by Paul Mathews
‘And you played the American president in all of them?’
Zayn adopted an American accent that was so awful, it was almost certainly a capital offence in fifty states. ‘Yes, ma’am! I did run the whole show over the Pacific.’ He checked himself. ‘I mean, over the Atlantic. For all three of them movies.’ Zayn returned to his normal voice. ‘It was a role I slipped into naturally. I didn’t need to act. I was just riding the natural presidential vibe I got inside me and —’
‘Right, I think that’s about it for today,’ interrupted Howie.
Mina cocked her head and gave an inscrutable smile. ‘And remind me again why the president couldn’t do this interview, Mr Pond. Just so I can add a line to the article.’
‘He’s attending to important matters of state, which I’m afraid we can’t discuss.’
Mina nodded. ‘I completely understand.’
Howie hoped she didn’t. Or they really would be in trouble. ‘This article will be in tomorrow’s Daily Democrat, yes?’
‘Yes. The day before the Republican Party presidential nomination.’
The nomination, yes. Zayn better not have mentioned anything about putting himself forward for the presidency if a vacancy arose. Howie tried not to look concerned. ‘It’s just a feature, is it?’
‘I think I’ve got enough for a feature with a news angle.’
Howie could feel a lump in his throat. ‘And what’s the news angle?’
Mina’s face showed no emotion. ‘The president.’
Howie could feel his heart thumping in his chest. ‘And will it be a front-page story?’
‘I would think so.’ Mina turned to Zayn. ‘Unless an alien invasion relegates it to the inside pages.’
Zayn laughed. ‘Isn’t she great? I can’t wait to read it!’
Howie could wait. Preferably a few years – when he would be in another job. But the reality was that, in just over twelve hours, he would wake up to Zayn’s grinning face on the front page of Wednesday’s Daily Democrat.
‘I’m going now,’ announced Mina. ‘Front-page news stories don’t write themselves.’
Zayn gestured to the door. ‘I’ll show you out.’
That was probably a bad idea. It was one last opportunity for Mina to get more off-message quotes from Zayn. But Howie had to speak to Martha Blake as a priority. And, as far as this interview was concerned, the damage was already done. Howie grunted a goodbye and Zayn and Mina crossed the room and headed out of the door.
Howie heaved a sigh of despair. That hadn’t gone well. But at least it was out of the way. He took his bleeper out of his pocket and sent Martha a short e-comm, telling her his whereabouts. Five minutes later, she popped her head round the door.
‘Howie! I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Where on earth have you been?’
‘Erm … I was off-grid for a while.’
‘I bleeped you three hours ago. Come on, I need you in the president’s private office right now. Ivan is going to update us on the security camera failure.’ She disappeared behind the door and Howie followed her into the corridor.
A few minutes later, they were sitting in the president’s private office. Just the two of them.
‘Now, while we’re waiting, Howie, tell me what you’ve …’ Martha sniffed the air. ‘Have you been drinking?’
Howie cleared his throat. ‘Yes. But all in the line of duty. A freelance journalist I know, Maurice Skeets, asked to meet me at the Two Chairmen.’
Martha rolled her eyes. ‘I should have known.’
‘I had to be there. He claimed to have details of secret meetings between Jan and three high-flyers.’
‘Who were they?’
‘First one was Sky Eastern, chairwoman of Eastern Oil. Maurice had a conspiracy theory about a secret deal between her and the president. He’s read a company letter about some test drilling they want to do in British waters. That’s the only hard evidence he’s got, though.’
‘Sounds like guesswork. The second name?’
‘Olga Frik. Her firm manufactures the auto-techs. Maurice reckons she and Jan had a long lunch.’
‘Well, I hope she was paying. What was the journalist’s angle?’
‘He didn’t have one. Just the fact her firm supplies the auto-techs.’
‘That could be considered a crime in itself. What’s the last name?’
‘A Russian, Petra Putinov. Her company supplies the Government with a few military parts. Maurice said she and Jan had a meeting.’
‘That sounds more interesting.’
