There they are. They crossed at night, which is significant. It was the only time they were in sight of land after leaving Monaco.
The image was expanding again, shifting west and south. The Colonel Maitland flew north of the Canaries, then out over the ocean.
The Colonel Maitland is currently seven hundred kilometres due west of the Cape Verde islands, and holding station, NN core one said. That’s the absolute middle of nowhere. For the last ten hours, all it’s done is compensated for the wind.
Julia stared at the blue dot, virtually equidistant from both landmasses, Africa and South America. You mean only someone with our resources could locate the Colonel Maitland right now?
Yes, for all its size, the damn thing is tiny on an oceanic scale. Unless you have access to the same Stratotransit and satellite data as we do, there’s no way you could find it.
What about the usual communication links? she asked. Call Jason Whitehurst up and locate him via a transponder.
Jason is too wily for that; pulling transponder co-ordinates our of Intelsat is an ancient hotrod trick. There’s no transponder response to his number.
You mean he’s totally incommunicado?
Far from it; one of security’s ELINT satellites has an orbit which passes close enough to scan the Colonel Maitland. We waited until the latest results were squirted over to us before telling you we’d found Jason. it turns out the Colonel Maitland is operating some kind of localized jammer.
Is that why we can’t get any response from Charlotte Fielder’s cybofax?
Could well be, if she’s on board. But Jason Whitehurst certainly hasn’t been struck dumb. He’s using his own comsat to squirt data about among his cargo agents, and the bit rate is approaching maximum capacity. And the uplink to geosync orbit is a very tight beam; but the ELINT intercepted a portion while it was overhead. Jason Whitehurst is receivng a vast amount of kombinate finance reviews which his agents have bought from commercial intelligence companies.
Julia looked at the cube again, translating the blue dot into an airship drifting idly over the ocean. What had Victor said? No such thing as coincidence. And Greg said the same thing often enough.
Grandpa, do you notice the similarity here? I’m looking for this Charlotte Fielder girl, and I’ve also initiated a search through kombinate finance records because of the offers Mutizen and Clifford Jepson have made to me. Jason Whitehurst has got Charlotte Fielder, and what’s he busy doing?
Spot on, Juliet. Notice something else as well?
What?
This atomic structuring technology cropped up more or less at the same time as Royan warned us about aliens. A technology that is so different it isn’t even a breakthrough in the usual sense of the word, because nobody’s even been working on it. A technology whose origins are bloody difficult to track down.
“Bugger,” she said out loud. He was right. Which was precisely what made him so indispensable, not just his experience, but an alternative viewpoint.
We should’ve realized that, she said to her two NN cores.
Yes, was the curiously hollow answer. A fragment of resentment.
Right, let’s make up for the lapse. One of you contact Peter Cavendish, tell him to start putting some pressure on Eduard Muller and Mutizen. Explain to them that we’ve had a counter-offer for a partnership in atomic structuring, and they’ll have to put in a revised bid if they want Event Horizon as a partner. Then I want one of our Atlantic antenna platforms reprogrammed to plug into the Colonel Maitland’s satellite circuits. I want to talk to Jason Whitehurst, get him to accept a visit from Greg and Suzi.
No problem, said NN core two. I’m redirecting one of the dish foci now.
Fine. What about Jason Whitehurst’s profile?
Interesting. I can find no reference to Fabian Whitehurst’s birth certificate in any public memory core. The birth was simply not registered. However, I’ve been accessing recent gossipcats, the boy has been to several society parties over the last nine months.
The terminal’s second cube came alive, showing her the image of a mid-teens boy with long, floppy dark hair. She could see some resemblance to Jason. The boy was a lively one, she thought, bright and sparky; years of trying to contain Matthew taught her the signs.
I wonder why Jason never mentioned him to me? she mused.
There was no need for him to tell you, her grandfather said. No reason why you should know.
Grandpa, if anyone I know has a child I’m given their age, school record, told they adore dogs and horses, and get shown their hologram, all within fifteen seconds. Anything that’ll get them invited to play with Daniella and Matthew. And this Fabian looks about the same age as Daniella.
