by Hylton Smith
Konrad
He didn’t want to go back to Central Security until he had been contacted by Prometheus. He wandered around for a long time and was beginning to think the link had been severed. When it came the message was cryptic. ‘Choose a corner of a square and seek the shade to sit.’ He remembered that Prometheus was actually tracking him so it could be any square and any corner as long as it was in the shade. He figured it would be the closest square and proceeded to a tapas bar which was deserted by the sun. He took a pavement table rather than an inside one and deferred his order until his guest arrived. Prometheus exchanged pleasantries as he took the seat adjacent rather than opposite. Konrad waited but was urged to go first.
“It is Pichler isn’t it.”
“I would think so. His character has also died so you can’t learn anything from him.”
Konrad pushed hard. “No, but I can learn much from you. I think you should start talking.”
Prometheus was surprisingly forthcoming. “If you can confirm for certain that the torso is his I can direct you to potential perpetrators, but I warn you these people are very uncompromising, and there are many of them. You should accept it as knowledge only, not as a directive to apprehend or arrest them, even with the help of the police or armed guards. They would find you and erase you without question.”
“I take note. However, I would like to know more about why you are following my character.”
“I told you already that when I was asked to merge your identity, to enable you to play an existing character, it was a first. In all the years I have been encrypting there has never been a single opportunity such as this. My tweaks were riding on the back of the highest authorisation in SACRED, to seamlessly allow Konrad to continue. You are my only hope of getting out of here, but I must be extremely careful how I try to execute this.”
Konrad still looked puzzled. “How long is your contract? I was told they were normally five years.”
“You could say I was signed up for life.” This did not sound like the modus operandi of the Gretz he knew, and Konrad pressed on.
“Ok, without prejudicing your cover, tell me what it will take to get you out by other means.
Prometheus said with absolute solemnity, “The collapse of SACRED.”
“What? You mean that’s the only way?”
“Not the only one but the only guaranteed one.” Konrad thought he could actually feel the anxiety in the voice of what was a pixel-based character.
“Presumably you are aware of SACRED’s nervousness about this Orient base which is being constructed on the Moon, not so far from your position?”
Prometheus smiled for the first time in this session. “Yes, but if the intent was to eliminate this place, that would not be a promising scenario for those who work here.”
“I know that you know that my sponsor and your highest level of authorisation are one and the same.”
He nodded before Konrad continued. “I have found him to be absolutely straight, yet you said last time that even he could not be trusted. Why?”
Prometheus took a while to respond. “Even if he is as honest as you say, it is at odds with my being here. You must never discuss this with anyone else – and I mean anyone, is that clear?” Konrad waited breathlessly, and gestured affirmation. It was not what he expected to hear. “I was brought here against my will.”
Konrad was amazed. “By Gretz?”
“No, I would never forget the voice and it was not his, but I have no idea what the man in question looks like, as I was fitted with opaque contact lenses and given a white stick. I was told that I must never reveal the truth, and I have no idea how many others have been given a similar ultimatum. The man was possibly in one of the lower echelons of the corporation but somehow I can’t believe Gretz knows nothing of this. I must leave before I am suspected of something.”
“Like what?”
“We have time allocated for recreation, including TV, movies and of course SACRED. I can’t be seen to interact with you from my encryption station, so I have to do it from a player’s booth. There is currently a queue forming, it is too risky.” As he left he crumpled a piece of paper and threw it on to the tablecloth and left a lighter, seemingly by mistake. Konrad considered it strange, as they hadn’t been given serviettes, having only ordered coffee. When Prometheus was presumably logged off, he picked up the piece of paper and unfurled it. The same motif from the banner stapled to Pichler’s torso was on this scrap of paper, and underneath was a kind of name - Rojo-Negro Mano. The more ominous scribble was simply ‘Beware’. He logged off himself.
Manuel
On exit he was disappointed that Prometheus had cut short their discussion. He had wanted to ask again about the mechanism of characters being chosen then the real person becoming ‘affected’. It would be first on his list next time. He wanted to go to Berlina but knew it would be impossible to get near the body. He contacted Butragueno and told her of the warning to avoid Rojo-Negro Mano.
“What is it?” she asked. Manuel said all he knew was that it was a cult or an organisation, which was completely without scruples in whatever they are trying to achieve.
“I’m almost certain he knows more than he pretends. Red-Black Hand sounds like terrorism to me but he didn’t enlarge on whether it’s active in Futureworld, as it undoubtedly is in reality. Perhaps Duarte can run it past his new boss, as the motif is now an item known by the entire world.”
She acted on this immediately. “Hello, what do I call you now?”
“Take your pick, I decided on Elle for you, so go ahead – surprise me.”
“Ok, I’ll follow your lead and it will be Maxi.”
He chuckled. “Nobody has used that for years, yeah - I like it. I suppose this isn’t just a social call.”
“No, I have some more information for you in no particular order of importance.”
Duarte cautiously said, “Go ahead then.”
