Isaac was pretty exhausted by Vicky’s illness and the search for Link; the dangerous operation to return Pascal’s creativity felt like the final straw for him. But then it continued: the police interviews, the undertaking not to leave the area, the need to make quick pivotal decisions. Even the relationship with Michelle didn’t make it any easier, positive emotions are still emotions and thus a portion of stress exerted on the nervous system. Three months of regular exercise had shaped him up; he looked trim and fit, but at the same time he had bags under his eyes indicating his fatigue.
Isaac has assembled the team, they all saw him as a leader and that was far from being simple. They were all temperamental, self-assured and egocentric. He thought, it was hard to carry this weight, when each of them had his own opinion and sometimes didn’t actually regard him as the boss. They were all equal: Bikie totally independent, Link a genius, not accepting any authority over himself. Pascal had come from the past, when they were friends and on equal footing. He was not disposed to appreciate the subtleties of a command hierarchy; he was too often immersed in grief over loosing Eva “just yesterday”. And now he was the source of the team’s funding, which had put him in a privileged position, too.
To be quite honest, Isaac was looking forward to going to America also in order to zone out and unwind a bit, not just urgently save the world. Vicky’s operation has now been paid for, so why should he be in a hurry?
In the meantime, Link and Pascal have also done their part of the work: they combined the hacking device with the amplifier, so that OE could be now be returned to all Veggies within a radius of thirty to forty kilometers. In densely populated New York, that ought to be enough for thousands of people to get their former creativity back. And that would be enough to spark off a massive wave of protest.
Focusing on his own condition, Isaac was surprised that he had absolutely no fear of failure, probably because he was so tired. “Don’t relax, just a bit longer now,” he told himself in an effort to lift his spirits up. “Get a grip on yourself, pay attention and be cautious! The last thing you want is to wind up in jail right at the finish.” Of course, America was not China, where even relatively minor crimes were punishable by compulsory downloading, but they were not particularly fond of terrorists here, too.
The John F. Kennedy Airport looked different from the European ones. A bit on the dirty side, without superfluous luxury, but very functional. It had impressive dimensions: before reaching passport control, he and Bikie walked at least two kilometers. The flow of passengers was immense, with flights coming in from almost every corner of the world. They could see crowds of Asians, Europeans and Latin Americans. Judging from the tags on the hand luggage, there were arrivals from Tunisia and Kenya. Everyone was eager to come to America. And a whole heap of automated systems was used in the airport to process these crowds rapidly.
The corridors were full of cameras, detectors and scanners with red crosses measuring passengers' temperature for signs of infection; the scanners often blinked green. A monitor responded to Bikie with a yellow signal. Paramedics immediately approached him and asked to walk through a glass door into a parallel corridor.
“Why?” Isaac protested. “What happened?”
“Everything’s alright, sir. The sensor indicated that your friend has a high temperature. We have to carry out an additional minor check,” a paramedic replied politely.
“Can I go with him?”
“No, sorry, you’ll meet up again later at the meeting point after the customs check. He’ll be just fine, I assure you.”
“Everything’s OK, Isaac, I really am feeling a bit funny,” Bikie muttered morosely. I’ll call you when I’m out.
They led him away.
Isaac started walking faster. He wanted to get out of this airport with all its bells and whistles as soon as possible. After a hundred meters, the corridor widened out and everybody walked, one at a time, into the gateway for hand luggage check. There were several dozen gates. “Exactly like a highway toll terminal in France,” thought Isaac. Hanging on the walls were numerous posters warning of things that couldn’t be brought into the USA.
Isaac joined one of the lines, with about ten people ahead of him. While he waited he could watch the way the gateway worked. The booth was made completely of glass or some transparent plastic. A newly arrived passenger went in at one side, the door closed and some kind of scanner swiveled around him. If everything was alright, a door opened at the other side and the person could walk in. Occasionally a light on the booth started blinking, and police officers walked up from the other side. In the next channel, a passenger was found to have food products that were illegal to import. They confiscated them and led the poor wretch away to file a report. The next passenger also turned out to be an offender: the gateway sounded a piercing and revolting alarm. Half a dozen police officers rushed to him from the exit side. Another two elbowed their way through the crowd from Isaac’s side.
The young guy in the gate started thrashing about and cursing hysterically, trying to break out. He pounded on the glass with his fists and kicked it, but it didn’t even shake.
The policeman standing beside Isaac giggled fiendishly. He and his partner were talking quietly and Isaac tried to listen in, but he couldn’t make anything out properly, except for the word “cocaine”. The policemen were absolutely calm, and it was soon clear why. Gas was fed into the gateway through an opening from above. The criminal jerked a couple of times and rapidly went limp. The gas was immediately pumped out, the door was opened and the body was carried off along that parallel corridor. The policemen went back to their places. The entire operation had taken no more than five minutes, right before the eyes of the astounded public. “Mmm, yes,” thought Isaac, “rapid, effective and very instructive.”
