“It would be an explanation. Someone doesn’t want to let us talk about what was planned for the meeting. That’s why they killed Richard, too. Yesterday, we should have talked about specific topics, and I think there’s a connection between the unpublished topics that we access examiners found and the murders. Maybe someone wanted us not to look into it anymore.”
The woman will take the man by the arm, stopping him. “And do you remember those arguments? Do you know them?” she will ask excitedly. “I mean, do you know what they’re about?”
“Of course. And I think if you investigate these unpublished essays, you’ll find the reason for all this madness. I’m convinced that Richard suspected something. That’s why he wanted that book and why he told me about his theory. There must be a connection between that old statistical book and today’s unpublished essays and articles.”
“Tell me the names. We can dig, we can get to the bottom of it,” the woman will say resolutely. “Tell me everything. You haven’t given me much so far.”
Whiley will look at the river, watching a pair of canoes with two young rowers in heavy wool hats and colorful jackets. Above the water, some birds will rise in flight and rest on trees on the other side of a bend in the river.
“I didn’t give you much?” Whiley will raise his voice. “Look, you have the most important story of your career on your hands. You have evidence that a company is a cover for government activities not known to the citizens. You met the only survivor of a bloody massacre, poorly covered in a story that doesn’t hold. You have precise names, places, and circumstance. What else do you want?”
“The names of the books. A track to follow for my research. To publish, I have to find out the truth.”
The man will take hold of a black tube, looking through it.
“At that distance, resolution is important,” he will continue. “I had to consider the ability to see the detail of the image, which is obviously proportional to the size of the lens. The bigger the lens I can put in the focus, the better I can see the small detail. And that too, at that distance, was a problem.”
“Was it?”
“Yes. As I told you, the choice of the highest quality lenses gave me a better ability to transmit light, obsessing over the physical limitations of optics, such as maximum magnification or lens diameter.”
“So, did you solve it?”
“Yes, as long as your designer knows what he’s doing. Is he good?” the thin man will ask in a sad voice.
“He is, trust me.” The woman will try not to lose her composure. “Come to the point.”
“Then tell him we need two more software parameters. It must include an RB and TF factor check.”
The short-haired girl’s chewing gum bubble will burst, sticking to her face.
“You must really want to piss me off,” the woman will say.
The thin man will bare his rotting teeth in a hearty laugh.
“No, I’ll explain. The measure of relative brightness is obvious, see? It’s calculated by multiplying the square of the pupillary output diameter. Optics may have different magnifications and lenses may have the same brightness, with the same pupillary output, and therefore the same performance in poor visibility conditions. So, the RB parameter can be considered a yardstick if you want to compare the performance of optics with similar characteristics under low visibility conditions, and when the pupil size of the shooter’s eye is similar to the pupillary output of the optics.”
The girl will take the chewing gum off her face with one hand.
“The twilight factor obviously measures the twilight value; look at this. It tells us the kind of performance provided by the optics that we’ve mounted on your rifle, in unfavorable light conditions.”
Whiley will look at a bridge opening on the horizon to let a large boat pass by, navigating slowly along the river.
“And what do I have in return? If I speak, it’s a risk. Probably my life.”
“What do you want?”
“Money. I want what I’ll need to leave the country and escape to somewhere they can’t find me anymore. They blocked my money. Pay me, and I’ll give you an exclusive interview.”
The woman will place her purse on the ground, near the wooden railing. She will run her hands through her hair, by the wind. Colder air will be rising.
“But I don’t know if that’s possible. I don’t think I can...”
“Come on, don’t tell me that shit. Were all the articles you wrote in the past your own work? Didn’t you have someone passing you the information? I can’t believe it. We both know exactly how these things work. Nobody does things for nothing, and I’m not greedy, I just want to save my life. That information is my insurance policy. If I lose it, who will protect me?”
Whiley will look the woman in the eye. “I won’t be here when you write the truth, if we find it. But it will be on my terms. Or nothing.”
The woman will be silent for a minute, looking at the boats in the distance. The low sun’s rays on the horizon will play softly on the river waters, their surface rippled by the wind. “How much do you want?”
“Two hundred thousand. In small bills.”
“How much?”
“Come on, don’t joke around with me. If I wasn’t desperate, I’d ask you for at least half a million. This story is worth at least twice that amount, and you know it. I don’t have time for games. Do we agree, or should I turn to someone else? This debate is tiring. Decide quickly, or I won’t tell you anything else.”
The woman will look at him, then again at the river, pulling up her coat collar. “Let me make a couple of calls.”
The girl will put the pieces of chewing gum detached from her face into her mouth again, after forming them into a ball.
“The indicator varies with two parameters, depending on the diameter of the lens; that is, depending on how much light enters the lens, and according to the pupillary output, depending on how much light reaches the shooter’s eye.”
The girl will wipe her fingers, sticky with chewing gum, on her pants.
