The Passengers

by John Marrs

  But somewhere along the line, his need to do good for the working classes was replaced by greed and ambition. His hunger for the same wealth as the ruling classes who surrounded him made him lose sight of everything else. Instead of fighting against them, he became one of them. On many an occasion over the years, a niggling voice in the back of his mind questioned whether casting aside his principles had been worth it. And each time the answer was yes, it had been.

  The car travelled through Richmond and Twickenham before Jack saw his first road sign for Heathrow Airport. The terms of his bail conditions meant that for the last two years, he had been forbidden from leaving the country. Now, he was eagerly anticipating the solitude of a private booth in British Airways’ first-class lounge before his fourteen-hour flight. Jack’s flight to China was scheduled for later that evening, so he had plenty of time to kill. He had already booked his massage, manicure, and haircut long before the jury reached its verdict. After a week in the Far East, he would fly to an exclusive resort in the Maldives and then the Seychelles, which would allow plenty of time to formulate his next move.

  A vibrating from the phone in his pocket caught his attention, and he slipped an earbud inside his ear.

  “Mr. Larsson, may I have your secure line code, please?” an assertive female voice began.

  “Certainly,” Jack replied, and read out a memorised list of numbers and letters.

  “Thank you. I have the deputy prime minister on the line for you. Please hold.”

  While he waited, Jack pressed a button on his door, and a glass partition rose, making the rear of the vehicle completely soundproof. Then he took a swig of whiskey from a hip flask stored inside the armrest until the voice of Diane Cline appeared.

  “Well, well, well,” she began. “Somebody has friends in high places.”

  Jack let out a spurious laugh. “I had no doubt that justice would prevail in the end.”

  “You were probably in the minority there. Regardless, I wanted to congratulate you.”

  “What you mean is that you want to know what I plan to do next.” Jack took another sip from his flask.

  “Well, it would be inaccurate to say the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. The PM heard you mention your imminent return to politics.”

  “I didn’t use the word ‘imminent’ but yes, I think I’ve spent long enough on the sidelines, don’t you?”

  “Are we perhaps being a little hasty?”

  “We or me?”

  “You. For your sake, it may be more prudent in the long run to allow some time for recent events to blow over.”

  “The public has a short memory.”

  “Don’t fool yourself, Jack. Not for something of this gravitas. They still require their pound of flesh. And they’re going to feel cheated if they can’t get it from you.”

  Jack shook his head. “I’m sure my constituents will be on my side.”

  “They’re not your constituents anymore though, are they? We had to replace you and call a by-election.”

  “And you didn’t waste much time doing that, if I recall correctly.”

  “You left us with no choice.”

  Jack felt his patience wearing thin. “I left you no choice?”

  “I meant the situation left us with no choice.”

  “Your knee-jerk reaction meant you lost my seat to the opposition.”

  “It was stained. Mother Teresa couldn’t have stopped that bloody seat from going to the opposition.”

  “Do I have to remind you, Diane, of the discussion we had some time ago in which I was told that upon my exoneration, I would be fast-tracked back into a seat at the table? And I don’t mean somewhere at the back of the room or on the periphery, but at the actual table. If that means removing someone else and having me run in some little two-bit safe seat, then it is yet another sacrifice I am willing to make for the good of the party. That is what I am owed.”

  “That wasn’t a decision that was set in stone. You were never promised anything. All I am suggesting is that we let sleeping dogs lie for the time being. It might not be the best time for us to announce your return to politics so soon after your trial.”

  “At which I was acquitted.”

  “Yes, but at what cost? A lot of sensitive information was exposed in that process, which we would rather have kept quiet. Like it or not, your defence has done potentially irreparable damage to the party.”

  Jack balled his fists and resisted the urge to shout down the telephone. “Surely you didn’t expect me to be your patsy in all of this? To spend the next eighteen years of my life behind bars for something you, our current PM, and others in the inner circle sanctioned? If you did, then you don’t know me at all. You only agreed to my return when you thought I was going to be found guilty, didn’t you? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, but Jack Larsson doesn’t go down without a fight. And certainly not without taking others with me.”

  “Jack, perhaps we should speak another time when you are a little less . . . emotional?”

  “Or perhaps when you are ready to stop being a sanctimonious bitch?”

  Instantly, he regretted his choice of words, but he could only be pushed so far. They reached an awkward stalemate.

  “I have recordings,” Jack said soberly.

  Diane’s tone was stern. “Perhaps you should self-censor now before you say something you might regret.”

  But Jack knew that it was too late. He had shown his hand and he had nothing left to lose. “I have names, Diane. I have footage, satellite images, software programmes, dates, locations, witnesses. I have everything I need at my disposal to bring this government to its knees.”

  “I’d think carefully about what you are about to do next.”

  “As should you,” Jack replied, then removed his earpiece and hung up.

  He drained the flask of whiskey and then threw it to the floor. How dare she speak to me like that? he thought. The party has no right to turn their back on me after all I’ve sacrificed for it. If they didn’t allow him back into the fold, they would suffer.

