Avalon Red

by Mark New

  Again, he had read the expression on my face. Clearly, you don’t get to be Head of Security without some knowledge of people and he wasn’t any sort of idiot.

  ‘What I’m proposing is essentially the approach suggested to me by Miss Kingston. I will give you a broad overview of the problem and a handful of keywords. That will be enough to give you the flavour of it without breaching any security protocols. If at that point you’re not interested, I’ll walk away with no harm done. At least you’ll have had a free breakfast. I’ll also cover whatever traces you think are necessary to protect your position here in the Cook Islands. On the other hand, if you want to help us out I’ll arrange for you to have a full briefing and we’ll take it from there. We’d play it however you wanted. If you’d prefer to be a consultant and tell us what to do, that’s fine. If you want to be hands on instead, we’ll accommodate that. Either alternative will get you an expense account, a retainer and a large fee.’

  A not insignificant issue had occurred to me. ‘And you’d want me to work with Becky?’ Not the greatest incentive to take a job that I’d ever seen.

  ‘That’s correct. If you take the job, you’ll have to liaise directly and probably constantly with my Deputy.’

  I’m sorry, did I wake up in the wrong universe this morning? How was that ever going to appeal to me? Another ghastly thought crossed my mind, screaming all the way along. ‘Is she here, too?’ A vir-meet I could have handled but I definitely didn’t want to see her in person. Had they brought her for shock value?

  He was becoming progressively more serious, I noticed, and now I could see the worry lines on his face. Whatever their problem was, it was making him ill. ‘No. She’s in our Los Angeles office. If you express interest she’ll take the company trans-orbital and be here in an hour or two.’

  We were in the realms of fantasy. Business travel was essentially a thing of the past. For a few decades now, all communication had been dealt with virtually. Even the smallest of companies had an Online office. You just hooked up your system and had a vir-meet in cyberspace. Assuming you had a basic level of kit it was subjectively no different to meeting in person. Personal travel was mostly undertaken by people taking a holiday or for family business when virtual wasn’t good enough. Commercial carrier enterprises were much smaller now and there was no division between travel classes. The only way for them to turn a profit was to offer first class for all. I wasn’t surprised that Argonaut had a private trans-orbital craft but I was astounded that they’d use it for the express purpose of reuniting two people who really ought not to be reunited. I had been concerned that part of their plan to ensnare me had involved her ambushing me in the café. It was beyond belief that she would choose to visit in person if she was currently elsewhere.

  ‘Seriously? In person?’ Surely he would expect the question. Nor did he duck it.

  ‘For reasons which will become clear, personal contact in this case is a security requirement.’

  Bloody hell! They thought their systems were compromised! That was the only other possible reason I could think of that would need an offline encounter. No wonder this was a top priority, send-in-the-boss kind of mission. It was actually unheard of for a major company’s presence to be infiltrated. Most Governments were more vulnerable. And, modesty aside, I could see now why Becky wanted me on the case. She knew how deep my knowledge of the impossible had reached. I very much doubted that there were many people who could help them if their defences had been breached. A handful may work for some major government’s intelligence team, maybe one or two at other corporations (and they would hardly want to tell the competition that they were vulnerable) but I was pretty much the only person on the planet who ticked all the boxes. Well, if I was right about the nature of the problem, it left them with a problem or two in getting me aboard: I didn’t need the money; the problem was academically interesting but only in an abstract way to me; and I really, really, didn’t want to work with Becky.

  Joe came over to collect the now empty plates and mugs, resulting in another shut down of the security zone.

  ‘Everything to your satisfaction, my best and only customers?’

  ‘It was terrific, thank you,’ Latimer said and swiped his slimpad without waiting for the table formally to detail the bill. The till at the counter beeped.

  ‘Thank you very much, Sir,’ Joe checked the pad he’d had hidden in his back pocket and his eyes widened ‘I hope you’ll call in again soon.’ I assumed that the tip had been impressive. I was quite pleased as Joe had been offering me mate’s rates on his fare for a while, out of friendship rather than any need on my part. This was a repayment of sorts. It didn’t escape me, either, that Joe was indeed wearing tech.

