Futura: Parallel Universes. Book 2

by Valerio Malvezzi

  The young man will move in the chair, evidently uncomfortable.

  “Young man, you have unwittingly fallen into something greater than yourself. You’ve been in an operation involved in the International Counterterrorism Federation, and it’s moving dozens of investigators around the world. Consequently, you can well imagine what and how many charges your lawyer will have to address, considering the evidence we gathered in the search of your house, which is still ongoing. This means that if things go as I think, and in my experience, I’m never wrong, you risk charges ranging from a minimum of five to ten years in prison.”

  The young man will look out the window, feeling as if he’s in a nightmare. The captain will bend forward over the table, lowering his voice.

  “And now, let me give you some advice.”

  Or maybe he said that phrase to calm him down or to fraternize, and he’d never heard of him. Or…or Daft really had heard of Whiley, but not from Borman. The major had never told Whiley anything about this Daft, but had often spoken of Hatlock instead.

  Carrots will fall on the stocky dog’s medieval helmet with a loud metallic noise, bouncing all over the living room.

  And many times Whiley had attended meetings attended by both Hatlock and his right-hand man, Prof. Turos.

  Whiley will bring the tray of steaming fries to the table and arrange it next to the containers with vegetables and meatloaf, among the holographic carrots that will fly on the tray. He will cut the meatloaf and put a tablespoon of vegetables on each plate.

  “It’s ready!” Whiley will say. “Come to the table.”

  The little girl will rise from the floor, letting go of the dog’s tail.

  The man will still remember very well the often very heated discussions between Professor Borman and his two Department colleagues, according to whom the expenses were excessive, and the results of their research were of doubtful usefulness to the client.

  The dog with the helmet will chase the rabbit, which will jump from the cupboard and hide behind the little girl, hugging her and gnashing its teeth.

  Borman had always defended the work of the collaborators, saying that research should be left free to operate.

  The dog with the helmet will growl, drooling profusely, with carrots tucked into the cracks of the ring on the muzzle. The little girl will pause the program, and in the living room, the two holograms will remain motionless, the dog ready to jump, and the rabbit with the carrots coming out of the pockets. The little girl will sit at the table and taste the meatloaf with evident disgust, leaving the vegetables on the plate.

  Whiley will swallow two mouthfuls of the portions, thinking that all in all the little girl is not completely wrong.

  Was it Borman’s position that unknowingly condemned them? Borman, hard-nosed, had told Turos that they could decide what they wanted about the appropriations and also reduce contributions to spending, but they had no power over his research choices, repeatedly telling them to shut their mouths. But evidently, the two scholars had to report to someone.

  To Daft, perhaps?

  The man with blond sideburns will point his index finger at the young man.

  “My advice is not to make that phone call and to collaborate with my colleague next door by answering some simple questions. We don’t care about you, Kaczmarek. To us, you’re just a poor asshole who didn’t understand what kind of shit he got himself into before turning on the fan. What we care about is your contact, Janus. Spill everything you know about him, and I promise you’ll be kept out of the ongoing investigation and stay as clean as a baby’s bottom. You will only be identified as the alter ego of the cyber intruder Black Rabbit. We’ll pass four items of the bullshit in your file to our colleagues in the information control service, who have been investigating for several months, without mentioning what happened tonight. They’ll swallow it, and you’ll be accused only of altering the exam results of the silly law student and other bullshit. You’ll receive a year, which you can serve at home under house arrest, since you have no priors. Maybe the blonde who knows nothing about law will also give you a nice blowjob in gratitude.”

  The young man will look at the table before him, his gaze lost in the void.

  “Well, young man, let’s not waste time. The question is very simple. Which of the two options do you want to exercise?” the Captain will ask with a menacing smile. “Do you prefer to discuss how to avoid ten years with your lawyer or chat with my colleague next door, get a year and then phone Ficarotta?”

  The boy will look up and his lips will tremble when he opens his mouth. “And how do I know you’re going to keep your word?”

  The Captain will tap the palm of his hand on the table, smiling amiably first at the young man, then at the Italian Commissioner by his side. “You’ve made the right choice, boy,” he will say, pointing with his index finger. “You’re not the asshole I thought you were. Good, you just saved your ass.”

  He will turn to the armed guard standing in the corner.

  “Niki, eat some vegetables to please your mom, then we’ll have the fries. I made them for you, see?”

  That would have explained a few things. For example, the fact that those who broke into the sandstone building knew what to find. Not the things, but the heads of the people who could have interpreted those things. Only if they had put together separate information would they have been a danger. This will again lead back to the beginning, to the search for the connection between the various things, the information never published.

  “I don’t like this stuff,” Niki will whine.

  With a difference; two, in fact.

  Those who broke in will have received the information about the subject of the meeting directly from Hatlock, because Borman only reported to him. Secondly, since Hatlock was probably reporting to someone from the agency, this someone was then informed of everything and perhaps gave the order to kill, to prevent him from knowing.

  What about Richard?