Jason Whitehurst isn’t an arriviste.
Maybe not. But why isn’t there a record of Fabian’s birth?
Got me there, girl.
OK, I want a more detailed profile of Jason Whitehurst assembled, centred on his life sixteen, fifteen, and fourteen years ago. Finance, personal, the works, every byte. I don’t know exactly how old this Fabian child is, but he’s around that age. Find a trace of him. Look for unexplained payments to women, and possibly medical clinics as well. Given Jason’s sexual orientation, I’d guess at an in vitro fertilization and a host mother.
You got it, Juliet.
I have established a link with the Colonel Maitland, NN core two said.
Jason Whitehurst appeared on the study’s phone screen. He was sitting at some kind of desk, wearing a white shirt, open at the neck to reveal an MCC cravat. There was a window behind him, showing nothing by sky.
“Julia, this is a somewhat unexpected pleasure. I wasn’t aware I was taking incoming calls.”
“I know, Jason, and I apologize for interrupting your communication circuits like this, but we do need to talk.”
“Certainly, I was going to call you today anyway.”
Julia felt a trickle of relief in her mind. At least they weren’t going to play the euphemisms game. She tried to gauge his mood, which wasn’t easy over a phone vid. But he was definitely riding an up.
She thought for a moment, unsure of what to say. What exactly was she asking him for? Charlotte Fielder, or should there be something more?
“I’m looking for someone, a Miss Charlotte Fielder. Apparently she left the Newfields ball with your son, Fabian.”
There was a slight tightening around Jason Whiteburst’s mouth at the mention of Fabian. “She left with me, that is so.”
Interesting, her grandfather said. The old bastard’s cagey about the tyke.
Do you think I could use that? she asked.
Bloody hell, girl, don’t you ever listen to me? Don’t ever ask a question unless you already know the answer. How would you use the boy? Tell me that, hey?
Sorry, Grandpa. It was just that she was so used to negotiating from a position of strength. Spoilt.
“I’d like to talk to her, Jason.”
“There are several people who would, my dear Julia. But I’m sure you and I can sort out a deal.”
Bugger the man, her grandfather said. Juliet, you have got to get that Fielder girl. She’s not something he can sell twice. If she knows where the flower came from, then she knows where the alien is, and quite possibly all that atomic structuring technology. He’s going to ask for a ridiculous sum, but pay it. You can’t afford not to.
Maybe, Grandpa, but we can certainly apply some pressure here.
Jason Whitehurst was regarding her with polite expectation.
“I’d like you to receive my representative,” she told him. “He can be at the Colonel Maitland in an hour or so. And he’s fully empowered to negotiate on my behalf.”
“I hadn’t anticipated face-to-face meetings, Julia. My intention is to hold an auction. How else could I ascertain her true worth?”
“Perhaps you don’t appreciate just how high the stakes are in this instance, Jason. I don’t think an open bidding session would be to your advantage. Acknowledging that
you hold Fielder could prove dangerous. Someone uncovering the location of the Colonel Maitland was inevitable. If nothing else, the amount of effort I’ve expended in finding you ought to tell you how deep you’re in. Of course, you know you can trust me not to exploit the knowledge. But there are some parties involved here who won’t hold your physical safety in such high regard.”
Jason Whitehurst pulled on his beard. “Just the one man?”
“Absolutely, his name’s Greg Mandel, and he’ll have an assistant with him. They’ll arrive in an ordinary civil Pegasus. Your landing pad can accommodate that.”
“Very well, Julia. I’ll see him.” He held up a warning finger. “Nothing more. If your financial offer proves acceptable, he can take Fielder with him when he leaves. If not, you will have to compete with your rivals on a level pitch.”
Julia leant forwards, schooling her face into an earnest expression. “Thank you, Jason. But please take care, at least suspend your dealings with anyone else until after Greg Mandel arrives. I don’t want them finding out where you are, you’re too valuable to me right now.”
