“So, what did you mean?”
“Well, there...”
“That’s what I mean.”
The woman will turn around.
“I recommend saving it on the disk, not on your display, don’t send it and...”
The black woman will look at him with her deep dark eyes.
“Okay, sorry.” He’ll smile.
She will turn, starting toward the glass entrance.
“Beatrix.”
The tall man with dark curly hair will walk at a confident pace through the lower floors of the great building, in the EUR area, once the stronghold of the ancient fascist regime, today the experimental headquarters of the NOCS. Alongside him, the middle-aged man in the white coat will speak into the vocal synthesizer.
“Chief Inspector Santilli.”
The bulletproof glass door will open with a whir.
“Much better than the old fingerprint security systems,” Santilli will tell the man by his side, “and much more practical than scanning the retina. Especially if someone, like me, is a little taller than average and has back pain.”
The other will nod, following him down the stairs into the basement.
“The teams are almost ready, Commissioner. Six days of interviews, tests, and psycho-aptitude interviews were enough,” the man in the coat will say, going down to a second door, in front of which an armed agent will stand at attention. “The most difficult thing was the psychological evaluation of the subjects. It’s an extremely stressful job, you know?”
The two will enter through the door, descending a second flight of stairs to a glass door.
“Commissioner, do you have any ideas about the investigations?”
“We’ve got nothing, for now. But I’d like your men to monitor everything related to the hypothesis of an attack. Vehicles, firearms, explosives. Any conversation about using weapons to carry out an attack, things like that.”
They will enter a basement hall illuminated by soft lights. The monitors on the walls will check all the stairs and entrances that the two will have just traveled.
“I have already drawn up a list of keywords, Commissioner. Anyone in the world who uses the word pope or pontiff, or holiness will find our operatives listening to him in that room,” Santilli will say as he descends the stairs. “Especially if he has the imprudence to combine them with bomb-like words.”
From the footbridge above the hall, Cervetti will stop to look into the room below them.
The woman will turn around again with her hands in her pockets.
“What is it now?” she will snort. She will stop under the trees, a few meters from the doorway, where some students are entering.
“Thank you.”
Whiley will call from a bar booth on a side street a hundred yards from the library square. He will close the door, opening the holographic communication. The cabin will open onto the street, separated from the library square by a row of almost bare trees.
“John?” the surprised face of the fat, bald operator will appear on the holographic monitor in the cabin. “I thought you were dead! I read the news this morning. I told myself it was a mistake. Because it was a misunderstanding, wasn’t it?”
“Since you’re talking to me... what do you say? Yes, it was a bad joke.”
“Ah, that’s what I thought. How are you? Everything all right?”
The man will be walking in a crowded hall.
“Bad, Paul. I’m not well at all. I tried twice, a few minutes ago, to withdraw money from my account, but it’s disabled. I tried on two different cash machines. Do you know anything about it? Is it a bank procedure, or what?”
The heavy-set man will continue to walk, speaking breathlessly.
He’s got a strange voice; it’s not just shortness of breath.
“Well, I don’t know, John. There must have been a technical problem this morning. Maybe if you try again later, we can...”
“All right, all right, listen. I need you to divest some of my savings. You know that share of my liquid savings? Twenty-five thousand. All right?”
“Of course, just pass by the bank this afternoon to sign.”
“I can’t. You’ll need to transfer it to me right away on a prepaid card account that I’ll give you.”
The man will slow his pace.
“I don’t know if it can be done.”
I don’t know if it can be done.
On one side, above a kind of stage, on a platform covered with a synthetic green carpet, four women and two men will be sitting in armchairs with integrated holographic helmets, wrapped in bright holographic beams, gesticulating, moving images in the air. Across the hall, two men in white shirts will maneuver holographic screens and terminals, apparently filing the same projections.
“What the hell are they doing?” the tall man will ask.
“We’re already operational, Commissioner,” the man in the coat will reply. “What you see there is team B, fully staffed. As you will notice, we have a majority of women, on average sixty-five percent of the total. It seems that women are more skilled for this kind of work.”
“Do they work together in holographic space?”
“Not exactly. They work in parallel.”
The man in the lab coat will indicate the stage area. “See that? We just call it the green. Similar to those at home, but much more powerful. The team passes information and data in real time, constantly traveling on different holographic nodes.”
“For what purpose?”
“Investigations. Infiltration, mostly. Right now, probably every team member is having a conversation in some virtual area, and any useful information is passed in real time to the other team members.”
“In short, team work.”
“Exactly. In this way, every member of the team is building their own network of informants, but the beauty is that they’re not closed networks, but open.”
“Open to whom?”
“Well, only to the other members of the team. Each other member shares information with colleagues. However, if any information is found to be relevant during the shift, the informant or contact is passed on to other teams, and the game multiplies.”
“And who decides if it’s important information?”
“The information analyzer and the team leader.”
“What the fuck does that mean, ‘I don’t know if it can be done’?”
