‘I realise that I’ve not offered you anything to eat or drink. My mother would be angry with me.’
Jags shook his head.
‘It’s not necessary.’
‘It is necessary. At least let me get you a drink of water.’ Soledad disappeared behind the wooden screen that separated the living area from the kitchen. Jags and Nathan listened. They heard the fridge door open and close again, but that didn’t mean the water they were about to be offered was bottled; more likely the family just kept a jug of tap water in the fridge. Nathan had read the briefing notes on Brochu, most likely memorised them too. He knew not to drink the water, he probably knew exactly how much manganese, mercury and iron there was in every glass. Jags watched all this play out on his face. Soledad returned holding three mugs. Nathan sat, arms folded as she put one of these down in front of him.
‘You ain’t got water glasses?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ She slid the other mug across to Jags and then raised her own. ‘Cheers.’ She took a gulp. Nathan picked the mug up, but did not drink. The fact that she was drinking the water counted for nothing. She was local, she’d been drinking this shit for years, she’d probably got used to it. He hadn’t.
‘I’m not thirsty.’
‘No?’ Soledad laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t blame you. I won’t consider you rude Mr Nathan. And I hope you won’t consider me rude when I say I am not interested in your scholarship. So I suppose that means this meeting is over. You came all the way from California for nothing.’
‘We’ll see.’ Nathan stood, his chair scraping against the floor noisily as he did so. He looked down at Jags. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Be patient …’ He took a gulp from his mug of water and looked at Soledad. ‘… maybe you need a little time to think about this? Talk to your mother? Your brothers?’
She shook her head.
‘Thank you, but I have thought about it. I want to stay and make the project Public Square have proposed work for the people here in Brochu. I’m happy to talk about that, but I don’t want to hear any more about scholarships.’
They were ten kilometres outside Brochu, heading for the guesthouse where Jags liked to stay, before either man spoke. Nathan gave a mirthless laugh and turned to look at Jags.
‘How the fuck d’you explain a thing like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘We’re offering that girl a ticket out of this shithole, a proper well-paid job further down the line. She should have been down on her knees, kissing our feet.’
‘I guess she didn’t see it that way.’
Nathan made the laughing sound again.
‘I guess not.’ They drove in silence for several more kilometres before Nathan spoke again. ‘So how d’you want to proceed with Plan B?’
‘Plan B? I’m not sure.’ Jags paused. ‘What did Fred suggest we do?’
Nathan shrugged.
‘He told me you’d know what to do. He said you’d probably want to play it the same way you did with all the others.’
Jags nodded slowly.
‘All the others. Of course. So I killed all those men …’ He paused. ‘… men and some boys – I killed them in various out-of-the-way places. Somewhere well outside town. I shot or stabbed them …’ He paused. ‘… strangled one of them too, now I remember. And then we pushed their bodies down into the tailings dam late at night. Soledad’s old man and me. Weighed them down with rocks so they’d sink quicker.’ Jags glanced across at Nathan to see what he made of this.
‘Fine. Let’s do that then, if that’s what works.’ The young American hadn’t heard Jags’ confession. All he’d heard was a plan.
67 Priorities
HEATHROW AIRPORT, LONDON
The express train to Heathrow was extortionately expensive but swift, which was just as well since the rest of the process took an age. There were long queues at the bag drop, passport control and especially going through security where no one was having a good time. While he was removing his shoes and belt for X-ray, someone dropped their roll-along suitcase with a loud gunshot sound, shredding the passengers’ already frayed nerves. It seemed that air travel – once one of William’s great pleasures – was no longer fun, not even a tiresome chore. It was an ordeal. Carver made it to the gate with just a few minutes to spare. He sat where he could keep an eye on the queue for boarding, got his phone out and dialled McCluskey’s landline.
‘Yes?’
‘You’re still at home then?’
‘For someone who’s supposed to have given up the journalism, you’re still bloody nosy. Are you my mother?’
‘No.’
‘I thought not. You’re uglier than her … not much, but a wee bit. I’m leaving in a couple of hours, the suitcase is in the hall.’
‘You managed to get all those papers in one suitcase?’
‘One case and a carpet bag. Don’t worry about me, it’s all in hand. Worry about yourself, they should be calling your flight around now, no?’
‘It’s boarding now.’ He paused. ‘So, I’ll be in touch once I meet up with Patrick. I’ll get a new chuck away phone and message you the number.’
‘Smashing.’
‘Anything you’d like bringing back from Hong Kong?’
McCluskey sucked at her teeth.
‘Now you mention it, that snow globe you got me last time you and the boy were there, the one with the harbour in it?’
‘Yes.’
‘It was shite. If they’ve got anything better – glass, no plastic. Then I’d take that.’
‘I’ll make it a priority.’
‘You do that Billy, an’… take care.’
‘Sure. And you too Jemi—’ But she’d hung up.
McCluskey unplugged the phone at the socket and walked back towards the hall. There was no suitcase there. If Carver or Patrick wanted her help, then everything she needed to provide that help was here in this house. She could hardly transport her entire house to her sister’s in Brighton. Especially as she didn’t have a sister in Brighton. She didn’t have a sister at all. But there was no need to worry Carver with these sorts of details right now, he had enough on his plate.