“I appreciate the concern, Julia. Don’t worry about me.” His image blanked out.
Julia let out a heavy breath, staring round the study, not really seeing it. Whenever she did have to work at Wilholm, she always used the study. With its dark panelling, chilly stone mantelpiece, and sombre glass-cased books it had the right air of sobriety. The decisions taken in here…
Atta girl, Philip Evans said. Once Greg and Suzi get out to the Colonel Maitland, old Jason’s going to find his options decreasing rapidly. You did exactly the right thing.
Thank you, Grandpa. He always seemed to know when she was down. Although the mix of tension and depression that was wiring up her muscles must have given him a strong clue.
She fed the desk terminal the code for a secure link to Greg’s cybofax. When his face appeared there were some small cuts on his cheeks, a splash of blue dermal seal near one eye. He was trying to damp down a scowl.
She sucked in her lower lip. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not Greg hardlining. She had promised Eleanor that, promised herself. All she wanted was Royan. “Dear Lord, are you all OK?” Victor had mentioned there had been trouble at the Prezda, a tekmerc called Reiger; but nothing about Greg being injured.
“Yeah, more or less. I don’t know what sort of commendations Victor hands out, but Malcolm Ramkartra earned his today.”
She just nodded meekly at the screen.
Greg seemed to relent. “I guess we were lucky, nothing a first aid kit can’t patch up.” He dropped his voice. “But you’ve gone and dumped Suzi straight into a blood vendetta. This Reiger bloke is a right fucking loony, and no messing. Two of his team were killed, and he blames Suzi for the whole shooting match. That’s serious trouble, Julia. People like this, it ain’t over till one of them’s snuffed.”
“Whatever she needs, Greg, she’s got it, you know that.”
“Yeah, but you know Suzi, she won’t take it.” His voice was still low, almost inaudible.
“Then Victor will just have get rid of Reiger for her,” she heard herself saying.
“Right.” He looked loaded up with remorse, like she felt.
“I’ve got you the co-ordinates of Jason Whitehurst’s airship. And more, he’s agreed to meet you and Suzi as my representatives.”
“Hey, well done.”
She ordered the terminal to squirt the co-ordinates over to the Pegasus. “Not entirely good news, Greg. When I called, he was getting ready to sell Charlotte Fielder to the highest bidder.”
“Christ. Just how many groups are we playing against?”
“I don’t know. But you can tell Suzi that crack of hers about acquiring starship technology is starting to look uncomfortably true. I’ve been getting some pretty strange offers from kombinates and other major-league players today, all concerning some radical technology. Our alien isn’t entirely the big hush we thought it was. I’d say the first one to reach Royan is going to hit the technological jackpot. That’s why you’re experiencing all this heat.”
“Great,” he said sourly. “At least I know why I’m being shot at.”
“I don’t care what price Whitehurst puts on Fielder, Greg. But you’ve got to come back with her. The ident card we gave you is linked directly to the company’s main account, so pay him whatever he asks and don’t worry about it. Besides, I don’t think he really understands what he’s gone and got himself involved in. Unless that airship is armed like a destroyer, he’s seriously underestimated how eager we all are to get our hands on Charlotte Fielder.”
“OK, Julia, it’s your money. And please try to find out who we’re up against. If we know, we can watch them, find out what their moves are.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“OK, I’ll call you after we get Fielder.”
She ordered the phone off.
Access Security File: Reiger, Leol; Tekmerc. She closed her eyes and let the profile open out in her mind. Victor had assembled a surprisingly large amount of information on the tekmerc, including a psychological report. Greg had been right, Leol Reiger’s mentality bordered on sociopathic.
That’s a mean-looking bugger, Juliet. What’re you planning on doing about him?
Leol Reiger’s deals seemed to glow like blue neon in the formless grey mist of the node interface; the number of fatalities involved, those confirmed plus estimates. Forty-eight in the last nine years. Rumours of more, when he was just an ordinary hardliner, before he came to Victor’s attention as a deal maker.
