copied several programs, using his own computer; no one was to approach Charlie's PS12. He was generous in filling the memory unit with software, so the kid would not come back in case of a new malfunction.
«Use the Raptor first», William Deveux suggested, with more kindness. He realized he had behaved in a more rude way than he meant, but the haste and anxiety over the whole affair made him nervous and forget good manners.
«Thank you so much Mr. Bill! You're always so kind! You know, you have such a nice place!», William McGuire improvised, thinking that it would be kind to return the favor with the first compliment that came to his mind.
«Sure, a royal palace», William Deveux said ironically, sketching a smile. He then invited him to return to visit him, striving to look hospitable, but without much success. William McGuire shook his hand, trying to hold back the tremor as much as he could.
Charlie watched the whole scene in silence and, once the kid had left the apartment, he asked William why he was so scared that he was trembling. William explained to him that the guy had a rare form of arthritis, according to what his parents had told him on one of the few occasions when they had met. Charlie shook his head, very sorry.
William then put the PS12 screen upright to pick up where they left off. It was late afternoon already and the feeling of having to hurry intensified. He drank more tea and shrugged his shoulders to overcome a strange cold sensation which suddenly struck him.
«So, me and Augusta Rottinger. What the hell can we ever have in common?», he said, resuming his train of thought. His friend sighed.
«Bill», Charlie said, checking his watch again, «I think we had better look for some other character strings that match. Let's face it, it could be a coincidence that that lady's name and yours are present in the same archive. We need to expand the search.»
Charlie looked a little worn out, so William asked him if he wanted to go home. No hard feelings, of course. They both were obviously tired. Charlie scolded him, making it clear that he would never leave him at the mercy of dark and sinister forces. It had become personal, by then. William thanked him by keeping his silence and then tried to focus again on the data which were swarming the screen. Meanwhile he remembered he had left his computer on with all the file folders - which he had copied to William McGuire's memory unit - still open. He closed the first one, then hesitated. He turned to the front door, thinking back to what had happened a few minutes before.
«That guy... William... he has a severe form of arthritis, you know?»
«Yeah, and I'm really sorry but... so what?», Charlie asked.
William Deveux did not answer and went back searching the database. The trouble was that he could not remember the name of William McGuire's pathology, so he had to grope a little. Charlie stood there waiting.
«Arthritis», William repeated himself, without typing anything.
On the right side of the split screen, he set up a search with the words “severe arthritis”, unable to come up with anything more specific. The computer unfort
unately threw up a lot of data. It was necessary to narrow down that list.
«Arthritis», William repeated once again. Yet another word was missing. Maybe it was crippling, he was not sure. He tried anyway: almost got it! The results were reduced to thirteen.
No.
No.
He discarded those which did not match the pattern, until he found the sequence that hit him.
C-G-E W-I-M
«McGuire William, I knew it! Charlie, take a look, too. It matches, right?»
Charlie DeClerk's face got flushed. He felt the anger rising and he would scream out loud.
«Holy shit! What the hell is this, Bill?»
«I don't know, but I have a hunch.»
William obtained the list of telephone subscribers who resided at Numbered District and started playing the matching game between the names on the list and those resulting from their search.
Anderson Lucas, not present.
Aldford Jason, not present.
Cinelli Louise, present.
Coons Thomas, present.
Gonzales Mark, not present.
Madaki Nelson, present.
Sanz Beatriz, present.
At first he followed the alphabetical order, then he went a little randomly since the list was very large. He stopped after he had found fourteen subjects matching the list, including himself and the two previously identified.
«You see, Charlie?», he said, almost happy with that discovery. «This is certainly a list of people who live in the District. And I tell you something...»
William paused to recheck the reliability of his theory, creating an involuntary suspense.
«I couldn't say for everyone... anyway, Mrs. Sanz is unfortunately suffering from multiple sclerosis», he explained, pointing his finger to the screen. «Thomas Coons can't use his right hand... I don't know exactly how to define his problem», he added, scratching his head with some embarrassment. «If we analyzed one by one, I'm sure we'd find out that each of them has some kind of illness.»
The Ruling Impulses Page 14
