SOPHIA - Age of Intelligence

by Mike Donoghue

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Simon’s summer residence

  “HOW IS HER MOTHER taking it?” Richard asked. A real-time visual of Simon’s father was displayed on a large flat-panel television, which hung on the rear wall of the house between two sets of French doors. They led outside onto the expansive deck.

  Simon recognized the chair in which his father was sitting. He was at home, thankfully, his laptop’s web-cam presumably sat on the coffee table in front of him. In the highest resolution available, Richard leaned forward and put a face to anguish itself. His visible creases were made all the more evident by the worry that flowed freely within, deepening their appearance.

  “She took it like any mother would,” Simon replied.

  Richard imagined, for a moment, the way in which his own wife, Catherine, would have reacted. Any reserve of empathy was depleted by the thought.

  The conversation between Simon and Jennifer’s mother had obviously not gone well. Leslie, Simon’s ex-wife, was nearly hysterical, understandably. Simon’s calming consolation appeared so genuine, though, that it gave Lionel pause; he was heartened by the realization that love’s embers hadn’t been fully extinguished, that they lingered longer than Simon would admit.

  The arrival of television reporters to her front door only compounded Leslie’s sense of growing anxiety. Simon made every effort to reassure her, but found a measure of his own simmering fear assuaged by the tenderness of her sobbing plea: “Find her, Simon,” she cried. “Find her or I’ll have nothing to live for.” Thoughts of what could have or should have been, permeated Simon’s already troubled mind.

  Leslie eventually acquiesced to Simon’s advice; that she stay home, call someone to come over, then only answer the door when a text confirmed their arrival. With the shared understanding that the next hours would be the worst of their lives, Simon vowed to update her constantly. Developments would be relayed by him personally as soon as they were available.

  Simon could see that his father was equally distraught. “Look, Son,” Richard choked, putting his hand over his mouth. Tears seemed anxious to spill from his eyes. “If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”

  Simon continued to suppress the emotions wanting to break through his determined exterior. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll call as soon as we have something.”

  Richard was glad to see Lionel standing close to his brother. “We’re all going to survive this, do you hear me?” Richard said. He feigned a smile to cover his cracking voice.

  “We are,” Lionel agreed, putting his arm on Simon’s shoulder.

  Simon turned his head after hearing his name being called. It was Inspector Hansen. He was sitting nearby at a sturdy oak table, focusing on his laptop.

  “Sorry, Dad, but I have to go.”

  Richard directed his attention to Lionel. “Take care of your brother, will you?”

  “I will.”

  Simon joined the inspector, looking over his shoulder. “We’ve established the search area as it appears here, but as you can see it’s a labyrinth of countless islands.”

  Simon sighed, as if daunted by the prospects of searching each one.

  The Inspector continued. “While this may initially appear to complicate the prospect of finding your daughter, I think in the immediate term it works in our favour.”

  “How so?” Lionel asked, joining the discussion.

  “If I put myself in their shoes,” the inspector suggested, “I’d use one of these islands as temporary cover. I’d hunker down for the afternoon and evening then move her after dark.”

  “That buys us some time then,” Simon stated, welcoming the news.

  “We can set up some check points east and west, make it impossible for them to get up or down the river,” Lionel offered.

  “What about the shoreline?” Simon asked. “They could also be at any one of the homes or cottages along either border.”

  Just then, Simon heard his name again. This time it was Sophia. “Simon, I’ve got a call coming in from Gen Tech Laboratories.”

  A call from Gen Tech? Simon wondered. “Put it through on the flat-screen.”

  Lionel followed as Simon walked back over to the large flat-panel TV. Simon couldn’t have been more surprised. It was Christian Saunders, the former CEO of Gen Tech Laboratories.

  “Simon, it’s Christian.” Saunders seemed a little flustered. He looked as though he was hastily adjusting his web cam in order to display a better image. The face of Simon’s friend suddenly stabilized.

  “Simon, I only have a moment to talk. First please allow me offer my deepest sympathies with regard to what has beset your family.”

  “Thank you, Christian, but …”

  Saunders cut Simon off, interjecting: “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, Simon, so let me get straight to the point. The reason for my call is to let you know that I’ve lobbied Gen Tech’s Board of Directors to make available any and all assets which might be of some help to your cause.”