‘Yeah. But they’re a multinational. They make loads of other stuff. Maurice is just guessing again. That was it.’
‘So it took him three hours to tell you three names with barely anything to back up his suspicions?’
‘Ah. Not exactly.’ Howie would have to come clean. ‘I dozed off. After three pints of Guinness. And a steak-and-ale pie.’
‘I admire your honesty. If not your culinary choices.’
‘When I woke up, I rushed straight here for the Daily Democrat interview. Zayn brought it forward without my permission. It’s just finished.’
‘And how did that go?’
‘I only caught the end of it. He came out with some dumb things while I was there. He’ll have come out with even more dumb things when I wasn’t there. We’ll find out just how dumb tomorrow.’
‘I see,’ sighed Martha. ‘What about the First Lady?’
‘I didn’t have much time with her. I told her the situation. She seemed pretty calm about it.’
‘When did she last see Jan?’
‘She met with him on Saturday for lunch. But wouldn’t tell me what they discussed.’
‘No?’
‘She insisted it was personal stuff. And she had no idea where Jan was.’
‘And you believed her?’
‘No reason not to.’
‘Did you get a sense of anything going on in the background that should worry us?’
Howie remembered the discussion about America. ‘This book she’s written is an open love letter to the New States. I asked her if she’d ever consider moving there. She said it had never been an option. So she hadn’t given it any thought.’ A possibility hit Howie like a train. So hard, he had to take a sharp breath. ‘But if Jan wasn’t around … maybe it would be an option.’
Martha wrinkled her forehead. ‘Divorce is usually an easier option than disposing of your spouse, Howie.’
‘For ordinary citizens, yeah. But if you’re the wife of a president, it’s not so easy.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean citizens like their leaders to be married. And stay married. Divorce is a sign of failure. Presidents don’t get divorced.’
‘This is 2044. Not 1944.’
‘Yeah. But Jan’s core voters are the Eastern Europeans who came here after Amerigration. They make up thirty per cent of the population now – hard workers with more traditional family values than the natives.’
Martha considered his analysis and then delivered her verdict. ‘I’m still not convinced the First Lady would take matters into her own hands. Whether that’s by kidnap, murder or whatever. Who would she employ to do it, for a start?’
‘I don’t know.’ Howie paused to think. ‘Maybe I’m reading too much into a self-help book.’
‘I think you are. But let’s keep all this in mind.’ Martha looked him in the eyes. ‘Where did you go after that? Straight to the pub?’
‘No. The First Lady pointed me in the direction of Jan’s personal trainer, Cherry Blush. She suspects Cherry and Jan are having an affair.’
‘Jan?’ exclaimed Martha. ‘Well, he might have the energy but he hasn’t got the time.’
‘That’s exactly what I thought. Anyway, I went to see Miss Blush at her gym in Canary Wharf. And she denied having a relationship with the president.’
‘Do you think she was telling the truth?’
‘She was convincing. So, yeah. I do. And that was i
t, as far as my meeting with Cherry Blush was concerned. Then I went to the Two Chairmen.’ Howie didn’t want to discuss his pub visit again, so he changed the subject. ‘Any news from the security search?’
Martha shook her head. ‘There are still some rooms that need to undergo a full examination. But they’ve all been walked through, and there’s no sign of him.’
‘What about Oskar? Have you spoken to him since the Code Red crisis meeting?’
‘No. He’s a work in progress.’ A flicker of a smile crossed Martha’s face. ‘I’ve had one piece of luck. The American ambassador’s office called to cancel our meeting. It’s fortunate because the Americans always seem to sniff out this kind of crisis pretty quickly. So not having to spend an hour with Clinton Stackshaker, watching every word I said, was a bonus.’
‘That reminds me. Two policemen at the gate told me there was an American security woman asking questions this morning.’
Martha stopped. ‘Really? Who was she?’
‘The officers didn’t get her name. She told them she was working on a security review for the American president.’
‘And what was she asking about?’
‘She wanted to know about palace security arrangements. The officers denied telling her anything.’ Howie shook his head. ‘Not sure I believe them. But the police don’t know about the Code Red crisis, so they can’t have told her about that.’
