“You ain’t got seventy quid, have you? You’re all mouth. You were never in the SAS. MI5, my tits. You’re a dickhead.”
The void dissolved as the Colonel spoke with clear and precise orders. “Immediate action, eliminate hostile.”
He was surprised at her lightness. Clutched by the chest and crotch, she went up like a beanpole, her rattling voice turning to a scream as she sailed over the embankment wall. It took seconds. He was unable to see her fall all the way. The cessation of her shriek came when she entered the dark water of the Thames below, then silence. The dog started yapping, nipping sharp bites to his ankles until he scooped its twisting body and hurled it out over the river. Then he had total silence.
“Hostiles down,” he repeated loudly to the Colonel, watching a car which had stopped by the kerb.
“You bastard.” The passenger door began to open. A fat woman stared at him. “You threw a dog over that wall. I saw you.”
“She annoyed me. You going to do something?” He moved towards her. The woman shouted and slammed the door as the car moved off.
Mark sucked on a forefinger where the dog’s teeth had bitten. Smart-arse bitch, who cares about a couple of dogs? He ran to the wall, hoisting himself to look over. Twenty feet below, brackish water rushed in tidal current, its surface unbroken, empty of life. “Enjoy your bath, Sisshy,” he repeated aloud and dropped back to the pavement, suddenly annoyed. What right had she to leave him? Now he had no-one. No one to play with, never anyone to play with. In the end they all went against him. “Returning to base.” He spoke to the Colonel on the combat radio in his head. He wrapped a clean handkerchief around his finger while walking back towards Parliament and the West End. “Returning to base,” he reported to no-one. “Combat proficiency proven. Zoby is number one.”
Richard Caswell sat in the PKL conference room hearing the traffic from below, his elbows on the polished glass table, his fake smile encompassing the development team. For the first time in his life he made serious money and the last thing he wanted was a bunch of nerds going moralistic on him. Before him were some of the best creative minds in the business, minds that covered programming, psychology and graphics. He wanted their skills but their professional ethics he could do without, and for that he relied on their greed. They were paid double the salaries given by competitors. Richard had an unshakeable faith in greed. Wileman’s prediction had proved correct.
“Listen, guys.” He kept his arms on the table, his hands open as if he embracing them all, yet speaking to each individual. “PKL is a computer games company. We keep our edge by being first at the research frontier. That costs money, so we contract out to others. Part of that research contract is in subliminal psychotic induction for security purposes. We send that research to our clients across the pond. It belongs to them, not us.”
“It’s illegal,” Joan Hincks said. She looked at him from a pinched face, her hair in a straggly knot, her figure loose and sloppy beneath ill-fitting clothes.
Richard improved his smile for her. Hincks was important to him. Ever since her recruitment to PKL he had consistently remained the absolute gentleman in her presence. That and his city suit style all helped his impeccable image as the hardworking entrepreneur.
“I’m aware of that, Joan,” Richard said and glanced through the glass at her knees. “The use of SPI is illegal. Our client, Dr Stella is using this research to form barriers she can offer against the unscrupulous use of SPI by rogue outfits. Look at it as a vaccine. You use a virus to protect against a virus.”
Dr Klass with beard and sockless feet tapped his fingers on the table. “We are currently experimenting with an image lasting one hundredth of a second. There is no brain in the world able to consciously read that. But subconsciously, yes it does. It’s dangerous.”
“My point exactly. So we need a computer to read it also and lay a defence, and that’s what this is about.”
“But we are sending it over the Internet as a virus. Don’t you realise the implications?”
Richard smiled at the chubby bearded doctor and longed to punch him in the face.
“That virus is sent to targeted volunteers, people who are aware of what is happening. You yourself volunteered as a guinea pig, Dr Klass.” Richard turned to Snibbard, his project manager. “What was this week’s colour?”
Snibbard looked through his folder. “Green,” he said. “Next week’s colour is yellow.”
Dr Klass looked down at his green shirt and pursed his lips. Others round the table smiled.
“That’s the extent of our influence, Dr Klass. For the last days, SPI over your computer has been suggesting you wear something green. Nothing sinister in that, and you did volunteer. Jill, you were a target this week. How about you?”
Jill Faulkner gave a tight grin and crossed her long legs. “That’s a secret between me and my hosiery.”
All laughed as Richard winked and tapped his nose. “So it should be. I see other guys wearing green, some who don’t.” Richard opened his hands. “Proof that what we do is harmless. Every person at this table had been sent SPI suggesting that they wear green, but every second person also had an anti-virus sent with built-in defence. Hence half of you wear green, while half don’t.”
Klass raised a pedantic finger. “But if used by a trusted supplier, one of the global networks, it would enable them to bring subliminal induction to mainstream software. Users would have no defence.”