“The greater the TF,” the thin man will continue, enjoying his own words, “the better your optics’ performance, if your man has to shoot in poor light.”
The woman will take hold of the black tube, observing the lenses scattered on the table, on pieces of newspaper. “So, can I guarantee the customer the accuracy of the shot, though there will be little light?”
“If you mount the necessary light amplifiers, yes,” the man will answer, sitting in a dusty chair. “You were lucky enough to choose the best on the market, Saki. Few others would serve you the way I do. This job is full of incompetents these days. You see, parameters like the pupillary output, the relative brightness, are important and can give you an estimate of what your optics performance will look like, but if you want to play it safe, then... well, you shouldn’t save on the TF.”
The big girl will blow another chewing gum bubble.
“Higher twilight factor, better performance in poor light conditions,” the thin man will conclude, again taking the glass in his hand. “Remind your designer of that.”
“I will,” the woman will say, hiding her impatience with difficulty.
“In any case, I’ve prepared a disk with drawings referring to these two parameters and what is needed in terms of connection,” the man will say, placing the disk in the palm of the Japanese woman’s hand. “Let your designer have it; it will be clear what is needed for a software connection.”
The woman will open the bag and put the small card, the size of a fingernail, into a hidden compartment of her powder case.
The woman will walk away a few steps, open her purse, and pull out her holographic communicator.
The bearded man will be sitting behind an imposing desk, and behind his image, the city skyscrapers will be seen through the window behind him.
“Come on, Mark, it’s a great opportunity. When do we get another one like this? This could go to the competition in
five minutes.”
“But Margareth, what do you know about this source of yours?” the other will say, signing documents in a holographic sheet to his left. “He may have told you a bunch of bull. Is he reliable?”
“Trust me, he is. I can’t explain it to you, but it’s absolutely a true story. I checked; what he says matches. I’m telling you, what’s behind yesterday’s bloody events, passed off as crime news, may be one of the most interesting journalism stories in recent years. And it’s not just a local fact. It’s explaining to me how a widespread system works.”
“Widespread at what level?” the man will ask, moving other documents into a parallel holographic sheet.
“I haven’t found out yet,” the woman’s voice will be firm. “Listen, Mark, listen to me. This is big stuff. I’m listening. This could be one of the most important journalistic investigations I’ve ever had. In fact, I think it’s probably the biggest.”
“Military stuff?”
“No, I don’t think so. But something that can win or lose the elections of a political party responsible for these games behind the taxpayers’ backs.”
The man will look up from the sheet, paying attention to her.
“Two hundred thousand, did you say?”
“Non-negotiable,” the woman will nod. “And I need it now.”
“I guarantee nothing,” the man will say, leaning back. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“You are one of the main shareholders, Mark. You have a say in these things in the Company.”
“It’s not like I have much other than your opinion.”
“You don’t have to worry about the Company. This story stands. I can feel it.”
“This could slow down construction of the rifle,” the annoyed voice will say. “We hadn’t foreseen the connection of these two parameters. I hope the designer doesn’t delay delivery.”
“My dear, it is better to do things calmly, but to do them well,” he will say in a sad voice. “And that’s what I’ve done. If I do something, it has to be done to perfection, no matter what.”
I’m paying.
“And by the way, let’s be clear that you can shoot wherever you want, but my optics, eh, mine are the best,” the man will say boastfully. “You can also find others who declare the same TF, but they don’t have my performance, and you know why?”
The woman will inhale before speaking. “No. Enlighten me.”
The man beyond the counter will lean toward her, and the woman will instinctively withdraw from his bad breath.
“Because it’s the quality of the lenses that makes the difference,” he will say, as if revealing the secret of Fatima. “And mine are the best.”
“And the most expensive.”
“Of course,” the man will note, pretending to be offended. “It cost me an arm and a leg. Do you want to see the graphs that compare the performance of the different optics so I can prove it to you?”
The chewing gum bubble will burst on the girl’s face.
“No, thank you,” the woman will answer, heading towards the exit. “Just tell me when you deliver the goods to me.”
The man will accompany the woman, opening the sliding door of the garage and following her into the courtyard.
“Of course, my dear,” he will say, with a deep bow at the threshold of the fish shop entrance. “I’ll assemble it today. Tomorrow night it will be ready. I’ll call you.”
The man will bow to the young girl with a steel-like smile. She will look him over from top to bottom, then spit chewing gum onto his shoes. The elegant woman will hide a smile, climbing the steps and entering the fish shop. Not that it ruined his yard.
The man will look at her, closing the sheet to the side of the desk. “I’m not worried about the Company, but about you. If you throw yourself into something that has to do with politics, and then that guy leaves you with your back exposed, and maybe disappears in some little village in South America, it’s your ass that will hang in the wind. Then the Company will dump you and turn to another columnist deemed more trustworthy. You know how things are going in our trade. If you run with it, I can’t protect you, Margareth.”