  It wasn’t just the position that Jack craved; it was also the opportunity that came with it to use his power to line his own pockets. Despite the Hacker’s best efforts to bleed his accounts dry, Jack had been prepared. What the Hacker had encouraged the public to plunder amounted to less than a fifth of his overall wealth. The rest of his £70 million fortune was squirrelled away by asset management companies and venture capitalists in safe harbours, including offshore renegade tax havens, hedge funds, trusts and shell companies and opaque holding firms. He remained an ultra-high-net-worth individual.

  The majority of Jack’s fortune had been made at the beginning of the Road Revolution through investing in firms involved in vehicle production and offshoot industries. It was an illegal conflict of interest that, if discovered and exposed, would result in a lifelong ban from politics and a lengthy custodial sentence. His unique position in driving the bill through Parliament and convincing the public that autonomous vehicles were a safe bet enabled him to cherry-pick companies to invest in. Asphalt producers, manufacturers of electronic road signs and opaque glass moulding, graphene engineers, and makers of sonar and lidar software—his fingers were in many pies.

  But their earning capacity was not infinite, and at some point in the future, his dividends would decline. Jack had to identify a new income source that would bolster his already considerable fortune. It was Noah Harris and his brother Alex who gave him the idea.

  They worked for an average-sized, family-run firm in the Midlands that one of Jack’s shell companies held a large stake in. Jack’s department was about to award it a contract for millions to develop software and cameras for emergency services vehicles. But when it came to Jack’s attention that the back door used by his operatives to manipulate AI had been discovered by the Harris brothers, he identified an opportuni
ty.

  They were not aware of its purpose, only that it existed and might provide an opportunity for hacking. But instead of sealing it up permanently, what if it were left for someone else to discover further down the line? Jack reasoned. After so many promises had been made as to how impenetrable the AI was, what impact might a hack have on the Road Revolution? The public’s trust would be lost. However, they would still need to use automobiles, so it stood to reason they would return to what they knew and trusted—Level One, Two, and Three vehicles that they could control. Demand would soar.

  It was a whole new potential revenue stream. Share prices in businesses providing the soon-to-be-outdated components were already sinking as the vehicles were slowly phased out, so Jack struck while the iron was hot and made his investments. A cosmetic patch was placed over the back door; meanwhile, to punish the Harris brothers for their discovery, he sold his shares in the firm and ensured their contract went abroad to India, which eventually forced their business’s closure.

  Then he sat back and waited for the inevitable.

  The day itself and the extreme levels of death and destruction created by the Hackers took him by surprise. As did his discovery that the people behind it were the Harris brothers. He was almost proud of the tenacity they showed.

  Jack took the accusations on the chin, allowing the government to think he was its scapegoat for social cleansing, but knowing fine well that when it came to trial, he had people who could pay off enough jurors to secure his freedom. Reputations were lost and rebuilt all the time, Jack told himself, and his was no exception.

  Jack vowed he would not allow the ingratitude of the deputy prime minister to ruin today, the start of the next chapter in his life. “Music,” he said aloud. “I need some Nina.”

  He scrolled through the entertainment system until he found the song that best reflected his mood. A moment later, Nina Simone’s fluctuating timbre told of a new dawn, a new day, and a new life. It couldn’t be more fitting a sentiment, he thought, and for a moment, his eyes began to brim with tears. He brushed them away before they could fall.

  Jack only became aware his vehicle had reached the M4 when his driver indicated they were pulling over and they made their way towards Heathrow. His bodyguard caught Jack’s eye when he tapped his finger to his ear. He watched as he nodded, then spoke to the driver. Jack turned down his music and used the intercom to talk. “Is there a problem, Marlon?” he asked.

  Before Marlon could respond, Jack spotted the car ahead containing two other members of his security team pulling over to the side of the road. Jack’s vehicle followed. “Marlon?” he repeated but there was no response. There must be a fault in the communication system, he thought. He pressed the button to make the partition go down but nothing happened. He knocked against the glass before remembering it was completely soundproofed. Jack turned to see the third vehicle behind them also coming to a halt.

  His brow furrowed as both his driver and bodyguard exited, leaving him alone inside the car as they approached their colleagues from both vehicles. Then, without turning around to look at Jack, his team began walking to the opposite side of the road. Jack reached to turn the door handle but it wouldn’t budge.

  Panic struck him like a bolt of lightning.

  “What’s happening?” he asked aloud. He banged on the window to no avail, and failed to get any signal on his phone. He watched his team climb into a parked white van and pull away. Then, as all three cars, now completely driverless, moved of their own accord, Jack felt utterly helpless.

  He sat in the centre of the rear seats, staring at the car ahead, his worst fears realised. He was no longer in control of his destiny. Then, without warning, the vehicle ahead exploded into a ball of flames. Jack could scarcely believe his eyes. “No!” he gasped. His car indicated right, then slowly overtook the burning vehicle as casually as it might pass a cyclist. Jack pressed his face against the window and watched as red and orange flames leaped from the windows and licked the roof and bonnet as it slowly rolled to a halt. He turned quickly to look from the rear and watched as it disappeared into the distance.