  I made a subtle ‘let’s go’ gesture with my head and Latimer took the hint. We stood up and made our way in silence to the door as Joe returned to the counter. George stepped outside first and I turned to Joe and gave an ‘OK’ signal as I followed my companion through the doorway. Joe grinned and returned the sign.

  The heat of the day was a fearsome contrast to the air-conditioned café. There were a few people wandering around, some heading to the beach and some past the café towards the town. Latimer had stopped a few paces outside the door and was looking at me expectantly. I indicated left and fell in beside him as we started walking along the path on the most inland part of the beach where it met the lush grasses.

  ‘There’s a bench about a hundred yards this way.’

  ‘I might just be able to manage that, despite the heat.’ It was true that he wasn’t a small man so there was a large surface area upon which the sun could shine. I supposed that, though he must have been based in California, he spent most of his time indoors in the cold comfort of modern air-conditioned technology. The sheen of tan probably came from walking from the office to the car. It was, as it often was, a cloudless day. I decided to cheer him up a bit.

  ‘The bench is in the shade of the palm trees.’

  ‘So I’ll get brained by a falling coconut but the autopsy will show that my core temperature was normal?’

  ‘Genetically engineered trees. No coconuts.’ I reassured him. ‘If you want to experience the danger, we’d have to visit a plantation on one of the other islands.’

  ‘I really don’t need any more excitement in my life at the moment, John.’

  He was jesting but it was the first overt indication I’d had that he wasn’t entirely in control of the situation. I wondered how many of his staff had any inkling that there was a problem. Did his brother know? On the other hand, I might just be completely wrong about the whole thing.

  We ambled along for a minute or two, pausing once or twice so that Latimer could wipe his face with his handker--chief. I saw that he had replaced the slimpad on the peak of his baseball cap. Come to think of it, I had no idea what team was represented by the logo on his hat. It didn’t seem like an opportune moment to ask.

  We sat down on the bench which was otherwise unoccupied. It wasn’t yet mid-morning so most people were heading off on business of their own and not looking to rest their weary legs. The bench was set back a little from the sand but well in front of the path through the trees which meant that nobody passed by within about ten feet of where we were sitting. The sun shone down through the trees but we were, as I had promised, in the shade. There was a very light breeze which moved the large-leafed canopies a little and we could hear the gentle waves lapping against the shore. I told you: it’s paradise. Why would I want to do anything other than tend bar or stare at the sea? The American reached for his slimpad again. My ear let me know that my companion had once again engaged the secure zone. I refrained from access. Until I knew what was going on I didn’t want to tip my hand.

  I noticed that Latimer was breathing quite heavily. It hadn’t been a long walk but he was apparently unused to both the heat and the exercise. While he was getting his breath back I took a casual look around us to see if I could spot anyone taking an interest. Though the
Cook Islands are much richer these days, the original diaspora hasn’t yet returned. Consequently, inhabitants are still relatively few and it makes it easy for everyone to know each other. A corporation goon would likely have stuck out like a sore thumb. I didn’t see anyone acting suspiciously unless you counted the two of us. I supposed that any additional security personnel were away from view either staying at a resort or offshore and ready to act should their boss transmit a distress call. I wondered idly if the corporation was rich enough to have a disguised gunboat.

  ‘So,’ I decided it was time to shake the tree and see if I was right, ‘your systems are compromised, right?’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ He tried to be smooth but he was clearly rattled. Bullseye.

  ‘Unless you want someone assassinated, it’s the only thing that makes sense.’

  He grimaced. ‘I wish it were that simple.’ I inferred that whatever his problem was, he would prefer to sanction murder than face whatever it was. A sobering thought.