‘Sounds suspicious to me.’
‘Yeah. I think she might have been an undercover journalist. She had no ID.’
‘Don’t tell me this has been leaked to the media already?’
‘Maybe. Or someone at the crisis meeting has been talking about it afterwards and been overheard. It’s not impossible.’
‘Who would be that stupid?’
Howie shrugged. He had no idea. There were too many possible suspects to choose from.
There was a knock on the main door.
‘Come in!’ shouted Martha.
Ivan Bonn entered the room, followed by one of the auto-techs.
As soon as the robot detected Howie and Martha, it swivelled its head and fired a laser in their eyes. ‘Good afternoon, Martha Blake. Good afternoon, Howard Pond.’
Momentarily dazzled, Martha snapped her eyelids shut. ‘Can we turn it off – preferably permanently?’
‘No. It’s still processing. Data. Lots of it.’ Ivan looked down and patted the auto-tech. ‘Aren’t you, Brian?’
The auto-tech replied in a tinny voice. ‘Brian has downloaded the CAMS data. Brian is now processing it to determine the cause of the CAMS shutdown. Please wait for Brian’s readout.’
Martha sighed loudly. ‘So we still don’t know what happened with the cameras?’
Ivan looked worried. ‘No. Not yet. Waiting for Brian.’
Martha glared at the auto-tech. ‘Brian, how long have we got to wait?’
‘Brian is calculating the estimated readout time.’
Everyone waited. After thirty seconds of silence, Martha turned to Ivan. ‘I hate to sound impatient, but I don’t have all day.’
‘Please be patient, Martha. Brian does not like to be rushed.’
Martha folded her arms. ‘And this is what you call a helpful auto-tech? I’d hate to be dealing with an unhelpful one.’
Howie tutted. ‘Can’t you get another one of these things to check it out, Ivan?’
‘Sorry, can’t. Others malfunctioned. Overnight. Only Brian still works. Don’t understand how —’
The auto-tech interrupted. ‘Brian reporting. You will wait forty-eight hours for the CAMS readout. Brian apologises for the delay. Brian hopes this does not spoil your Tuesday.’
Martha growled in frustration. ‘So we won’t get a readout until late Thursday afternoon and all Brian’s friends have malfunctioned. This is ludicrous!’
Howie had an idea. ‘Hang on. Could someone have done this deliberately?’
Ivan narrowed his eyes. ‘Please clarify.’
‘I mean, could someone have messed around with the auto-techs’ systems?’
Ivan blinked rapidly for a couple of seconds. ‘You mean hackers?’
‘Maybe. I don’t know.’
Martha turned to Ivan. ‘Can you check if any of the auto-techs have been tampered with?’
Ivan went pale. ‘Don’t do actual Tech.’
‘Oh, no,’ sighed Martha. ‘I forgot.’
Howie glanced down at Brian. ‘Let’s just ask it. Brian, did any humans access your systems last night?’
‘Humans access Brian’s systems all the time, Howard.’
Howie turned to Ivan. ‘Do these things keep a log of who they deal with?’
‘They should. Seven days’ worth. Dates. Times. Names.’
‘Access your logs, Brian,’ ordered Howie. ‘Who did you interact with last night?’
‘Brian had to erase all logs. Brian had to free up memory for the CAMS data download.’
Howie sighed. ‘Okay. Let’s try another question. Can you be reprogrammed?’
‘Brian is an intelligent system. Therefore Brian can be reprogrammed.’
At last, the machine was being moderately helpful. ‘And have you been reprogrammed recently?’
‘As I just told you, Howard, Brian had to erase all logs. This includes reprogramming logs.’
This machine wasn’t being helpful.
‘I wouldn’t waste any more time with it,’ snapped Martha.
‘One last try,’ grumbled Howie. ‘Brian, can you access the CAMS system?’
‘Brian and all other auto-techs can access CAMS, Howard.’
Martha was getting ratty. ‘Just tell us if you accessed the system last night!’
‘At the risk of repeating myself for a second time, Martha, Brian has erased all logs.’