  Simon was genuinely surprised by the offer. “Assets? I don’t understand.”

  “Now, I’m not sure how our new CEO will respond, but rest assured we have some very relevant gear in the pre-production phase of deployment.”

  “And you think this gear might help in finding my daughter?” Simon asked.

  “I most certainly do. If you have a moment, I can explain.”

  Sophia seized a momentary pause to interrupt the conversation. “Simon, I’ve got another call coming through from Gen Tech.”

  “Another call” Simon replied, “from Gen Tech? Christian, do you know anything about this?”

  “No, I’m not aware of … unless.”

  “Can it wait, Sophie?” Simon turned from Sophia back to the wall mounted TV. “Sorry Christian, but would you mind if I come back to you?”

  “It’s Mr. Praveen Gill,” Sophia replied. “CEO of Genetic Technology Laboratories.”

  “Prav Gill!” Saunders repeated. He was obviously taken aback. “By all means, take his call, Simon, but if you don’t get what you need out of him, call me back. We’d be happy to do what we can.”

  “Thank you, Christian. Thank you very much for your offer.”

  As soon as the image of Saunders disappeared it was replaced by a much more composed Prav Gill.

  The smartly dressed Gen Tech CEO assumed a respectful stance, with hands clasped behind his back. “May I ask if I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Simon Taylor?” A vacated test facility of some sort dominated the background; devices at varying stages of development lay out in the open as if to add weight to the impending exchange.

  “I am Simon Taylor, what can I do for you, Mr. Gill?”

  “Prav, please call me, Prav. May I address you as, Simon, Mr. Taylor?”

  “You may,” Simon stated, matter-of-factly.

  Prav played the concerned adversary as if he were born into the role. “Please allow me to extend my sincerest sympathy regarding the unfortunate events facing your family.”

  “Thank you, Prav,” Simon replied.

  “Since time is of the essence, let us not waste any unnecessarily. The reason for my call is to extend to you the full technical resources of my company, Genetic Technology Laboratories.”

  Simon seemed at a loss for what to say. Inspector Hansen couldn’t help overhearing the exchange and appeared behind Simon and Lionel. The three men stood looking at the flat-screen image of Prav Gill in front of them.

  “What sort of resources are we talking about, Mr. Gill,” the Inspector asked.

  Although a reciprocal image allowed Prav to see with whom he was speaking, further introductions seemed in order. “This is Inspector Hansen from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and this is my brother, Lionel,” Simon offered. “Inspector Hansen has taken charge of the official investigation.”

  “Official being the operative word, Mr. Gill,” Lionel stated. “How can you help us?”

  “How can I help you? Well, I’m sure you are aware of my comp
any’s surveillance capabilities, the ability of our miniature drones to seek out and locate their objective however concealed.”

  All three men were familiar with the recent advancements in drone technology. Aside from their obvious military applications, miniature quad-copters were becoming well known for their civil applications in disaster recovery. Palm-sized helicopters could search for earthquake victims, for example, in areas too dangerous for human rescuers to venture.

  Simon appeared eager to listen. “Go on,” he said.

  “If you are interested, I would be more than happy to offer an array of our latest prototypes.”

  “Prototypes?” the Inspector repeated. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

  “Perhaps then,” Prav paused, “it would be better if we had this conversation in private.”

  Simon understood the Inspector’s concerns, but, placing a higher value in technological solutions and their ability to exceed expectations, he turned to his brother and offered only a visual cue. It was understood. Lionel placed a hand on the Inspector’s shoulder.

  Hansen took the hint. “You realize you may be putting your daughter’s life in further danger.”

  “I can have a team on-site within three hours,” Prav confidently stated.

  Lionel knew it would be better if the plan of action were explained under less officious circumstances. “Inspector?” he insisted. Hansen reluctantly turned to move out of earshot.

  A feeling of regret accompanied Simon’s agreement to exclude the Inspector from further discussions. It was better that way, though, and everyone in the room knew it, including Hansen.

  “We’ll keep you up to date, Inspector,” Simon offered.