“Doctor, our trials and research are used by Stella in defence of any unscrupulous body doing just that. All the big anti-virus software companies are probably researching the same. You notice the increase in flash advertising on our screens. Some may believe they can just step further, then further. We need to be prepared, we need defence. Buy breakfast cereals is one thing. But what about pay your taxes, vote fascist, obey the police?
We’re talking about Western democracy here. And it’s that ideal which Stella is looking to defend. Do you honestly believe a global provider with the wealth of a third world country would do anything to tarnish reputation and hence profits?” Richard sat back looking round the table deciding it time to play avarice against principle. “Our research facility is unique. I’ve a dozen PhDs on line everyday looking to join us. We’re a fun company bringing joy to people through games like PKL and Killing Field. Loosen up, guys. In two weeks our work will be finished and there’s a five million dollar bonus riding on the outcome. That’s five million dollars shared between each person around this table. Anybody want out? The choice is yours.”
“Providing we stay within the law and the ethics of our professions,” Klass said.
“No problem.” Richard sensed his smile spread over clenched teeth. “In return, I emphasise the binding terms of confidentiality and non-disclosure written into all our contracts. Should anybody think of breaching that confidentiality, their professional and financial demise will be draconian. Mention SPI research in conjunction with PKL and you’ll be financially dead.” He leant forward again and opened his hands. “So before I confirm payment of your five million dollar bonus structure, do we have any dissenters?” He watched them squirm. “Then all are agreed. Part of a five million dollar bonus will be paid to each who stay the course. But our research must be fully operational and with a single master copy on flash drive within one week, that’s our deadline, the bonus hangs on these conditions.”
Richard watched Klass shuffle with sheepish capitulation and felt gratified that there was nothing like greed to set the right moral tone.
“OK ladies and gentlemen, back to work.”
The meeting over, Richard flexed his thumbs behind braces and looked out the window of his Shoreditch office. The sixties building was not his idea of a grand palace but it served well as a city business address. He had a three-month lease left on two floors, plus a flat, coupled with a six-month lease on PKL’s industrial unit out in Milton Keynes. For the purposes of respectability, cost and administration, both buildings were ideally
sited.
Snibbard approached as the others left, his exophthalmic eyes veiled by thick spectacles.
“You watch that Klass,” Richard told him. “You’re the project manager, arseholes are your responsibility.”
“Don’t worry, Rich. He wants the money.” Snibbard spread both hands, his eyes staring from a pale face beneath a domed head, his body sagging round the waist. “They have no idea about the hotels or what I put into the end-product.”
“For both our sakes they’d better not. We’re on to a good number here, Snibbsy. Design and marketing are mine, but programming is down to you. Don’t get fucked up by some moralist prat. Certain parties would not be pleased. Oscar Wileman likes his research kept very confidential. If he even suspected what we really did, well I wouldn’t want to think about it.”
Snibbard shrugged. “Don’t worry, it’s no problem. The Stella woman’s got no clue of our venture in Brighton. All programmes can be overwritten within four hours. In three months we’ll be multi-millionaires. We won’t need Wileman, like we stopped needing Sarah Finch.”
Richard felt a brief clutch of false emotion. “She’s dead. Don’t say anything against the dead, Snibbsy. That girl was special.”
“She knew.”
“That was your fucking fault.”
“I can’t hide SPI if there’s no screen movement. You’re the artist and graphic designer. To reach level ten you need eyes that could see a speeding bullet. She saw it.”
“Is that why you did her, to shut her up? If for one second I thought you had any involvement, Snibbsy, then old friendship would be tested.” Richard pointed his finger watching the other visibly cower.
“On my life, Rich. I told you, told the police. Never. I was here when it happened. So were you. How could it have anything to do with PKL or her discovery of SPI? She met some nutter in the woods. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Richard put a hand on Snibbard’s shoulder. “Buying a thirty percent stake in PKL showed her as gullible, too gullible. Sorry for my suspicions.”
“I feel too, Rich.” Snibbard’s hooded eyes blinked. “But no player does anything they don’t want to. I only put in the suggestion. SPI, that’s all it can do, suggest.”
“The world is full of weak minds, Snibbsy. It’s also full of greed and lust. That’s why we’ll make a fortune. But sharp eyes see, so we gotta stay loose. Be ready to cut and run.”
Snibbard stretched his lips in imitation of a smile. “Well, I meant to mention that, Rich. Sharp eyes have given us another little problem. I loaded a new virus into the Garden of Serenity but because the garden currently has little action, I slowed exposure from one in every twenty-fifth of a second, to every half a second. In all the trials no-one saw it, but they had normal, human eyes. This girl isn’t human. She opened the gates of Serenity, same as Sarah. If anyone does that, next time they go online, my station is automatically flagged, like it was with Sarah.”
“Don’t tell me she’s seen something?”
“She sent me an e-mail asking why she had to buy shares. Your design, Richard. If a player opens the gate, it’s pulsing right in front of their eyes, every half second for a twenty-fifth of a second. What are we going to do? I never thought another person would get there. She’s the fourth.”