Something doesn’t add up. Whiley will look at the overweight man projected onto the cabin glass; he won’t be looking him in the face.
“You know, we’ve got to check the procedure. When do you need it?”
“Aren’t you listening to me? Right now, this afternoon. At latest, in the morning.”
The man will stop, the sounds of horns seeming increased.
“It’s not possible, not so quickly. An authorization is necessary. If you go this afternoon or tomorrow morning, we can sort it out. You know, it’s procedures.”
Procedures.
“But what procedures? It’s my money. You never told me about procedures. You said that money is free, that you could turn it over to me at any time without any warning!”
“Look, John, really, it wouldn’t be a problem if you stopped by for a moment for a signature, we could probably resolve it right away...”
Whiley will look at the trees beyond the cabin, through the hologram of the overweight man talking on the cabin glass.
He wants me to go in person.
“... The funds are at your complete disposal...”
He’s keeping me talking.
“... It’s just that we’ve got to check the signature devices ...”
Why is he doing that?
“... There’s no problem, but my secretary is on vacation...”
Because they’re tracing the call.
“Look, Paul, I want to tell you something,” Whiley will interrupt him.
“Of course, tell me.”
He will look at the library in the distance, through the
overweight man projected onto the cabin windows. “Go fuck yourself.”
The man in the wool cap will walk alongside the black woman in the downtown street with a bag in his hand.
“Did they give you a hard time?” he will ask apprehensively.
“Why? What were they supposed to tell me?”
“Nothing. I don’t know.”
The man in the lab coat will move to the other side of the parapet. “Do you see those two colleagues? They’re the ones. The one on the right is the information analyzer, the other the team leader.”
“And what do they do?”
“The first one, the one at the terminal, examines the interviews, crosses keywords, and stores an incredible amount of data. The second is the one who leads the team. In practice, one agent is ordered to change nodes, move to another sector, or deepen the investigation into another. The two are in constant contact with each other. Basically, they’re the brains of the team.”
“Can’t the operators do it directly?”
“Not as efficiently. Those in virtual reality lose touch with natural reality. The amount of data to be managed is frightening, and real-time decisions need to be quick, effective, and above all, discreet. Often, we are dealing with cybercrime professionals, who run away at the first suspicion of being intercepted.”
“So our men talk to criminals.”
“Not only that, of course. In fact, mostly not. It’s a question of frequenting places where we know illegal actions usually take place. And our agents infiltrate those places. On one hand, they meet other agents from other countries. On the other hand, they create their own network of informants in every part of the world, who visit every day, in rooms that represent living rooms or bars or whatever their designer wants. Images of virtual cubes, filled by the human imagination. There, people gather to talk. A bit like when you go for coffee at the cafe.”
“And we listen to the whole world,” the Commissioner will comment, observing the six helmets and the gloved hands moving as if in a silent ballet, “all without moving from Rome.”
“All without moving from Rome,” the man in the coat will confirm. “But come, I’ll show you.”
The two will descend the steps into the room, immersed in an almost religious silence, and approach the team leader. The man will be monitoring six screens indicating his operatives’ parameters.
The woman will give him the disk, its diameter no larger than a fingernail.
“Thank you.”
The two will walk through the downtown market, not far from the little square of the old library.
“You’ll understand, for so little. Now, if there’s nothing else...”
“Oh, no. No, of course not. Do you have to go?”
“Yes, I also have my own things to do. Then I have to pick up Niki; she’s getting out at 2:00 today. They won’t keep her. And I also have to find someone to watch her tonight, make a couple of calls around...”
“By the way,” he will interrupt, opening the bag, “while I was waiting, I bought a couple of things. This is for you.”
The black woman stops among the people on the sidewalk, opening the package. Inside is a fur hat. Whiley will put on a leather hat. Then, he will put on a brown windbreaker.
“Why?”
“Well, I liked it. The Russian seller said it was original. I paid practically nothing, a real deal,” he will say, looking at himself in a window. “I look different, don’t I?”
“I didn’t mean that. Why did you get one for me too?”
“Well, it’s a gift. Why, does a gift need a reason?”
No one ever gives me presents.
“Well, come on, try it,” he will insist.
The woman will look at her reflection in the window.
“Ah, by the way, I changed the money; just this was left, as agreed. That’s all I’ve got.”
The black woman will look at the nine hundred dollars in her hand. “You’re not in the right place.”
“Well, yes, look, I thought a little bit while you were away,” he will comment, taking her to a building entrance. “Now I have some business to deal with. I think I’ll stay out for lunch. Right now, I’m out of money, but I have an idea, and maybe it’ll work. Look, well, I mean, can you host me a couple of days with this? Maybe you could buy something for tonight. I’ll arrive in the afternoon, any time before evening.”
The woman will look at the money in her hands.
Don’t fall for it. Say no.
“Marco, look, can we get the Commissioner to talk to one of your operatives?” the man in the lab coat will ask in a low voice.
“Good morning, Commissioner. Now what?”
“If possible.”
