by Ben Lovejoy
Chapter 12
Weekends or weekdays meant little in my lifestyle, save that some operational logistics required one or the other, but I’d never quite gotten over the feeling that weekends were for relaxing. I was enjoying a late and leisurely breakfast when the reply from Philippa pinged.
‘I haven’t forgiven you, and we’re not getting back together, but let’s meet.’
I stared at it. Then re-read it. Then stared at it some more.
What did she want? Last time we met, she’d made it clear that she wanted nothing further to do with me, and she seemed to be underlining the reason for that in her message, yet she wanted to meet? I couldn’t make sense of it. Well, there was only one way to find out.
‘When? Where?’
The reply was immediate.
‘Somewhere there is no risk of unwanted eavesdroppers. I imagine you have access to such a place?’
Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice would have observed.
Philippa was right, of course. My apartment was constructed as one huge Faraday cage, metal mesh embedded into the concrete, not allowing radio signals in or out except through the antennae I’d installed. Repeaters within the apartment ensured that all wireless services operated as normal, but the flick of a few switches would break the circuits to those. Even if someone were to somehow manage to place listening devices in my apartment, they would have no way to pick up transmissions from them. And my multiple layers of precautions against unwanted visitors rendered that a remote possibility in any case.
But the apartment felt a little … intimate for a meeting with her. The passenger compartment of my Skycar was similarly constructed, with antennas embedded in the outer skin providing me with the ability to switch on or off specific radio frequencies at will.
‘Let me know when to pick you up.’
Again, I had only a few seconds to wait for the reply.
‘Now.’
‘On my way.’
The trip to Philippa’s apartment took just a few minutes. I signalled her that I was on the roof pad, and she was on board within a minute or two. She was wearing some kind of silk outfit – orange trousers, a yellow top, green shoes and a green scarf around her neck. It looked at once like she’d picked out random items of clothing from her wardrobe, and like she’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine. She always did have that ability. She nodded briefly and sat opposite me. No smile, no greeting.
‘Skycar, random route. Stay well clear of sensitive areas. Full shielding on.’ The Skycar climbed immediately, and I looked up at Philippa. ‘We can speak freely now.’
Philippa appeared not to have heard me, as she looked out of the window at the city dwindling behind us as we headed out into less densely populated areas.
‘You’ve certainly piqued my curiosity,’ I continued. ‘I mean, I sat in your apartment and told you everything about my very unofficial life, yet now you need to discuss something which is even more sensitive?’
She turned to me.
‘Only your neck was at risk then,’ she said. ‘This time it could be mine too.’
‘Gee, thanks.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ she said.
There was silence for a few seconds, then she continued.
‘There will be no romance. There will be no sex.’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘That doesn’t sound like news,’ I told her, ‘far less sensitive news. I’m assuming there’s more.’
‘I’m bored,’ she replied. ‘And your life sounds like fun. I want in. Just the … projects. You know my tech skills would be useful. You’re good, but I’m better.’
I smiled. From anyone else, the statement would have sounded arrogant, but from Philippa it didn’t. Oh, I might have argued the point. Suggested that she was over-estimating her abilities slightly, or under-estimating mine, but there was nothing to be gained from that. Whichever one of us had the edge, there was no denying the fact that we were very much in the same league. And there were vanishingly few people to whom that applied.
Now it was my turn to stare out of the window. She could be an asset, there was no doubt about that, but mine had always been a strictly solo operation. To paraphrase Benjamin Franklin, two people can keep a secret if one of them is dead.
I often debate things with myself; it’s one of the few ways of guaranteeing an opponent who fights equally dirty. One argument in favour was that I’d already told her my secret, so there was nothing to lose. An opposing one was that I’d done so only in general terms: I hadn’t revealed any specifics. If she partnered with me, she’d know every detail. Could I trust her to that degree?
I mentally slapped myself in the face. One of my absolute rules was that the more I deceived others, the more important it was never to deceive myself. Only fools do that – and pretending this mental debate was about security was doing just that. Philippa might not know the specifics, but she had only to point the authorities in my direction and they would fill in the blanks sooner or later. This wasn’t a decision about risk. This was about Philippa.
When she was out of sight, I could at least make a decent attempt at the ‘out of mind’ part. But work with her? See her regularly? Share plans? Could I really do that and not want more?
The irony of the question wasn’t lost on me. I’d lost her because I kept my world secret. And now the secret was no more, it was too late.
I stared some more.
‘You live a lonely life,’ said Philippa, interrupting my reverie. ‘You did when we were together, and you do now.’
That was another of her abilities – making those simple statements that hit home. I turned back to face her.
‘You said no romance,’ I told her.