Momentarily Richard covered his face. This was not part of his plan. “Overwrite it with; you win PKL shares. Then email her a prize, plus a programme to reformat her hard drive. I’ll get publicity to arrange a presentation.”
“That may be difficult. She’s a bloody nun, in Ireland. What if she goes to the police?”
“Maybe she’s corruptible. Nuns who play PKL ain’t ordinary. What do you bribe a nun with?”
Katherine glanced across the convent library to ensure she would be undisturbed before starting to copy the final level of Princess Kay-ling on to a flash drive. Once complete, she then removed the copied file from the hard drive as she did every night.
Later, alone in her room and huddled beneath bedclothes, headphones on ears, she rattled dextrous fingers over a play console sneaked into the convent a year ago. Time and again she planned to replay her final triumph at reaching level ten and the gates of Serenity. Now the flash drive was successfully loaded, she went back to the Kay-ling chat room and entered her password.
Crystal’s elfin figure appeared at the edge of the screen and his words in the box.
Welcome Sister Katherine, and once again, congratulations.
Don’t call me sister. I’ve told you, I’m a student, not even a novice. She typed.
But you are devout, young and beautiful.
Crystal, I shall get cross if you say such foolish things. Katherine again glanced across the convent library, fearful the silent words might leap from the screen and shout deceitful presence. She took comfort from Bridget and Teresa, both bright eyed and industrious, their fingers tapping over keyboards, pale skin reflecting the light of Holy Scriptures. Katherine hoped the same light reflected on her own countenance. By the window, Sister Beatrice snoozed in the glow of a warm Irish sun. Katherine’s attention returned to the Internet and the PKL website. Crystal’s answer had appeared.
You are only the fourth female to reach level ten. How do you feel?
Sensing pride and ignoring her guilt, Katherine typed expertly. Unbelievably happy, like I’ve completed a marathon. She glanced across at the nun who shifted in her chair, fingers laced over ample belly. But I am perplexed and cross. When I finally reached the Garden of Serenity, the gates opened and in their centre words were flashing repeatedly. I only saw them because there were no moving graphics. I could not decipher them at first as they flashed so fast. But when I concentrated long enough, they became clear. Buy PKL shares. Ever since I started PKL I’ve wanted to buy shares, but I have no money. Has this message always been there? Why should I buy PKL shares?
The return words appeared almost instantly. They should have read – you have won PKL shares. They are part of your prize.
I don’t understand. What prize? Katherine looked fleetingly to the room fearing someone might see the small elfin figure sitting in the corner of her monitor.
To reach the Garden of Serenity means you have extraordinary concentration and skill. Download the final episode to flash drive. It will contain instructions to claim your prize. You must have your photo taken. You have only one more test.
Katherine slumped. There was always another test. Since downloading the first game a year ago she had spent hundreds of nocturnal hours battling the enemies of Princess Kay-ling. PKL had become like a spiritual drug. She didn’t really want to do it, she shouldn’t do it. But, something compelled her. She was hooked, she knew it. Staring at the screen, she tried to reconcile her faith and her unfathomable obsession to win. She had blamed innocence and lack of knowledge. But now she was uncertain. Could flashing images affect the mind? She realised something fundamental had shifted in the structure of her subconscious. During past weeks, Princess Kay-ling had stayed in her thoughts day and night. During prayers, during mass, through tutorial and calligraphy practice to devotions and evening prayers. Each night she could not wait to resume the game. Crystal had materialised from nowhere the moment Katherine had first entered her e-mail address, enabling her to download PKL for free. He came as a tiny elfin figure with gossamer costume. Always he appeared over the edge of a buddy-box or lounging round the screen. Should she believe him?
Are you a virus? She had typed.
I’m from the game. I’m part of the game. I am Crystal, companion and messenger to Princess Kay-ling. But I am also your mentor and servant, Katherine. When you downloaded level one you passed back your e-mail address and I was assigned to you. I came with the file. When you e-mailed your picture, I knew how you looked. On level two you filled in details for your combat clearance. Age, height, gender, occupation, clothes’ size, remember? I thought we were old friends
Katherine managed a smiled. Very clever to play on my emotions. Do
you promise me what I saw was a genuine mistake? Should I report it?
You have, to me. Now I know your concerns I’ll be able to deal with them. I have sent you the last episode of Kay-ling’s battle. This will overwrite your last download.
What about all the other copies I have? I can’t play on the library computer so I take them to my play-station upstairs.
Are there many?
Lots. Everything from start.
You’re not supposed to download them.
I’m not supposed to play them either, but I do.
You must bring them to me when you collect your prize, trust me Katherine. I will send Zoby for you.
By the window, Sister Beatrice snorted herself awake and looked with benign eyes to her three students before rising to her feet.
The Unseen Page 4