Having successfully passed through the gate, Isaac joined the line for passport control. After that, all he had to do was collect his baggage, which he brought along more in order to avoid looking suspicious by traveling light than for any real need. Standing there on his own, Isaac felt nervous about Bikie. Sunday was not over yet, in theory Isaac could not be put on the wanted list until Monday. Pascal and Link texted him that they had successfully crossed the border in the VIP hall for private flights in Miami – everything was just as Michelle had said it would be – and were waiting for a flight to New York.
At last it was his turn.
“What is the purpose of your visit to the USA?” the border protection officer asked.
“I’m going to take a look at New York. The museums, the city. Tourism, basically,” Isaac replied politely.
The officer twirled the passport in his hands and read the form that Isaac had filled in. He was in no hurry.
“What a job! This could drive you crazy!” Isaac thought. “The speed you work at makes no difference to your chances of getting the job done more quickly and going home earlier. Flights are coming in every minute, and people just keep on and on arriving. Just sit here as if you are chained to your seat until the shift is over. And it doesn’t matter how many passports you’ve looked through. A thousand or ten thousand. At least in the bar I used to get tips…”
“Place your palm on the scanner…”
Isaac patiently set his palm on the transparent little window that glowed blue. It felt as if someone gave his palm a gentle pinch. The officer looked at his monitor, then at Isaac’s face and stamped his passport with a loud thud.
Bikie was alright. They took a couple of tests and gave him an injection that rapidly relieved all the symptoms. He was waiting for Isaac at the entrance and already had his suitcase.
“Whoa! You were even quicker than me! I was worried.”
“Yeah, they did everything pretty quick. I’m actually glad they hooked me out and cured me so efficiently.”
“So it’s Hail America, then?”
“Precisely! The future cradle of liberty!”
The USA held the first place among countries for the number of O
E downloads. And also, interestingly enough, the average level of creativity was higher there than in other countries. The answer to the question of why the Americans were the leaders in the amount of creativity per person was fairly obvious.
Ever since WWI the U.S. has imported brains. They came dashing during WWII as well, and many more afterwards. In the States, they created good conditions for qualified specialists, so talented scientists from various countries yearned to come here. They knew there were laboratories, grants, abundant opportunities and decent money waiting for them. The perspective of fulfillment and advancement prompted people to make the move. The more lenient tax regime was also a powerful stimulus for European entrepreneurs, while the strong legal framework protecting private property attracted businessmen from Latin America, Africa and Asia.
Nowadays the Agency has grabbed the lead here and there, but not so long ago everything was simple: if you’re a talented programmer, then welcome to Silicon Valley! An artist? Go to Miami or New York! A hot-shot actor? Go and try your luck in Hollywood, which has the most prestigious studios in the world and pays the highest money.
America posed a choice of two options before a gifted individual. Option one: stay in your own country and vegetate in half-empty laboratories, struggling to find financing, sometimes living in poverty and maybe even dying in some military conflict. Option two: Immigrate to America and take advantage of the new opportunities, feel that you are needed, and become a US citizen.
No doubt this was a cunning policy. The best minds produced the best technologies. The best technologies produced the best economy. The American dollar, backed by minds and technologies, is a symbol of stability and a universal reserve currency.
Like a cheapskate who ends up paying twice, the generous America often earned a double profit by eagerly exporting arms and offering refuge to the finest minds of the warring countries. Of course, wars were not permitted in or around America itself.
The result was that until the downloading of OE has been invented, the whole world said that if you did not know where to find the latest cutting-edge developments in one field or another, you should look in the States. Now the brains that had flowed into the USA were benefitting the country’s image. The Agency was growing more and more powerful, but in the States they had not really felt that yet.
“I think I’m going to love this country,” Bikie declared when they walked out of the airport building. “I’ll just get a breath of the air of freedom and rock’n’roll and fall in love immediately.”
Bikie theatrically filled his lungs and held his breath.
“Try not to burst with delight! We haven’t even reached Amsterdam yet!”
“What do you mean, Amsterdam?”
“New Amsterdam.”
“And what’s that?”
“New Amsterdam. That’s what Manhattan used to be called. The first European settlement on the island was founded by the Dutch. Then the English pushed them out and renamed the town New York.”
“Freaking awesome! Why didn’t you tell me sooner that we were flying to Amster? I wouldn’t have brought any grass with me.”
“Get out of here, you joker! Let’s get moving. I can’t wait to see the city. We’re staying only three blocks away from Broadway and Times Square!”
The guys loaded their suitcases into a yellow cab and stared out the window, each on his side. At first there was not anything special to look at, but in less than half an hour, the glow of the megalopolis appeared up ahead. They had picked up an old taxi, from the times before crime was eradicated and a semi-transparent screen separated passengers from the driver. Bikie was annoyed that he couldn’t stretch out his legs; space being too small for his dimensions. But the moment the Empire State Building became recognizable up ahead, he immediately forgot the discomfort.
“Can we drive over the Brooklyn Bridge?” Isaac asked.
“That will take a lot longer and cost more,” the taxi driver replied.