The woman will inhale deeply. “If I don’t, I’ll lose it. Have I ever let you down yet?”
The man will sigh and tighten his jaw, slightly shaking his head. “Give me a couple of hours. Time to make some calls.”
193 days earlier
The sun will illuminate the red roof of the Onna Son house, shining past the blossoming cherry courtyard, warming the pair of birds that jumping close by. The girl in the sweatshirt will recline on soft pillows on the low sofa, with legs stretched out and shoes laid on the coffee table. She will wonder if the two birds, confused by the color of the roof, are in love. The Japanese woman, lying on the bed, will open her personal display, inserting into a slot the small card she will pull out of her compact. She will look at the patterns appearing in the holographic sheet, which will open in space to her left, while another sheet will open on the right. The person calling will appear after entering the automatic translator function.
“I told you not to call me unless it’s urgent,” the blond with the sideburns will say. “What’s happening?”
The woman will watch the man walk down a crowded street. “I have here a couple of schematics that my supplier says serve to make the eyes higher performing,” she will answer, watching him walk on the bonsai. “Do you know about holographic lenses? Looks like it would take a couple more screws.”
The man will remain silent.
“Are you there?” the woman will ask.
“Can you send me the diagrams?”
“Right now, if you want.”
“How long for the delivery of lenses?”
“Once I have everything, no less than three weeks.”
The man will not show any emotion.
“Send them to me.”
The Japanese woman will watch the Westerner disappear into the right screen. She will put her hand in the left screen, take the file, and move it to the open channel of the built-in communicator. The girl at the back of the room will watch holographic cartoons hopping in a myriad of colors on the sofa.
The balding man will be seated at his wooden desk in his office in Rome, at the Federal Counterterrorism Directorate.
Thursday, 3:47 p.m.
It will be a sunny, cold afternoon with a persistent and sharp breeze. A man and a woman will walk at a fast pace along the riverbanks, passing the people enjoying Chicago’s skyline on the river. Some elderly people will sit quietly on the sunny benches of the avenue, relaxing as they watch the body of water, small, light boats slipping across the slightly rippled surface. The wind will quickly move the few white clouds into the clear sky. The man and woman will climb the stairs along the embankments to reach the road.
“If I have a positive answer, how do I contact you?” the blonde with the green coat and crossbody bag will ask.
“I’ll contact you,” Whiley will answer, walking along the sidewalk. “Come, accompany me to the end of the street. There’s a flying bus stop.”
“But where are you going? Where will you spend the night?”
“It’s better for you not to know.”
The man will continue to walk, merging into a more crowded street.
“So, what are the terms of the deal?” the woman in the green coat will ask.
“Be sure you have that answer. It’s almost 4:00. I’ll contact you on the personal number you gave me in a couple of hours.”
“What if the answer is positive?”
“If you give me the money, I’ll give you an exclusive interview. I’ll tell you everything I know. Names, dates, circumstances. I’ll explain to you the theories of my friend, Richard, who was murdered yesterday, probably for what he was studying.”
“Dr. Proctor?”
“Yes. There must be a connection between books, articles, and essays, written and unwritten. Between what was published many years ago, and what
someone today doesn’t want known. And we made the mistake of stumbling onto something that must remain unknown.”
“And then?”
“And then, we’ll investigate.”
He will speak, bent over the solid wood desktop, with the armchair turned towards the wall, looking at the blackboard on which he will have scribbled some notes. The man in his sixties, projected in the holographic sheet in front of him, will seem to listen to him with keen interest.
“... For these reasons, colleague, we need your cooperation. We believe that this individual may have something to do with the construction of a weapon intended to be used against the Holy Father.”
“Do you have any evidence?”
“We have wiretaps. Tomorrow night, this person will make the sale to a buyer located in Turkey. I have already asked for and obtained full cooperation from my Turkish colleague.”
The DA will think a little lie is necessary, in some circumstances. The hologram will look hesitant.
“After his call early this morning, I got the card of this hacker. I’ve got it in front of me, colleague... Nothing to make you think of a dangerous individual. Illicit trafficking, raids on the holographic nodes of major companies, industrial espionage... some intrusion into government sites,” the man will evidently be reading a holographic sheet. “I don’t think it’s that important. We too have been looking for him for a few months now. He seems to be of interest to our communications surveillance police. A small fish. But why do you care?”
The little Italian will run a hand over his receding hairline, deciding, once again, to be direct. “Colleague, how many times have we talked about collaboration in the Federal Assembly?” He will play a card that interests his listener. “I remember your intervention in the council very well. You were talking about equal treatment. The fact that the Americans and the British are the masters, like the Germans, and that the Investigative Federation is still on paper. And now, why all this resistance, now that you can help a country as small as yours? And then, remember what’s at stake? We’re talking about the pope.”
Futura: Parallel Universes. Book 2 Page 8