Futura: Parallel Universes. Book 2

by Valerio Malvezzi

  Don’t make any noise.

  Two keys. The first will be for the shed. The second, larger, will look older. She will take both, and walk out without putting on her jacket, silently opening the door and exiting into the yard, quickly crossing the path. She will open the shed door with the first key, enter, turn on the light, and close the door behind her, with her heart in her throat. She’ll look around without seeing anything unusual. The cot, the shelves, the siphon of hot, dull, and now cold air. No package. She will wonder where he put it.

  The trunk.

  She will see it, at the end of the shed, green with brass studs. It will be locked, and she’ll have a key in her pocket. She will approach and try the second key.

  She will throw the lit scroll on the carpet and wait to see the flames spread quickly. Then, taking the other two bottles, one in each hand, she will follow the woman into the elevator, pouring the contents of the first one down the corridor, throwing the bottle into a corner. They will get into the elevator, the woman will press the button, and the old cabin will go down to the ground. She will collect the small gun and put it in the sheath on her thigh, moving the skirt back, then pass the stiletto to the girl. She will insert it in the scabbard in her left sleeve and pour the contents of the last bottle into the wooden cabin of the elevator. Then she’ll take the sheets of paper, roll them up together, light them, and throw them into the elevator, looking at the blaze in the cabin. The two will slowly walk to the convertible and get in.

  “Did you like it?” the woman will ask, getting behind the wheel and turning on the car.

  The girl will pass her tongue over her lips.

  “You were very good, honey,” the woman will whisper, kissing the girl, who will greedily reciprocate her kiss.

  The black convertible will be almost invisible in the shade of the high conifers, in the cloudy night.

  “Now, let’s go home,” the woman will add, pushing the accelerator and spinning the car on the gravel. “The night is still long.”

  When she looks into the rear-view mirror, to the top floor of the ancient wooden building overlooking the sea, the glare of the flames will already be visible through the back window.

  The lock will open, and the woman will slowly raise the lid. She’ll see the package right away. Taking a breath, she will open it. And then she’ll put her hand on her forehead, feeling sick.

  The black woman will rise from the cot, where she will have sat for the last five minutes thinking about what to do, distracted, unable to accept what she has seen. After all, she will reflect, in some remote corner of her brain, she’s probably feeling disappointment. Disappointment at thinking she had met a man unlike the many she had met in the past, a man who had told her almost shyly that she had white teeth and a beautiful ass. The same man who surreptitiously hid a gun in her house. The same one who spent the evening eating fries and watching cartoons with Niki. She will hardly realize that her eyes are filling with tears. In those five minutes, alone on the cot, in the cold of the old shed, the black woman will have to make a difficult decision. Panting from fear and breathlessness, she will look at the communicator and input the emergency number.

  Finally, she will decide.

  Whiley will wake up, and for a moment, he won’t remember where he is. He will sit down, move the two wool blankets, look, surprised, at the light that will filter through the window, checking the clock hanging on the wall.

  Damn it, I forgot Madison.

  He will quickly head to the bathroom. When he comes out, he’ll go to the living room, tuck his shirt in his pants, and put his shoes on, thinking he’s an idiot for not setting the alarm clock. He will walk through the living room, open the door, and enter the kitchen. The woman, sitting at the table, will have shiny eyes and a gun in her hand.

  “Beatrix.”

  The black woman will raise her chin, sight along the gun, and point it at the chair.

  “Sit down now,” she will say, in a voice broken with emotion, “and tell me everything.”

  185 days earlier

  The city of Rome will already be full of tourists at the end of May, more beautiful than usual, with an uninterrupted series of magnificent days after an unusually cold and rainy April. The downtown area will swarm with electric cars sliding with a buzz on the road surface a few decimeters from the ground, with severe speed limitations, despite the considerable improvement in automatic safety systems that practically prevent pedestrian involvement, acting directly on the brakes. In the sky, the flying car traffic will mainly move on the ring roads, to allow entry into the city only through public transport, connected to the support ramps of the external parking silos.

  In the central office, at the Federal Counterterrorism Directorate, the magistrate’s door down the hall will be closed. Inside, three men sitting around the meeting table will be watching a holographic recording.

  “I need another search and arrest warrant, Doctor. For this individual, Janus, whose identity we unfortunately don’t know,” the tall man with the black sideburns will say. “Please, Santilli, show me.”

  The Chief Inspector, in bourgeois clothes, will be maneuvering the holographic projector. The bearded man’s hologram will appear in the room, while a whole series of information about crimes committed in the computer realm will be projected on a screen, indicating that the subject had violated practically all the legal protocols for access to holographic nodes.

  “Would this be the man we have to find?” the magistrate will ask. “The software artist?”

  “That’s right, Doctor,” Santilli will answer. “The police are looking for him by monitoring access to the holographic network. For years now, to no avail. Maybe we can finally catch him.”