  ‘How much worse could it be?’ I asked, not sure I wanted to know. My ear chimed again. He disconnected the secure zone and then I heard another soft combination that made me sit up and take notice. He had disconnected entirely from the net. The slimpad that he was holding in his right hand went dark. He looked at me and spoke very softly. With the slight breeze in the trees it was possibly more effective than the white-noise pulse in keeping anyone from overhearing.

  ‘Four people are dead and one permanently incapacitated,’ he murmured. ‘All of them were important to the company. We’re under attack as well as being compromised.’

  I raised an eyebrow. I could see how that would be a worry for him but if that was the issue, why did he want me?

  ‘Isn’t that a job for regular law enforcement?’

  ‘The deaths took place in various jurisdictions and none of the authorities involved believe there was any foul play. The reason we searched so long to find you is because we believe that they were cyberkills. We also think that the ongoing incursion facilitated the kills. Miss Kingston can supply all the details including all the evidence and the conclusions we’ve drawn but basically, John, she and I both think we’re in deep trouble. I know you don’t need the money but you can basically name your price.’

  I took a minute to consider what he’d said. He didn’t seem to mind; he just looked out to sea. I looked around casually again as my mind raced. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the subject we were discussing. I wondered briefly if he thought that I was the killer. It would have been a reasonable consideration given my previous specialism but it probably would have been a stupid job for me to take given that I knew it would be investigated by Becky. Offering a huge sum to unmask myself as the killer might have played well in a detective vir-show but bore no relation to real life. Plus, Becky knew that my motivation wasn’t money. I discounted the idea and concentrated on what he’d said.

  Cyberkilling is possible but it’s hellishly difficult. I should know - I’m the expert. Forget those vir-shows where the software does the killing. They just love the dramatic references to ‘black ice’: oh yes, just drop a black ice program into someone’s system and it sneaks up, kills them and disappears. It’s just not possible, sorry. There’s no direct interface between program and victim even in vir-rooms. Anybody Online will be hooked up to their system but it’s only a sensory connection. Technically it would be possible for a program to initiate a feedback loop in a vir-suit which would generate a sonic pulse or overload which would disable or kill but the solution for the intended victim is simple enough: disconnect the suit. Most people don’t have the money for a suit anyway: it’s just goggles, headphones and gloves. Look at it this way: if you’re wearing audio headphones and the music gets too loud do you scream and hold the phones to your ears until they bleed or do you just take the phones off? Exactly. Even my implants had a kill switch that I could activate mentally. In theory, anyway.

  Latimer had said that there were four dead and in none of the jurisdictions was there any suspicion. That pointed to something very subtle indeed. Becky’s strategy for dealing with it was simple enough: hire one of the very few people who could have done it (and again, I couldn’t help but wonder if she thought she might be hiring the perpetrator) to... do what, exactly? Trouble was, it might be an interesting intellectual challenge but I couldn’t see anything to overcome my firm desire never to see her again.

  ‘I can appreciate the problem, George, but I don’t understand what precisely it is you want me to do and, in any case, I don’t have any inclination to get involved. I’m retired. Sorry.’

  He didn’t seem concerned. ‘I haven’t told you the keywords yet, John.’ He murmured.

  I shrugged. He might make good on his promise not to compromise my time here if I simply heard him out and then declined. ‘And they are...?’

  He turned and looked me directly in the eye.

  ‘This is the precise wording given to me by Miss Kingston and I don’t pretend that it makes any sense to me though she says it will to you: Black Swan; Houghton; Naimittika.’

  Oh crap.

  There are times when it hits you how insignificant you are in the universe. You only need to look at the night sky to see the number of stars up there, any number of which might be like our own sun and support intelligent life on one or more of its orbiting rocks and give rise to great civilisations, none of which considers our miniscule earth itself in any way meaningful let alone anything which might live upon it. Or look at the artefact listing in the British Museum vir-library to see a sizeable chunk of what incredible human minds have produced through the ages and realise how tiny has been your own contribution. Or look at the family of five on the beach that I noticed as we were sitting there - two adults with three children - and realise that, being childless, I wasn’t even passing my genes to a new generation for them to make their mark. We are each of us less than a speck of a speck in spacetime which merely serves to remind us that, as individuals, we really aren’t that important in the grand scheme of things.