‘Right. Before, you had romance – or your version of same – but didn’t share your world. With me, now, you won’t have the romance, but you will get company in your world.’
‘Can I let you know?’ I asked.
‘Sure.’
‘I’ll drop you home.’
Chapter 13
My computer pinged me the following morning: the standing search I’d put in place for the missing purchase order in the government procurement system had a hit. I’d done it mechanically at the time, not imagining that the document was going to reappear, but it seemed that somehow, against all the odds, it had!
I logged into the system and clicked the link. I was not prepared for what I saw.
TSY/BOE/SGR/04/6580284918 was indeed back in the system, but it was not the original. The details in this one were different. Very different.
Contract number: TSY/BOE/SGR/04/6580284918
Summary description: Consulting services as per specs delivered to service address
CPI: Cr500,000
Quantity: 1
TCV: Cr500,000
Service address: As per previous delivery
Terms: Mandatory completion
I read on, noting the final lines – the commencement and completion dates. The commencement date shown was today’s date; the completion date was one week from today.
What the hell?
As a coded message, it didn’t appear to need much decoding. Someone – the same someone behind the gold scam – was seemingly trying to hire my services, and apparently offering me half a million credits to do so. I would apparently find the details of the assignment in the serviced offices I’d used for the gold delivery.
I clicked the icon to display the full document.
‘No matching record.’
I refreshed the screen. The document was gone. As before, I selected a list view and ordered by contract number. Once more, TSY/BOE/SGR/04/6580284918 was absent. It seemed that whoever was behind this had set an alert to be notified when the document was accessed it, then deleted it. With the message successfully delivered, it was no longer required.
I admired the ingenuity. Without any knowledge of who I was or how to contact me, they had still come up with a communication channel they knew would reac
h me. And they could only know that channel would work if they’d seen that a standing search had been put in place. Whoever was behind this wasn’t stupid.
I logged off the system, then sat back in my chair to think.
Fact one: I didn’t need the credits. Frankly, I had enough to retire to a suite in some luxury beachside hotel, leaving it to a combination of room service and the robocierge to take care of my every passing whim.
I wouldn’t, of course. I was as hooked on my underground life of nefarious activities as any drug addict – the credits were just a way of keeping score. But I certainly didn’t need to carry out a project for someone else for the income it would provide.
Fact two: the person or persons behind this didn’t appear to view it as an invitation. The ‘mandatory completion’ part suggested that my agreement was not considered optional. It was clearly intended as an implied threat.
Fact three: The method of contact confirmed my earlier view that they knew what had been done, but not who had done it. If they’d somehow been able to figure out the who, they would have contacted me directly. They’d used this indirect method because it was the only one open to them. They knew something of my capabilities – explaining their desire for my assistance – but not my identity.
Fact four: If they didn’t know who I was, that seemed to rather nullify the implied threat. If I simply ignored it, there was nothing they could do about it.
Fact five: Going to the address to collect the details of the assignment would be the dumbest thing I could possibly do. They could – no, would – have it under surveillance. To give teeth to their threat, they would need to identify me, and collecting the message would give them the chance to do just that. There wasn’t any reason to even believe the assignment was real: it could be a trap, pure and simple.
No; there was no upside to this, and the biggest possible downside. The only sensible thing to do was ignore it. Decision made, I could turn my attention to the other decision I needed to make: Philippa.
Chapter 14
Philippa and I were once more in my Skycar, on a random route, fully shielded.
“Your answer is yes,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.
“You seem very confident of that,” I replied.
She shrugged.
“Simple logic. You could have safely sent me a ‘thanks but no thanks’ message; being here means that the answer is yes, and you want to present your terms.”
“It could be that I’m undecided, and want to discuss it further before reaching a decision.”
“You’re not that indecisive.”
“True,” I said.
“You know my terms,” she said. “This is strictly a working relationship. So what are yours?”
“Number one, I’m in charge.”
Philippa remained unexpectedly silent, and her expression betrayed nothing.
“I can’t believe you have nothing to say about that one,” I said.
“I’ll have my say at the end.”
“Ok. So, to clarify what I mean by that … We’ll plan things together, and you can – and absolutely should – speak completely frankly. Question my reasoning, point out flaws in my proposed approach, tell me I’m being dumb, the works. But the final call is mine. If you’re not happy with it, you can walk. But this isn’t a democracy.”
Philippa still said nothing, so I continued.
“Number two, we split everything down the middle. If a project requires expenses, I can front those and we’ll deduct them from the proceeds, but all profits are split 50/50.”
“And number three?” asked Philippa.
“How do you know that there’s a number three, and also that there isn’t a four, five and six?”
“Just a hunch. You often think in threes. Did you know that?”
“No,” I said.
“Well, you do. So what’s number three?”