  “Good afternoon, Jack.”

  The voice that came through the speakers struck the fear of God into him. He recognised it instantly. It was the Hacker.

  “It may have come to your attention that your vehicle is no longer under your management. From here on in, I am in charge of your destination.”

  Jack’s response caught in his throat before he managed to release the words. “Who . . . are you?”

  “I thought that might be obvious. We are who your barrister referred to throughout your trial as the Hacking Collective.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “That doesn’t matter right now. The only thing you need to know at this point is that two hours and thirty minutes from now, it is highly likely that you will be dead.”

  The sour taste of vomit crept up the back of Jack’s throat. Blood rose to the surface of his skin, making it feel as though he were burning, but it brought him out in a cold sweat.

  Gradually the music returned, the volume becoming louder and louder as Jack desperately attempted to switch the entertainment system off and clear his head to formulate a plan. He jabbed at the screen but nothing happened, and the song he had chosen began again from the start.

  But this time when Nina Simone sang of feeling good, Jack no longer shared her sentiment.

  CHAPTER 70

  Welcome to Blabberbox

  Trending posts: 001

  What’s happening with this car? Submitted 1 minute ago

  RayOfLight: Anyone watching Instagram TV? I swear to God that dodgy MP Larsson is being broadcast freaking out in the back of a car.

  LANADOOM: Looks like him but it can’t be, can it?

  RayOfLight: FUCK! THE CAR IN FRONT OF HIM JUST BLEW UP!!!!!

  LANADOOM: Bro, this can’t be real, can it?

  RayOfLight: DUDE DID YOU NOT JUST SEE WHAT HAPPENED? IT’S HAPPENING AGAIN!!!!! THIS IS GONNA BE AWESOME!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The Passengers took much more research than any of my other books to date, and much of that was undertaken by my husband, John Russell. So first and foremost, thanks, JR, for all the effort you put into this. It would have taken much more time without your thoroughness and attention to detail. Thanks also go to my mum, Pam, for her continued support, and my dog, Oscar, who has appeared in every one of my books to date. Apologies for turning you from a border terrier into a Pomeranian this time, Oz.

  I would also like to offer my huge thanks to the team at Ebury. To my editor and Chief Penguin Gillian Green for having faith in the story (even if you did reduce the unhappy-ever-afters); and to Little Penguin, Stephenie Naulls, for your constant creativity and bright ideas. Thanks also to everyone else who has worked on this book and The One, including Tess Henderson, Bethany Wood, Katie Seaman, Rae Shirvington, Alice Latham, and Donna Hillyer, plus everyone else who are too numerous to mention, but equally talented. And of course thanks to the former Big Penguin, Emily Yau, for the idea and for putting me on this crazy journey.

  I’d like to offer a shout-out to my fellow writers Louise Beech, the Ena Sharples of the literary world, for being my sounding board, and Darren O’Sullivan for all the DMs over the last year. Thanks also to Cara Hunter, Randileigh Kennedy and Jo Edwards, CJ Skuse, and the ever-hilarious Claire Allen for the many distractions from writing that our tweets have given me.

  No book of mine would be the same without a character called Tracy Fenton. Tracy and the team at Facebook’s THE Book Club have been there for me from the very start of my writing career. Thanks for staying the course on this amazing journey. Also thanks to Wendy Clarke and members of The Fiction Café, Bee Jones and Lost In A Good Book, and the UK Crime Book Club. And my gratitude also goes to the countless bloggers out there, many of whom have hosted me during my blog t
ours. Thank you for being so supportive of authors. You do a fantastic job, working long hours for little—and usually no—payment because you just love reading. You don’t always receive the recognition that you deserve.

  Much appreciation goes to my Queen of Social Media, Pippa Akram of @Social_Pip, for her invaluable advice on the future of where social media is heading; to Jenny Knott and also author David Kerrigan. His book Life as a Passenger is perfect further reading for anyone interested in the future of driverless cars.

  And cheers to Mandie Brown, Danielle Graph, Jo Edwards, Rachael Cochlin, and Niamh Lanigan Bonner.

  To test yourself and make ethical decisions on what a car should do in the event of a collision, visit the website moralmachine.mit.edu.

  Finally, thank you, each and every one of you, for picking up or downloading this book. You will never appreciate how grateful I am to you for allowing me to continue this career.

  Readers Guide

  The Passengers

  John Marrs

  QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  1. Which Passengers were you initially rooting for, and how did your opinions of them change throughout the course of the book?

  2. Which of the Passengers or jurors did you relate to the most and why?

  3. Was Sam correct in believing that he had just as much of a right to be saved as his wife Heidi? Should the father of a child be treated the same as the mother?

  4. Which character had the biggest journey in The Passengers and why?

  5. Libby put herself in grave danger by agreeing to meet with Jude one last time. What do you think of that decision? Would you have done the same?

  6. Which Passengers’ behaviors angered you the most, and which did you approve of?