  And then somebody tells you that we’re facing the extinction of all human life on earth and only you can help to stop it.

  Chapter Three

  ‘What time do you call this?’ Yes, I know it’s not the funniest line ever but, to tell the truth, I had been trying all day to think of something even halfway sensible. It had been just over eleven years since I had seen her in person but her appearance at the door of my hut brought back all of the old memories; admittedly, some really good but always eclipsed by the manner of our parting. It wasn’t helped by the fact that the health care benefits which Argonaut employees enjoyed obviously included rejuvenation treatment. Becky didn’t look more than a handful of years older than when I saw her last though she was now forty years old. By contrast, I looked every inch of my forty-four summers, a fact which I had confirmed in the bathroom mirror not five minutes before. She was wearing a smart powder blue business suit with her slimpad fastened to her left upper arm. The only concession she seemed to have made to the tropical heat was to tie her chestnut hair back in a loose ponytail. I noted that she still kept it shoulder-length and that, unlike my own thin silver thatch, there wasn’t even the hint of a solitary grey hair. Maybe it was in her genes; maybe it was the rejuv sessions. She was carrying a briefcase with a TAG lock. Interesting. I wondered whether the fate of the planet really might be at stake.

  Once George had given me the keywords, there had been little point in prolonging the conversation. I had told him that I had heard enough to convince me to meet Becky to hear more. I had also told him that I gave absolutely no guarantees that I would engage with him, her or Argonaut any further than that. I think he had been expecting exactly that reaction as he had agreed without a murmur. Saying he would get right on it he had risen from the bench, shaken my hand, thanked me for my time and started walking back in the direction of Joe’s, keying his slimpad as he did so. I had remained on the bench for a good half hour
afterwards just trying to make sense of what he had said. My first reaction was that I was in no way mentally fit to assist anyone with anything, not even pouring someone a cold beer. There was no fixed point during the bench time that I resolved to look into it further but, by the time I stood up, I was seriously considering it. I had decided that there was, at this point, no way to tell whether Becky had exaggerated - uncharacteristic though it would be - or whether I was being manipulated. As one of my old commanding officers had told me: ‘Don’t worry about what it might be; find out what it is.’ I had taken his decades-old advice and gone to see Frisque.

  Rarotonga is a small island and Frisque had already heard about my breakfast with the rich stranger. She had also already made enquiries. I sometimes think that if the Cook Islands had a Security Service, she would be the head of it. I’m not entirely sure that she isn’t, though I’ve never found any evidence for its existence. Inevitably, she knew someone who knew someone at the Canton and could confirm that Latimer and his lady friend had been in residence for about forty-eight hours so it seemed he was being straight with me about that. As I said, he wasn’t an idiot: it would have been reasonable to assume that I could easily check up on him. Interestingly, Frisque reported (with unnecessary relish, I thought) that although their villa had two bedrooms, the maid only had to make up one bed each morning. Maybe Taylor wasn’t just an employee with a penchant for acting, after all. Other useful information included the fact that a pilot for one of the local airlines had reported seeing a large yacht standing about ten miles off the north coast. The muscle, I supposed. I hoped they were enjoying their time in the sun. The last piece of the puzzle was equally interesting. Apparently, the local Air Traffic Control supervisor had been approached by Argonaut Industries around three days ago about bringing in a trans-orbital aircraft twice sometime this week. Clearly the first time was for George & Friend but it seemed that he was already anticipating that I would agree to see Becky. I couldn’t really fault his reasoning - he had been correct, hadn’t he? The aircraft was currently parked at the airport. I thought it might now wait to take George, his PA employee-with-benefits and Becky off the island when I had been briefed.