68 Hackathon
PUBLIC SQUARE HQ, CUPERTINO, CALIFORNIA
The weather was so good that weekend that Elizabeth decided to hold the annual hackathon outside in the grounds around Public Square HQ instead of inside the Zaha Hadid-designed auditorium as was usual. The previous year, Fred had asked the team to work on inventing a computer that could smell and the results had been interesting. But it was Elizabeth’s turn to set the task this year and she’d decided to choose something more obviously useful and, she believed, worthwhile.
By nine a.m. the entire staff of Public Square was sitting in neat lines of white folding chairs on the great lawn in front of the glass egg. The scene resembled a graduation ceremony or a huge wedding and at the front, on a raised platform standing behind a clear plastic lectern with Fred sitting nearby, was Elizabeth. She wore a knee-length, lemon yellow dress and black Nike high tops and the massed ranks of Public Square employees gazed up at her and waited while she shuffled her cue cards around and readied herself to speak. She tapped a red-painted nail on the microphone and surveyed the crowd. She still sometimes got a little nervous addressing larger gatherings like this.
‘Good morning.’ There was a chorus of good mornings in response and she smiled her hundred-watt smile. ‘So I know you guys have heard my old Mom and Pop’s semiconductor shop story about a billion times …’
A wise ass at the back couldn’t resist.
‘But we’re ’bout to hear it again …’
Elizabeth laughed.
‘Maybe. And you, Mawhinney …’ she pointed at the heckler ‘… are on a warning.’ There was laughter and applause. She knew his name. She knew the names of every person that worked here at Public Square, close on three hundred and eighty people. No one knew how she did it, but she did. ‘In actual fact, Mawhinney, I’m not
going to tell that story again. I’m going to tell you a new story, but it’s one that I hope might become as important to me as that hoary old tale. So make yourselves comfortable …’
The preamble to this year’s hackathon was nothing less than a new mission statement.
‘Thanks to your incredible hard work and your cleverness, in less than ten years Public Square has helped transform our understanding of what humans are capable of. Along the way, we have also grown into one of the world’s most successful and respected companies.’ There were whoops and cheers, which Elizabeth lifted a hand to calm. ‘Every aspect of the human experience … or, as my brilliant husband prefers to call it, behavioural data …’ More laughter. ‘… every aspect is of interest to us and we learn more every day. but this year I wanted us to remind ourselves why we are interested.’ She paused. ‘It’s not about making money. We have enough money …’ She spotted her heckler again, stage whispering to his neighbours. ‘I promise you, Mawhinney, I will can your ass. I know exactly how much I paid you last year and trust me, it’s enough money – way too much in fact.’ Elizabeth wanted silence for what she was about to say and so she waited.
‘For me, this company of ours only has one purpose.’ Three hundred and eighty people sat in silence, waiting to find out what this was. ‘How do we learn to become better humans? Tech is the toolkit but being better people is the objective. That is our job.’
The task Elizabeth was setting reflected this. She wanted Public Square employees to use their combined brainpower to help aid organisations more accurately monitor the movement of refugees, so that food and medicine and other forms of relief could be distributed more efficiently and fairly.
‘These are the sorts of spaces where I want us to be. These are the people I want us to be. In times of natural disasters – tsunamis and earthquakes – when dreadful diseases like Ebola are running riot like now, after terrorist attacks – the list is horribly long. In times of great need we should be there – making a difference. Earning trust and learning stuff.’
Fred took over to talk through how the day was going to work; he wanted different teams to look at the problem from different angles and come up with solutions.
‘Off the top of my head these might include heatmapping, satellite imagery, tracking their phones and any other tech that shows up in the places we usually look … you guys know what to do and you’ll come up with different ideas. We’ll come together every two hours and see what’s working best. Have a fun time.’
Some breakout teams headed down to the artificial lake, others stayed in huddles of chairs or sat together on the grass. Everyone had their own laptop, but there were whiteboards and colour markers available too, and some used these to explain stuff to their group. Anyone not directly involved in a project, or simply in need of a break, could go grab something to eat or drink from any number of street food vendors – all the food and beer was free. Alternatively they could spend some time in the old Coney Island-style amusement arcade that Elizabeth and Fred had bought in for the weekend. A tall red and white striped circus tent was filled with pinball machines from the fifties and sixties, arcade games of similar vintage and a line of old peep shows where you dropped a nickel in the slot, wound a handle on the side and saw a series of grainy black photographs showing you what the butler saw, or the fireman or the window cleaner.
After checking in briefly with all of the individual teams and contributing a few of her own ideas to several, Elizabeth went to get herself a slice of pizza. The second-generation Italian guy whose food was proving most popular among the Public Square employees had fitted a wood-fired pizza oven into the back of his sky-blue camper van. The consensus was that the van was cool and the pizza was even better. She was carrying a slice of oily pepperoni thin crust back to her original hackathon group, when she caught sight of Fred; he was talking to a statuesque young woman. The girl looked vaguely Danish or Nordic and Elizabeth had a feeling she recognised her. She walked over.