She went for the most useful one to him as first choice. “I believe the news from Berlina, which we have all been saturated with, definitely involves Pichler.” Duarte’s response was a long stretched out drawl. “Go on...”
“Well I didn’t get this from the Firenze squad, but I could have – that’s where I am right now. I would rather not say over the communicator, but when we next meet I’ll enlighten you as to my source. Anyway, have you discussed this with Pierze?”
“Not yet, he’s got me out chasing shadows at present. Why do you ask?” She reminded him of the obvious.
“The statement that they have not been able to identify the victim in a murder case is bound to fall into his in-tray. Anyway as he was next on the list I gave you, what about his predecessor on that list, has he got more out of Tirishev?”
“Yes, although it is a confession of something Pierze already suspected – he was supposed to take off Rossi’s head in the same way as he suspects Rossi took off that of Hector Sidibe. One thing does sound odd though, Tirishev doesn’t want to be released now and he asked for police protection. He’ll be lucky to get that from Ricardo.”
She was beginning to put together the picture Pierze had described to Duarte – serial induced suicide. “Well Maxi, the last item is one of sheer curiosity. The motif on this banner which was displayed on what I’m sure was Pichler’s body, is from some clan or cult named Rojo-Negro Mano. Are you going to ask him about that?”
“Why would I do that Elle?”
“Because I know more and we can help one another if you find his response intriguing. Bye Maxi.”
Duarte would ask about this in the morning. His family was still settling into new accommodation and he wanted to see his boy in a training session with the other academy recruits.
*
Pierze was immersed in high profile media-driven stuff that he despised. He also wanted to keep his face as anonymous as the job would allow. He wanted a private meeting with Gretz, but he didn’t want to be at the forefront of inve
stigation into Pichler’s death. He knew this was going to deflect his attention from monitoring the chain of induced suicides, and was livid that somehow Pichler had evaded them when fleeing from Barcelona to Berlina. He did know of reports about Rojo-Negro Mano but couldn’t see a link as yet. He would let his subordinates deal with such a public soap opera.
Chapter 18
Konrad
Prometheus was instantly in touch with a message. ‘There is a park ahead with an outdoor pool’. They splashed around independently for a while. Prometheus always needed to be sure of something before acknowledging Konrad. He was about to speak but was beaten to the punch. “I suppose you may have another name for me, but I want to know much more about selection and means of this affectation process which invariably leads to death. I’ve accepted that there is a limit to what you can do to interfere in terms of prevention, but you have already taken risks in what you say to me, so tell me as much as you can.”
“You cannot imagine what is at stake here. I have been told nothing except to execute this protocol or that instruction, but I have gradually worked it out, and that is why I can’t leave. However, as you represent my best route to freedom, I suppose I must trust you again on a one-to-one confidence basis. I get a list of encryptions, exceptions which carry penalties, and codes for initiation. Those individuals on initiation codes are the candidates for treatment. They are not in any order or priority and the initiation codes always run between twenty and fifty ahead of the treatment codes. You are right when you guessed I had more names for you, but this time there are seven, which indicates a change of gear to the operation. Please understand that a concern I have apart from my own escape, is the welfare of my family. I’m frequently reminded of their fragility; their lives are totally dependent upon my silence and compliance. Therefore I will not disclose my name. Whoever is officially investigating this grooming process must act more quickly if they are going to expose the truth. They must obtain at least three sequential heads from deaths, including and after your brother. The examination of the brain can verify certain activity but the secret lies in the brain stem. I have a diagram to give you which is difficult to understand, but it is crucial for you to get it expertly interpreted. I suggest you try to remember the names first, then as much as you can before destroying the drawing. I have to assume that the investigation has not yet obtained three such heads.”
Konrad was trying to digest all of this. “Yes, er no – I mean no, they haven’t got three consecutive heads. Sidibe’s is missing; he was between my brother and Rossi. Tirishev is alive but we are sure Pichler is dead and his head is gone. We need to expedite the search for Pichler’s or Sidibe’s head otherwise we are waiting for someone else to be activated, with the uncertainty of being able to intervene.”
“That is correct. They, the perpetrators have been successful with Sidibe but Rossi fooled them with an alternate suicide. Being thwarted will potentially alter the programmed means of death to one of higher risk – murder, and that would trigger the inevitable post-mortem. In such scenarios they must ensure retaining the head. I must go.” Konrad wanted more but also needed to memorise as much as possible, as quickly as possible. He also reflected on the suggestion of a change of gear in this operation. He wondered whether it would be prudent to attempt to bring all forces and lines of investigation together. Prometheus had declared something massive was at stake and no one could be trusted. He felt that the gathering momentum was maybe going to cut back on the lead Futureworld had given him, compared to the outside situation. Could Prometheus’ entrance to the game have been detected?