  They couldn’t know about Richard; that was Rick’s initiative. Of course! Rick had invited his friend and perhaps Borman wasn’t aware of it, or hadn’t yet been informed, or simply hadn’t passed the information on to Hatlock. And of course, even if they knew, they couldn’t have predicted that he would have a cold that morning. So that was the event that decided everything, as well as his being out. Strange that the whole agency knew about it and had nothing to say. Or maybe someone in the agency was in the pay of those who didn’t want the meeting to take place?

  But who?

  Whiley will watch the little girl’s disheartened face, striving to eat the vegetables and meatloaf to set a good example. Two things will still keep Whiley safe. The first will be that only someone within the Agency, informed by Hatlock, could have been able to orchestrate it, for currently unknown reasons. The second, if Whiley wants to get ahead and understand the truth, is that he will have to look in the Agency.

  “Can we have a nice hot coffee for our friend here?”

  The young man will remain facing the window.

  “Good, now I’m going to introduce you to Commissioner Cervetti, of the Italian N. Put this in your ear; you certainly know what it is,” the Captain will say, passing the young man a small earpiece on the table. “Dear colleague, our friend is all yours.”

  Cervetti will look at the young man with a close-cut beard, hair loose on his shoulders, blinking eyes and a slightly trembling lower lip. He will know from experience that at this point, it will be easy to get him to talk.

  “So, young man,” Cervetti will begin “Do you hear me? Does the simultaneous translator work well?”

  The young man will nod.

  “Well, they’re saving on heating in here, and we’re all tired. So, let’s not waste time, and we’ll all go and rest a little, all right?”

  The young man will nod his head, tightening his lips.

  “Before, colleague, I heard that among this gentleman’s various cybercrimes, there was also something to do with a wel
l-known tourist resort. Am I wrong?”

  Captain Jankowski will widen his eyes, reopening the three-dimensional file. “No… that’s right... why?” he will ask by consulting the card.

  “Ah, thank you. Here,” the Italian will say to the guard who brought the coffees.

  “Right there, Turkey, six months ago,” he will continue. “It’s not a coincidence, is it? It’s the first time you’ve met Janus, I guess. You worked with him and evidently satisfied him. Then, recently, he contacted you again. When was it? And why?”

  The young man will look at the Italian, surprised, and will seem almost on the verge of tears.

  He will have an advantage over them, a name: James Daft, and he’ll know where to look for him. Tomorrow, Whiley will think, I’ll have to find a way to find him while they’re looking for me. For the first time, he will feel at an advantage.

  They don’t know where I am, but I know where he is.

  Whiley will put the cutlery on the table. Tomorrow he’ll have to look for ways to find Daft, talk to him maybe, or find evidence of his hypotheses. It won’t be easy. Certainly, an agency operation will not be easy to achieve. Nor will we be able to simply search in suspicious publications. If that’s the reason for the murders, those who ordered them will check if a certain Whiley investigates those elements. No, he must be a ghost.

  The little girl will put her fork into the meatloaf, and they will look at each other without speaking. That house will be perfect, small, anonymous, in a practically unsupervised neighborhood, completely different from the places he’s accustomed to. Different people, mindsets, norms, and customs. It must be luck, the bad kind.

  The little girl will spin the fork on the plate, producing a strange noise.

  Even the blonde, the journalist, with a small physique but a lot of grit and courage. Maybe she can be trusted. And then, what other cards will he have in his hand? Meanwhile, money to disappear with. But first, he will need a weapon. Not the gun. The weapon of knowledge. And the journalist can investigate in her place, look for things, and talk to people. Not a great plan, he will admit, looking at the fries, but it will seem the best of those possible.

  “Look, would you like a nice burger along with the fries?” he will ask suddenly.

  The little girl’s smile will be the answer.

  It will be late at night when the black woman crosses the gravel road, opens the low gate with its peeling paint, and closes it with the latch, walking on the path in the yard to the house. She will immediately notice the soft light filtering from the pink curtains. not the central light, certainly that of the holographic projector. The woman will open the door with apprehension, entering the house. The projector light will be on behind the sofa.

  187 days earlier

  The village of Onna Son will look like a shimmering treasure on the bay, filled with the glittering lights of bars and shops lit up in the Okinawa night.

  The electric car will travel light and fast on the magnetic suspension twenty inches above the ground, over the paved road, winding along the hillside overlooking the sea. In the car, the perfectly groomed Japanese woman in an elegant black dress will press her sandal on the accelerator. The convertible, with the canopy lowered, will overtake a solitary means of transport, narrowly avoiding the stone parapet along the curve of the hill. By her side, the girl with short hair, dressed in sportswear, will enjoy feeling the air flowing through her hair. When the car makes the risky pass, she will turn to look at the vehicle and smile ironically at the driver raging against them. At the summit of the hill, after the last bend, the car will finally slow down, turning right for a detour just at the highest point of the pass. From there, a splendid view of the bay can be seen, at that time of the evening, full of lights from the boats and the marina along the pier. The Japanese woman will drive the car along the dirt road among the tall evergreen trees and, after almost a kilometer, will stop in a plaza. The woman and the girl will get out of the convertible, taking a box from the trunk and starting down the gravel-covered courtyard. On the sides beyond the wooden railing, the escarpment will drop into the sea. Among the thick trees surrounding the clearing, at the bottom of the plaza, a wooden building will be seen, with a three-story tower in addition to the turret, surmounted by a red dome, lit clearly by the lanterns hanging on the sides of the tower.