“Certainly. Let’s see,” he will whisper. “I’ll give Agent Marzi a break. His biological parameters are at the limit of the medical staff’s recommendations. Although, to be honest, we almost never comply with them anyway.” The man will send a signal, touching the space in front of him.
An operator will get out of the chair and take off the helmet, revealing a mass of long, black hair. She is a girl under twenty-five.
“Special Agent Marzi. Orders, Inspector?”
“Officer, I would like you to tell the Inspector briefly how your work is going today. How many spaces you visited, how many contacts, how many informants...” Santilli will say, then turning to the agent at the door, “Can we have some coffee?”
“Today I’ve visited six holographic spaces so far, for a conversation of about twelve minutes on average. Eight contacts, mostly potential buyers of illegal material. Software, stolen goods, things like that...”
“Where do you come from, Officer?” Cervetti will ask.
“Around Naples, Commissioner.”
“And how long have you had this specialization?”
“For about a year and a half. No, actually, fifteen months.”
“Would you like to tell the Commissioner how many informants you have organized in recent months in your network?” Santilli will ask.
“Twelve.”
“Twelve,” Cervetti will repeat.
“Yes, Commissioner. Mostly ex-convicts or people with criminal convictions.”
“Italians?”
“Three of them. The others are from other countries, North Africa, Eastern Europe, even one from Brazil.”
“In just over a year of work?”
“I’ve met dozens of them, yes.”
“And are they reliable? Why do they cooperate with us?”
“Oh, here’s the coffee, Commissioner.” Santilli will say.
“That’s not the point. You’re weird.” The woman will count the money in her hands. “I shouldn’t trust you.”
“Yes, but so far I’m no worse than many others, right?”
Oh, shut the fuck up.
A passerby will ask for directions, his bag occupying the sidewalk.
“No,” she will admit. “For now, no.”
The muscular man will immediately answer the call in his office on the third floor from the top of the large white building.
“Yes?”
The overweight man will look very agitated when he appears. The muscular man will beckon the blond through the glass corridor to take the call on his device. The two fat men will appear at two different points on the same floor, on both sides of the corridor.
“He called, as you predicted. I tried to tell him to come by, but he wouldn’t.”
“Where was he calling from?” the muscular man will ask.
“I don’t know, from a booth, I think.”
“How was he dressed?”
“It looks to me like a dark jacket and a cap, black... I think.”
“We’ll immediately look at the holographic recording. If you’re contacted in any way, be sure to tell us.”
“I don’t think he’ll call back. But do we know what he did?”
“If he calls back, keep him busy longer.”
The muscular man will close the communi
cation, then look at the window across the hall, through the image of the overweight man, which will disappear into the air.
“Did you get him?” he will whisper to the blond man.
On the other side of the glass, the colleague will shake his head.
The three will take the coffee the service agent had ordered from the machine at the end of the room.
“We act with the usual two modes, the stick and the carrot. Some, when we can’t do otherwise, we pay. Others, who have outstanding accounts with justice, we convince them to cooperate. Of course, we trade with the other police forces in the world, in that sense.”
“So, I guess a lot of virtual meetings are with our colleagues in other parts of the world.”
“Just have a translator ready, of course,” Santilli will say.
“A nice result, I think.”
“Beyond expectations. Much better than single investigations. Ah, Commissioner, that’s why you should ask for more staff; we need them.”
“Anything else?”
“Naturally. I need a backup team. We want to be as efficient as possible, but someone could have a cold, right? I’ve already selected reservists from the pool. And then, a couple more analysts wouldn’t hurt.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Cervetti will answer, taking a sip of coffee. “But tell me something, Inspector.”
“Yes?”
“You told me earlier that we know very well where illegal transactions usually take place.”
“Precisely.”
“And if they’re illegal, why don’t we take action to shut them down?”
Santilli will smile, sipping coffee and looking at the brunette girl by his side.
“Chief,” she will say, clasping her hands, “with all due respect, if you close those places for me, I lose ninety percent of my informants.”
Thursday, 11:36 a.m.
That late November morning will be cold but sunny. People will walk bent over in the street, under sudden gusts of wind, at times annoying, which will wedge between the buildings and skyscrapers of the city center. Whiley will walk through the corridors of the mall and enter a movie theater, one of those open even during the day. He will need to think, to stay in a relatively safe place, where there will be few people, certainly strangers. At the till, he will choose a commercial projection, one of many, at random. Before the show begins, he will head to one of the communication booths, inserting the data disk that the black woman gave him at the library exit. He will sit in the middle of the room, almost empty at that hour, waiting for the holographic projection to light up. As the actors move, descending from the stage into the aisle, Whiley will become drowsy, freeing his mind in a comfortable waking sleep. He slept poorly that night on the couch, and he’ll indulge in confused thoughts. He knows he can’t leave the city without money; his blocked account, his violated savings, his home, his habitual places, his rare friends, real or presumed—right, Paul—all certainly under observation by his enemy.
Futura: Parallel Universes. Book 2 Page 3