Manuel
He wasted no time in calling Butragueno. She managed to get the first word. “The paintings were not created by Alessandro Brunatti. I had an expert in Firenze look at them and he immediately recognised them. After satisfying himself that they were originals, he told me they were the works of Vittorio Radanelli. He is long dead and never really made an impact on the art world despite producing hundreds of oils and a few watercolours. He was hardly known, even in Firenze, so his work could be claimed by Brunatti in Barcelona without a problem.”
“Yes, that is great El, I think you should get ba.....”
“There’s more. The paintings would have not been worth much anyway but my expert revealed something which makes them even less valuable in art circles, but priceless in our investigation. They carry messages which have been implanted recently, presumably by Brunatti. The expert was able to give approximate dates by ageing tests. I can’t yet determine what these messages reveal, so I will head back.”
Manuel was relieved. “Fantastic, I was going to ask you to do exactly that. I think we must meet with Duarte in Madrid and maybe others afterward. Something is about to change. I’ll make my way there now. Contact me on your arrival.”
*
Meanwhile Duarte was walking to Pierze’s office and enjoying the stroll. Madrid was an architecturally impressive city. The blend of structures, boulevards and greenery was easy on the eye. He had never availed of this in Londonis and the weather there hadn’t helped. When he arrived, the slight exertion and the higher ambient temperature than he was used to had caused him to perspire profusely. He appeared to be totally unaware of the odour he was creating. Pierze was not. He replaced his jacket and turned up the cooling control on the air conditioning. He preferred to shiver than be assaulted by Duarte’s rather fetid bubble. Duarte’s use of his given name had been tolerated but in this pungent atmosphere it grated more than usual. “Ricardo, I have come by some information which isn’t related to this civil servant trawl you gave me, but could be a lot more interesting.” He was going to unload Butragueno’s questions, but not in the same order. Pierze seemed disinterested when he mentioned Rojo-Negro Mano.
“Duarte, we believe that to be a complete red herring.”
“How so?” Duarte’s surprise was obvious.
“Having researched this organisation some years ago we are certain that its connection with the impaled body is a contrived distraction for the public. It has existed for a long time, and is a relatively small charitable organisation which specialises in helping unfortunate citizens of Orient, who do make it across the border and are not subsequently deported. At first we were suspicious of their activity actually being sponsored by Orient itself but that proved groundless. The motif and the words are supposed to herald a more unified clarion call for human rights. We have kept a watching brief on them, as we would with all such promotion of policy outside government stance, but they do a good job and actually lower tension at many border points. Orient has to express disapproval of it in principle, as we do, in trying to keep the border closed, but both regimes would be worse off without them. You can imagine how distraught they are at their banner being hijacked for such an act of atrocity.”
Duarte was temporarily wrong-footed. “Why would the perpetrators do this?”
Pierze was direct. “There could be a number of reasons, depending on who they are. Our prime suspicion at present is that they are warning us that they know we are making progress in the investigation, and that things may be about to take a different course. It is a very public warning and that is probably the most worrying aspect.”
“This is only a theory then?” Pierze’s eyes narrowed and Duarte observed the same steely anger he had experienced on their very first meeting.
“As a police officer you were dedicated to dismiss all but factual evidence and that can sometimes be difficult. Our brief is almost the converse of that in its mode of operation. We have to predict the crime as well as investigate, and often this means we have to ‘fantasise’ about agenda, methodology and feasibility. You know, no matter how sophisticated a security system is in design, the criminals more than match that ingenuity by the constant flaw – humans. Opportunity, temptation and corruption conspire to make the breach. It is the same with political agenda – things are rarely what they seem to be. Therefore, our effort must alway
s be overlaid with various conspiracy theories, so that we don’t miss a trick. We may well be wrong about the motive for this banner being used for such purpose, we have an open mind. There is also the theory that the head may have been removed by different people than those who impaled the corpse on the lance. Medical examination should clear up blood flow patterns before, during and after death. Did you have anything else?”
“Yes I do. What else have you got out of Tirishev?”
Pierze became business-like again. “He is being kept in custody until we conclude further tests on his neural activity. He is happy about that. He appears to be telling us the truth. It is just that he isn’t telling us much. He knew he had to take Rossi’s head, but cannot recall any ultimate destination for it. He knows he wasn’t to get rid of it, but not why. He knows where he had to take it, but not who would collect it, or why. Rossi lived in a quiet first floor apartment behind the Palazza Di Congressi, in Firenze. He says the head had to be handed to someone he would meet the day after her death in the grounds of the Congress complex. He was to deliver it in person to a man with a specific number tattooed on his inner wrist. The head was to be passed over in a locked cooler box. He did notice a reference that the man should have been wearing a conference badge in his lapel; it was to denote ‘Advances in Neurological Techniques’. We are still hopeful that we can release some of his suppressed memories.”
Duarte decided to leave it at that. Departing the office to reclaim the ambience which began to regenerate attack on his minimalist personal hygiene, he received a message from Butragueno. ‘I’m on my way to Madrid. There’s a good reason for this and I suggest we meet. I’ll contact you again in the morning. Please keep this proposed appointment to yourself for the present’.