  “And why is he so important?”

  “If you will allow me, this can be explained by the results of the interrogation. I’d like to show you an excerpt.”

  Friday, 8.56 a.m.

  The old suburban house will be immersed in a small globe of light that November morning, when the first warm rays of sun will peek over the trees along the avenue. The woman and the man will sit on opposite sides of the kitchen table. The mingled sounds of the city will come in, softened by the barriers of the surrounding houses and trees.

  The woman will have the gun in her hand. “And I should believe your bullshit?”

  “What is this?” the man will ask, laying his hands on the table. “Some kind of interrogation?”

  She will bend forward. “No. Give me a reason to believe you.”

  Please tell me it’s true.

  “You don’t have to believe me.”

  “You lied to me!” she will scream, still holding him at gunpoint. “You didn’t tell me you were armed.”

  “It’s not true. I didn’t lie to you about that. And you didn’t ask me.”

  “But…!”

  “Look, I told you I didn’t want to talk to you about what happened to me. I knew I shouldn’t because you wouldn’t understand me.” The man will put his hands on the table, making the gesture of getting up. “No, indeed, you wouldn’t have believed it.”

  “Sit down!” she will scream. “Or I’ll shoot.”

  He will look at her, skeptical. “Are you sure you know how to use a gun?”

  “Go fuck yourself. The shitty place I grew up in was full of people with guns. And it’s not hard to hit a man from this distance. So please stay still.”

  Please. What the fuck are you saying?

  “Look, Beatrix, I’m leaving. You’ll never hear from me again. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to involve you in this.”

  “No, you sit there and don’t move. How do I know you’re not coming back, or that that stuff in the shed isn’t from a robbery?”

  The magistrate will look at the hologram. “Is this an excerpt from the interrogation you did yesterday morning in Wrocław?”

  “Yes. Piotr Kaczmarek, alias Black Rabbit. Identified only yesterday, after months of investigation. Santilli, shall we show him the
file?”

  The magistrate will look at the hologram of the young man with long hair and a file with a list of cybercrimes, less serious than those of the previous file. The two holograms will remain motionless, side by side.

  “What do the two have in common, and why do you suspect that they are related to our investigation?”

  “Let the pictures speak. Santilli, let’s move on fast; skip all the preliminaries and get down to business.”

  “The middle part?”

  “Yes, where he explains the connection with Janus and the reason for his involvement, not the computer technical part, which the doctor won’t care about. You can see that.”

  “All right. Can we have a little less light, please?”

  The magistrate will get up. “I’ll do it,” he will say, approaching the wall.

  “Stretch. Dim,” he will whisper to the sensor placed by the window, before returning to his seat. The awnings will bend, and the darkened glass will turn, creating the required light conditions, already programmed in the memory of the room computer. The three men will watch the recording in the dim light. Santilli, moving around the room, will pull draw a line into space and an interrogation room will materialize in front of them, almost life-size. In the bare room, Commissioner Cervetti will be sitting at a table next to a rather chubby man with blond hair and light sideburns, dressed in plainclothes. At the back of the room, an uniformed policeman will be standing by the door.

  “Who is the blond man next to him?” the magistrate will ask, eying Cervetti’s companion.

  “Captain Jankowski, a colleague in the Polish Counterterrorism Division. He’s the one who ran the blitz operations the other night.”

  The Magistrate will nod and signal to continue. Santilli will touch the invisible screen, and the room in the hologram will come to life.

  The black woman will run her left hand through her thick hair. “Or... or worse, tomorrow some kind of gangster will knock on my door wondering if... if I happen to fuck the man who screwed him out of his money.... Fuck, what a mess I got myself into!”

  Whiley will look around. Almost nine o’clock. He was supposed to have called Margareth Madison at 8:30.

  “No, you’re sitting there now, fine, let’s see what the police think of this whole good story of yours,” she will continue, walking behind the table, her left hand playing with her hair. “If what you say is true, they’ll protect you, and if it’s not true... well, then, we’ll see.”

  He will start to get up. “Listen, Beatrix...”

  “Don’t move!” she will scream, pointing the gun at him with both hands “And put your hands under your butt!”

  The man will comply slowly, shaking his head. “What program did you see this bullshit on?”

  “Silence!” she will scream, holding him at gunpoint and approaching the kitchen communicator. She will lift it and put it on the table. Holding him at gunpoint with her right hand, with her left she will begin to dial a number.

  “Don’t do it, Beatrix,” he will say, in a low tone. “Don’t do it, at least for Niki!”

  “What the fuck does Niki have to do with it now! Leave her alone, do you understand?” the woman will yell in his face. “Don’t make me remember that you held my daughter with a gun in your jacket!”

  The man will shake his head, while she resumes inputting the number.

  “I’ll leave her alone, but they won’t.”