‘Shut the bloody thing off!’ shouted Martha.
Ivan looked nervous again. ‘I can’t. Auto-techs power themselves.’
Martha jabbed a finger in Brian’s direction. ‘Can’t you just wheel the little dustbin out of here?’
The auto-tech swivelled its head towards Martha and bleeped. ‘Brian can tell when he is not wanted.’ Then it glided out the door and left.
‘I’ve had enough of temperamental Tech for one day,’ huffed Martha.
Howie felt the same. But another idea came to him. ‘Ivan, could I go and have a look at the CAMS system now?’
‘If you want.’
‘Good. I’m not going to let these bloody machines beat us.’
Martha looked grim. ‘I fear they already have.’
Howie shook his head. ‘Not yet, they haven’t.’ He had no idea where his new-found confidence with Tech had come from. He just knew that the auto-tech had been hiding something. Machines could be economical with the truth, just as humans could be. After all, they were programmed by humans. ‘I’m going to the CAMS control room. And I’m going to find out what happened to that system.’
Martha didn’t look convinced. ‘You think you can get to the bottom of this?’
Howie thought for a second. James Bond could usually suss out these supercomputers pretty quickly. It shouldn’t take long to work out if CAMS had been interfered with. ‘Just leave it to me.’
Martha nodded. ‘Very well. We’ve got nothing to lose. Now, I’ve got some intelligence reports to go through. That’ll take at least a couple of hours. I’ll pop up to the control room when I’ve finished.’
Howie checked the clock on the wall. It was 4.44pm. ‘That sounds like a plan. Come on, Ivan. You can help me.’
Ivan wrinkled his forehead. ‘Me? But —’
‘Yes, I know,’ interrupted Howie. ‘You don’t do Tech.’ He put his arm around Ivan so he couldn’t escape. ‘But you can do more Tech than I can.’
‘Al-al-alright,’ stuttered Ivan. ‘I’ll come.’
Excellent, thought Howie. It was time for battle. Two men versus one machine. There could only be one winner.
Chapter 16
Britt was back in the ne
wsroom of The Republican. It was where she belonged. But she wasn’t at her own desk. Her colleague Rosie was still camped there, engaged in some undemanding sub-editing, light reading and office small talk. Britt was sandwiched between two scruffy young interns who smelled like they must have a soap allergy. At least she would be back at her usual desk next week. After she had broken the biggest story this newspaper had ever known – a story about a missing president.
She looked up at her e-terminal. It told her the time was seven o’clock. That was her deadline. Her Cinderella hour. Her editor George was obsessive about deadlines. If he said 7.00pm he meant 7.00pm. He didn’t mean 7.01pm, 7.02pm or 7.03pm. Editors were difficult like that. Editors were difficult about everything.
But on this occasion, Britt was okay. She could relax. She had finished the piece with ten minutes to spare. It was a new record for her. Normally, she worked right up to deadline. That was just her way. But the adrenaline had been flowing so freely, her mind had been thinking so clearly, it had pushed her to new levels of productivity.
Her fifteen-hundred-word feature had been delivered. And now she was just waiting for that booming voice to come from the editor’s office and summon her. There she would be told whether the great Caesar had given it the thumbs up or the thumbs down. She was pretty confident it would be a thumbs up. It was a good, solid feature with a neat side story about the novel-writing security woman. It was a little clichéd, but that was deliberate. She didn’t want to be singled out as a feature-writing star of the future and be banished from the news desk forever. For that reason, she had used a few American spellings that always annoyed George. And been overly descriptive in places. Without those two spoilers, it could probably be labelled an excellent feature.
Britt looked back at George’s office door. There were no signs of him emerging. She was starting to get a little worried. This meeting could take a while if George was in an argumentative mood and she really needed to get away soon. The gig at the Grafton Arms started at eight. Britt would need as much time as possible to probe Herbert the security guy for more information. Or rather, Pellie Cann would need as much time as possible.
A voice shouted her name. It wasn’t George. It was Rosie. Britt kept her head down and tried to ignore her.