“That’s okay. Take us anyway. This is the first time we are in America.”
“Done!” smiled the taxi driver.
Everything was happening as if in a fairy tale; like pictures on the internet: the beautiful bridge couldn’t possibly be confused with anything else, on the right was a view of the Empire State Building blazed blue and they could see the Chrysler Building with its beautiful, illuminated, frilly yellow design.
The driver turned to the embankment and the Williamsburg Bridge appeared, connecting the neighborhood of the same name with Manhattan. At this point, the two friends were so enthralled by the sights of the city that even the enemy headquarters, the UN building towering up along the embankment, provoked only positive feelings. The car turned left, to cross the island and in succession they cut across Second Avenue, Park Avenue, Madison Avenue and, finally, the most famous of all, Fifth Avenue. There were so many people in the streets, it looked as if some incredible sale for pedestrians was under way. The roads were packed with yellow taxi cabs but basically the traffic was moving smoothly.
As soon as Isaac thought about that, they got stuck in a jam.
“Broadway and Times Square are ahead. The traffic’s always tricky around here.”
“That’s OK. We’re in no hurry,” Bikie replied.
Eventually they arrived, paid the driver, collected their suitcases and walked into the hotel lobby. They didn’t feel like sleeping any longer and had to wait for the professor and Pascal. Bikie went out for a stroll. Isaac asked him to buy some local phones and checked into his room.
Now that he was alone, he could finally call Michelle in peace. She had to release Commissioner Pellegrini. He had done everything he promised and not tricked them.
The first question stubborn Michelle raised was about her coming to join them. Isaac was strongly against. Of course, he would be glad to see her, but the risks were too high.
“You know, Isaac, there’s only one person who can tell me where I can and cannot go. And that is me! I’m not a fool, you know that perfectly well…”
“Michelle, please…”
But she did not seem to be listening to him at all.
“I’ve been talking to Pellegrini here. We had loads of time. He won’t let us down. He’s a decent guy. He has really seen the light and now he’s dying to get into the fight.”
“It’s not just him, can’t you see that?” said Isaac, trying to convince her to be reasonable, but it was useless.
“Don’t interrupt! Let me finish! I’m not going to get in your way or interfere in your business. Do whatever you like I’ll simply see my friends.”
“Then why are you asking me?” Isaac was beginning to fume. “If you want to see your friends in New York, London or Melbourne, just buy a ticket and fly.”
“Oh, Isaac, please,” said Michelle, changing her tone. “Why do you keep putting me off all the time? I helped you get to America safely, by the way, so I’m also a member of the team. Besides, I’ve blown my cover with Pellegrini anyway.”
“No you haven’t. Tell him that when you realized we had really left, you untied him immediately. He doesn’t know that you advised us about Miami.”
“I’ll go where I want to go!” said Michelle, changing her tone again
“My God, how fickle you are! Exactly as Bikie predicted.”
Michelle hung up.
Oh boy! He had been in such a great mood, and now she had ruined it all! Isaac was furious. Could she really be so spoiled? That “I’ll do whatever I want” of hers… Yes, dealing with her was turning out pretty tricky.
Isaac had another thing to do that he had been putting off for a long time. He had to contact Wolanski and tell him everything somehow or other. He hadn’t yet thought of how to explain that they had held a police officer hostage in Wolanski’s house. Well, there was nothing to be done about it, he had to call. Isaac reluctantly tapped in Peter’s number.
“Hi, Isaac!” Peter’s voice was as vibrant as always. “How are you getting on? How’s the
work going?”
“Everything’s fine. Things are good. Your house is all safe and sound. Where are you right now?”
“In Dubai.”
“Sorry Peter, just a second…” Isaac looked at his phone and then added: “I hope I didn’t wake you up? We’ve got an eight-hour time difference.”
“Whoa?” said Peter, calculating something rapidly. “Good for you, guys! I get it! That’s great!”
“We solved the jigsaw. So we went.”
“You did?” There was more joy than surprise in Peter’s voice. “I never had any doubt!”
“Listen. There were some problems too. I was called in by the police. They asked about the details after that terrorist attack in Monaco. I have told them, you are my employer, just in case.”
“Anything serious?”
“Well, not quite,” Isaac replied mysteriously. “You know I had nothing to do with it. They just latched on to me.”
“I see.” This time Peter’s cheerfulness vanished. “What should I do?”
“Nothing. It’s been fixed already. And the good news is that Vicky will be well soon! An old friend gave me the money. Pascal, I told you about him, remember? He turned out to be a really sound guy. ABSOLUTELY sound, in fact,” Isaac said emphatically.
“Freaking hell!” Peter grunted. “That means…”
“Yes, Peter, that’s exactly what it means!” Isaac interrupted. “Anyway, you relax over there. Get a tan. There’s nothing more to be done in Monaco.”
“Listen, Isaac. There’s something I need to tell you as well. It’s very important. You must find a way to contact me. Call from the hotel.”
Collective Mind Page 31