  The woman will hover her finger over the send button. “They who?” she will ask, undecided. “Who are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know who they are, Beatrix, wake up!” he will say, “Those people, those who want to take me out. I told you, the ones who killed my colleagues, my friend, those...”

  “Yes, yes, all right, I get it,” she will say, raising her hand with her gun and spreading her fingers. “In five minutes, the police will be here.”

  In the dim light, the holograms will move.

  “So Kaczmarek, when did you meet the network intruder known as Janus?” Cervetti will ask.

  “I don’t remember well.”

  “Try.”

  “Six months ago, maybe seven.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “In Tortuga.”

  “The computer node you used last night?” Jankowski said.

  The young man will nod.

  “He contacted you, didn’t he?”

  The young man will nod again.

  “Speak up, young man.” Jankowski will order. “We’re recording.”

  “Yes. He contacted me.”

  “Why?” Cervetti will ask.

  “For an operation on tourist resorts in Turkey.”

  “How? What were you going to do?”

  The young man will squirm in the chair, uncomfortable.

  “The preferences and rankings of all spas, hotels, restaurants, hotels, and youth hostels, things like that. On the holographic network, people upload thousands of posts regarding their vacations, where they were, how it was, their comments, and so on. And based on those reviews, rankings are formed on holographic sites that determine where people choose to go on vacation, how much they are willing to spend, etc. Some customers had contacted Janus to change things.”

  “Does changing mean altering for a fee?” Cervetti will ask. “How did you do it?”

  “Creating fake records. Thousands of reviews that spoke very well of that certain restaurant or beach, or that hotel. All fake.”

  “What, all fake?”

  “Everything. People, audio, stock images. All fake. Computer-mounted and inserted into the holographic network as data published by thousands of non-existent access nodes in reality. All done from a single point.”

  The black woman will blow the words from her mouth. “And you’ll tell them. If it’s all true, you’ll be safe.”

  “No, Beatrix,” he will say, looking her in the eye. “If you press that button, I can tell you what will happen.”

  Don’t count me out, please.

  “In five minutes the police will arrive. I’ll be taken away for investigation for your complaint. You’re going to give your deposition. Then, within twenty-four hours, I’m going to disappear, simply, because they’re definitely listening to this kind of news about police communications, and someone will come with a nice order to change custody of the prisoner, to move him to another location for more interrogation, maybe they’re going to be feds. I just won’t arrive for that interrogation. I don’t survive.”

  The woman’s lower lip will tremble slightly.

  “And then, those gentlemen will have to come here, to you, and erase any evidence. Which means killing you,” the man will speak in a calm, almost resigned voice. “And if they’re the kind of people I believe they are, they won’t hesitate even to kill Niki. And then they’ll come up with some story about the local underworld. Don’t you have a turbulent past, Beatrix?”

  The woman will now be hard pressed to hold the heavy gun still. Her voice will almost be choked, barely holding back tears.

  “But then, what am I supposed to do?” she will scream, pointing her gun at him.

  The man will look at her calmly, inhaling before speaking.

  “You must be strong. For yourself. For Niki. And do the right thing.”

  The woman will shake her head, taken by a hysterical laugh.

  “And what would be the right thing to do?” She will sigh. “In your opinion.”

  The man will look at the clock; he will be late for the appointment. He will look at the woman, whose finger will still be close to calling the police. Whiley will frantically think about how to get out of that situation.

  “Believe me.”

  “Believe you!” she will repeat, sighing and spreading her arms. “That’s all. Believing you would be the solution.”

  The man will look at her and raise his chin, moving. “Yes.”

  Jankowski will smooth the blond sideburns on his round face.

  “From where?”

 
“My house.”

  “And we’ll find traces of this in your files, won’t we?”

  The young man will nod again.

  “Aloud,” the Captain will say.

  “Yes. At my house.”

  “We care little about all this,” Cervetti will comment. “We come to the most recent contact. After working well on that project, Janus considered you for a different operation, the one that interests us. When did he contact you?”

  “A few days ago. I don’t remember. It was a frantic job, to be done in a hurry.”

  “And why did you accept? For the money? How much did he pay you?”

  “Twenty-five thousand.” Then he will correct himself, “Five thousand immediately, the rest on delivery.”

  “So you’re waiting for the other money.”

  “Yes.”

  “And when will he pay you?”

  “Within a couple of days, maximum. Time to check that everything works. Then he has to pay me.”

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  The boy will smile bitterly.

  “No serious operator would do that,” he will explain. “I would ruin his reputation on the holographic network in one evening. And Janus is a very serious operator.”

  “So, help me understand. He has to contact you again?”

  “Yes. A message that the goods have been successful.”

  Cervetti will take notes on a separate holographic sheet. “Let’s get back to us. This money, how do you get it?”

  “An anonymous account in an Irish bank. Payments in the form of a donation to a computer association, which doesn’t actually exist,” the young man will explain. “It is my account.”

  “So if we wanted to find out where the money came from...”