  The third floor of the building will be illuminated, and a soft red light will penetrate the windows covered with colored fabric curtains. The whole construction will express a mixture of tradition and abandonment. It would certainly be one of the most spectacular spots in the place, if it had not been practically neglected and left unrestored. Evidently, the owner is not interested in tourism.

  Cheerful music is playing at a very low volume. The woman will put down her jacket and purse, turning on the kitchen light. Half the cutlery in the sink, the smell of oil, and on the table, the remains of a couple of fries. She will lift the lid of the old waste collection robot and see the remains of the meatloaf and vegetables. In the dishes, there will be traces of condiments, and something will evidently have been fried in the pans.

  Imagine. I knew it.

  She’ll come out of the kitchen, and before she heads up the stairs to see Niki, she’ll think about asking her guest how the evening went, maybe asking him to account for that mess in the kitchen. As long as he’s still awake and he hasn’t fallen asleep with the projector on. She will approach the sofa, crossed by a rabbit that will bang rubber hammers against the helmet of the dog in pursuit, producing a bell sound and sparks of a thousand colors. The volume will be almost turned off. Only when she goes around the sofa will she notice the little girl and the man asleep together on the couch, Niki on his chest, her arms around his neck.

  For a few moments, the woman will no longer be able to think.

  “The pig has already arrived,” the woman will say, pointing to an old car parked near the tower. “Let’s go.”

  The girl, with the box under her arm, will follow the woman onto the gravel-covered plaza. Their steps will be noisy in the absolute silence of the lonely place. Overall, the construction, entirely of solid wood, probably dating back to the sixteenth century, will look dilapidated. The woman, arriving at the ground floor, entirely open on the sides and overlooking the entire bay, will push on the rusty irongate, which will open with a squeak. The woman will look around in the dark. To the right, down a hallway, she will see an old wooden elevator.

  “Saki, honey, this way,” a speaker will sound somewhere.

  What a hateful voice.

  The woman will look around, trying to get her eyes used to the darkness, without being able to see anything. The girl next to her will rotate her head several times, finally shaking it to indicate her perplexity.

  “Saaakiii..,” the lamenting and singing voice will repeat, “this way, towards the corridor, near the wooden column...”

  The woman will advance towards the column in the dark.

  “Fire...” the speaker will rasp.

  The woman will turn behind the column and see, inside, her supplier, greasy hair drooping over one eye, a long beard, and the usual steel trap of a smile.

  “Welcome,” the hologram will say. “But I see you are with your friend.”

  “Chiyeko always comes with me. Any problem?”

  “Oh no. No, we’d miss her. I’m a gentleman. Please enter the hallway and stop at the metal door. A little formality. My little invention to modernize this ruin.”

  The woman and the girl will look at each other, then walk a few steps to the metal door, crossing a wooden tunnel made of interlocking wooden boards. Suddenly, a green light will flow down the hallway, accompanied by the hissing noise of an engine moving a panel.

  Friday, 2:37 a.m.

  The small house in the blue-collar neighborhood will be enveloped by the night. Soft light will come out of the central window on the courtyard, through the pink curtains. In the distance, the lights of the city skyscrapers will trace a skyline that cont
rasts sharply with the low, narrow forms of the neighborhood on the outskirts. The woman will see the little girl sleeping on the man’s chest, then decide to take her into her arms, still asleep.

  The man will wake up. “What time is it?” he will ask sleepily. “I must have fallen asleep.”

  “About two thirty,” the woman will say, lifting the little girl. “Come on, Niki.”

  The little girl will hug her mother sleepily.

  “Wait, I’ll help you,” he will say, rising on his elbows.

  “It’s not necessary.”

  The woman will walk through the living room, carrying the little girl up the stairs. The man will rub his eyes, get up from the sofa, and turn off the holographic program, making the rabbit chased by the dog disappear with the helmet.

  The woman will come down the stairs and return to the living room.

  “Did Niki behave?”

  “Yes, very well,” the man will respond, standing before her. “Is she asleep?”

  “Like a rock. I see you watched holographic cartoons. I said put her to bed at 11:00.”

  “Yes, well, look, I’m sorry.”

  “And you ate fries and hamburgers.”

  The voice will be vaguely musical, not quite irritated.

  “Yes, look, that meatloaf wasn’t great, honestly. She didn’t want to try it.”

  The woman will sit wearily in the living room chair in front of the round table.

  “I’m sorry. I was very tired, and I fell asleep.”

  With my daughter in your arms.

  A beam of light, similar to a scanner, will illuminate the wooden tunnel in a couple of steps.

  “Naughty, naughty Saki,” the hologram of the thin man on the column will say sweetly. “Please take the gun from inside your right thigh and lay it on the chest of drawers by the door. You won’t need it tonight.”