Exactly what I told Greg. Turn Victor loose on him. But that’ll take time, for the moment I want to know who’s hired him.
Assemble Personality Package.
She was back in the isolation of the ‘ware universe, the blank depthless emptiness. Her processor nodes were integrating the package, following the formula Royan had devised; freezing and copying specific segments of her thought patterns, digitizing them.
In its compressed, dormant, state she could access the composite’s multiple data planes, all neatly folded in on each other; sequences of memory, response logic, identity, motivation. They were slices of her mind, the crucial portions; subconscious inhibitions and emotional reticence rooted out, discarded. It was a streamlined edition of her own mentality.
Julia formulated her instructions carefully, loading them into the personality package. She withdrew, leaving herself alone with Leol Reiger’s sleazy profile. Her eyes flicked open, reducing the profile to a smoky shadow overlaying the warm browns of the study.
A representation of the personality package was floating in one of the terminal’s cubes, a dark green sphere with a multi-segmented surface, reminding her of an insect eye.
She began to type on the terminal, summoning up a finance transfer order, then entered Leol Reiger’s Zurich bank account number, reading it direct from his profile.
You’re giving Leol Reiger ten thousand Eurofrancs? her grandfather asked.
That’s right. She watched the representation of the transfer order form in the cube, a translucent blue starfish. Easiest way I know of accessing the bank’s mainframe. The arms of the starfish were closing around the personality package.
Bloody hell, I don’t know what the world’s coming to.
There was no sign of the intricately nicked green sphere; its surface had been covered by a smooth blue shell. Julia tested the assembled composite with a couple of security probe programs. Its integrity held.
You know a better way? she asked.
No. A mental sigh accompanied the admission.
Right, then. She tapped the download key, and the data composite squirted into Leol Reiger’s Zurich bank.
Julia made a brief kissing motion after it. There was a nostalgic thrill in watching it go. She hadn’t done any serious hotrodding for years. If only the conspiracy theorists knew. Julia Evans’s hobby was criminal data piracy. They’d have a field day with that one.
; She could have routed the request through Victor’s division, put pressure on the bank to squirt over Leol Reiger’s account data. Corporate entities did co-operate to a reasonable degree, especially with regard to tekmercs. But Zurich banks still clung to their independence. It would take a lot of pressure, and time.
A hiss of compressors penetrated the window. She turned to see the Pegasus carrying Victor Tyo and Dr Parnell lifting of the lawn. The scene looked vaguely surreal, like something out of a five-star resort advert; all it lacked was a couple of smiling models posing at a table by the pool, sipping something potent and cool.
Julia ran her hands through her hair, and turned back to the terminal. Time to find out just how widespread the knowledge of atomic structuring was. With at least two other groups chasing after Royan, she was starting to wonder exactly how many routes there were to the alien.
The terminal accessed Event Horizon’s main communication network for here and she loaded a cut-off program at the junction. If anyone tried to backtrack her call the best they’d be able to come up with was English Telecom’s Peterborough exchange. She entered the Gracious Services number.
There was no phone on the other end; England’s hacker circuit had illegal catchment programs loaded into every exchange in the country. It pulled out her call and plugged her straight in.
There was a nervous flicker across her terminal’s flatscreen, then it printed:
WELCOME TO GRACIOUS SERVICES.
WE AIM TO PLEASE
DATA FOUND, OR MONEY RETURNED.
NO ACCESS TOO BIG OR TOO SMALL.
JUST REMEMBER OUR CARDINAL RULE: DO NOT ASK FOR CREDIT!!!
PLEASE ENTER YOUR HANDLE.
Julia thought for a moment; she hadn’t actually used the circuit from this side before. Royan had signed her on as a novice hotrod when he was teaching her to write dark programs, saying the experience would do her good. She had run several burns against various companies and government departments, competing against the other hotrods for the client’s money. It was a race, the one who pulled the data first cleaned up, minus the umpire’s cut. Competition sharpened her mind to a considerable degree.
The Mandel Files Page 108