‘Hello, what’s this? A two-person breakout group? I’m not sure the rules allow for that.’
Fred introduced his wife to Christy Newmark, who practically curtseyed.
‘Mrs Curepipe …’
‘Please, Elizabeth.’
‘Elizabeth … you … you’ve been my hero since I was yay high.’ She held her hand at waist height to indicate the age. ‘My absolute role model.’
Elizabeth smiled.
‘I’m honoured. And what brings you over here today Christy? I recognise you don’t I? Did you work for us a few years back?’
‘You’ve a great memory.’
Christy explained that she’d worked for Public Square for a year, straight out of college, but that now she was one of the two people behind Cloud Chancer. ‘Perhaps Fred … Mr Curepipe mentioned the company to you?’
Elizabeth shook her head.
‘He hasn’t yet, but I’ve been out of town, I’m sure he was going to.’
‘I hope so, he’s being so supportive.’
‘Well, it’s lovely to meet you … again. And exciting that we might be getting involved with your new venture.’
‘Yes …’ Christy smiled. ‘… super-exciting. Your speech this morning, it was so inspiring.’
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’ Elizabeth glanced down at the slice of pizza. ‘I better get on and eat this, before it drips all over my dress.’ She nodded a polite goodbye to them both and walked away. Her long scissoring stride had taken her halfway across the great lawn before Fred managed to catch up.
‘Hey there, Lizzie, wait for me.’
She stopped.
‘Hello Fred. She’s very pretty. Very talented too I’m sure.’
‘Sure, but …’ He paused. ‘Christy … her company, you know it’s just work?’
‘Are you sure Fred? You didn’t have your work face on when I first saw you.’
Fred shook his head.
‘I don’t have a work face and a not-work face Lizzie.’
‘You do Fred …’ Elizabeth smiled. ‘… this face you’re wearing right now – talking to me – that’s your work face.’
69 Reassignment
CORTES CASA DE HUESPEDES, CHILE, SOUTH AMERICA
They were almost at the guesthouse when Jags spoke again.
‘You know what? I think it’d be better if we went and got this thing done quicker – go back now and pick her up. She’s more likely to come willingly now, while it’s light. I’ll tell her that we’re taking her to the American diner to talk through the two proposals – hers and ours. You can gag her once she’s sitting in the car, we’ll take her out to the derelict mine where I killed her old man and do it there.’
‘Sure.’
Jags turned the car around.
They chatted in a relaxed fashion on the drive back to Brochu. Jags found out a little more about Nathan’s family, his time in the army, where he’d served and how come it didn’t work out. How he deserved more. Jags told Nathan a little about his own childhood in Ohio and his career in the Services. As they climbed the hill that first rose and then dipped down into Brochu, Jags began to drive faster. Then faster still. Fifty kilometres an hour, sixty. Nathan glanced at him.
‘What’re you doin’…’ The needle hit seventy kph. ‘… you lost your fuckin’ mind?’
As they hit the crest in the road, Jags jerked the steering wheel hard right with his left hand, driving off the tarmac and into the gravel. At the same time, his right hand reached down and pressed the red release unlocking the passenger side seatbelt. Nathan worked out what was happening, but not fast enough to stop it. The Chevy flew across the gravel and smashed into the thick steel support beneath the Brochu sign at high speed. Nathan was reaching for the steering wheel when the car hit; the force of the crash sent him out through the windscreen head first, although the positioning of his arm meant it was his shoulder that broke first. The impact of the crash alone might well have killed him, but if it didn’t, then losing the top half of h
is head – sliced off on the bottom edge of the green metal sign – certainly did.
Jags was shaken by the crash and it took a while for him to regain his senses. Once he did, the sound of a distant siren was the first thing he heard. His chest and abdomen hurt like hell, but there wasn’t time to worry about the damage he’d done to himself. He needed to be quick. He climbed from the car, found a nearby rock and smashed out what remained of the windscreen on the driver’s side. He distributed the bloodied glass liberally across the bonnet. There was no way this would persuade an experienced accident examiner that it was a lone driver who’d crashed into the sign and killed himself in the process but how many experienced accident examiners were there working in this remote part of Chile? At the very least it would put some doubt in people’s minds; at best the police and medics would start cleaning shit up before the accident examiners got anywhere near. More importantly it would buy Soledad some time – the time she’d need to disappear, before the job that this repairman had been sent to do was reassigned.
70 Duck Shit
CHEK LAP KOK INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, HONG KONG
The guy in front of Carver in the queue for taxis at the airport was holding a live chicken under his arm. William shook his head.
‘Welcome to Hong Kong.’
He’d changed some money and bought a couple of new burner phones. Patrick would meet him in the lobby of the Headland Hotel; he hadn’t decided yet whether they should stay there or move. He didn’t like press hotels as a rule, but he’d agreed to take a look at the place first.
Once in the cab, Carver settled in and stared out of the window. There, in the distance, was the famous Fragrant Harbour, crystalline skyscrapers crammed impossibly close together, the flashing red warning lights on some obscured by cloud. He had mixed feelings about being back.
A Cursed Place Page 28