“Either of us can end the arrangement at any time, without giving any reason. We work together for as long as we both want to; if either of us wants out, then the partnership ends, and we both walk away. So, those are my terms, take them or leave them.”
“No,” she said.
I looked at her in surprise.
“You’re turning down the opportunity?” I asked.
“No,” she said, “I’m rejecting your terms. Or, rather, one of them.”
“This isn’t a negotiation – you want in, I’m letting you know the deal, you can agree to it or walk away.”
“No,” she repeated.
“What do you mean ‘no’?”
“The first of your terms won’t fly. Either we’re partners or we’re not. If we’re partners, then we jointly decide yes or no on each project, without that ending the deal.”
“Why would I agree to give up a project just because you don’t want to play?” I asked.
“Because sometimes I see things you don’t. I was the one who figured out what was going on with Saira, remember.”
“Your logic convinced me,” I said. “If you talk me out of a project, that’s one thing. But if I want to proceed and you don’t, well, why should I let you stop me?”
“Because you’d be falling victim to your biggest character flaw.”
“Which is?”
“You’re stubborn,” she said.
“Me?”
“You.”
“Even if I accepted that frankly dubious assertion,” I countered, “that doesn’t answer my question.”
“Two smart people are twice as smart as one. If one of them says no, the other one should trust them.”
She was right, of course.
“Ok,” I said.
“Good. So, anything in the works?”
“No …”
“You sound a little unsure.”
“Well, I’ve been offered an … assignment,” I said. “But I don’t do work for hire; it smacks uncomfortably of working for a living. In any case, it’s almost certainly a trap.”
“Sounds intriguing.”
I gave her the executive summary.
“We should find out what they want,” she said.
“What the hell? There’s no upside, and a likely massive downside, namely jail.”
“No upside? According to you, they’re offering half a million credits. I don’t know about you, but I could use half of that.”
I’d been a little coy about the amount of gold involved in my previous escapade.
“Let’s just say I’m not hurting at the moment. And if you are, well, we’re partners now, so if you need an advance, that wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Thanks,” she said. “But we should still find out what they want.”
“Why?” I asked.
“For the best of all reasons: curiosity. Admit it – you’re dying to know who they are and what they want.”
I couldn’t deny it, but …
“It would still be a crazy risk,” I said.
“We’d arrange a very indirect pickup. A courier tasked with collecting the message, delivering it to someone else, who delivers it to yet another person who leaves it somewhere– Hell, I don’t need to teach you this stuff.”
“Hmm.”
“It’ll be fun,” said Philippa.
“Hmm.”
“So,” asked Philippa, “what’s the game plan for picking up the message?”
“Damn you.”
“Another time,” she said. “Right now, I want to hear your plan.”
“Ok,” I said, “first we tap into the police CCTV feed of the street to provide us with a safe way to check whether our courier is followed.”
“You make that sound like a trivial undertaking,” she said.
I realised there were a number of details I hadn’t mentioned when coming clean with her.
“I have a government key,” I said. “One that allows me to generate logins for any government system I desire.”
She gave me a quizzical look.
“You do?”
>
“I do,” I confirmed.
“That’s a handy thing to have. I’m sure there’s a fascinating story behind how you came to acquire it, but that can wait. So, surveillance and a courier, what then?”
“The courier is hired for cash. We tell them to go to the address and tell whoever is there that he’s collecting contract details. Then to take whatever he is given to a hotel reception a few blocks away.”
“Sounds good so far,” she said.
“We use an anonymous prepaid card to book a room there, and a second courier collects the message, scans it for tracking bugs using equipment I’ll provide and takes it to a third location. And– Well, we can run through as many iterations of that as desired, with CCTV surveillance of each. Once we’re confident that there is no-one on their tail, we collect it and find out what they want.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Chapter 15
I didn’t trust whoever was behind the message one little bit, so we ended up using seven couriers – a mix of humans and robots – and a variety of drop-points. The final courier was instructed to take the package to a particular bank, open a safe deposit box account, place the package in the box and deliver the key to a final drop-point, from where I collected it. That allowed me to collect the message in a secure environment.
I’d rented a separate safe deposit box at the same bank so that I could visit and scan the cubicle in advance for optical pickups. I didn’t expect any – banks know that their safe deposit customers value discretion, so it’s in their financial interests to meet that need – but one can’t be too careful. The cubicle was clean, and I was careful to use the same one on my second visit, to open the box containing the package. It was a very uninteresting-looking padded envelope, labelled only ‘Contract details.’
I made my own scan for tracking bugs and booby-traps: it was clean.
Philippa was in the skycar waiting for me on the roof of a hotel on the same block. We once again entered a random holding pattern clear of any areas likely to attract official interest.
