Futura: Parallel Universes. Book 2

by Valerio Malvezzi

  “And how long does it take for this testing phase?”

  “According to the theory, at least a fortnight.”

  “Two weeks.”

  “At the very least. From a couple of weeks to a month of intense work, every day, repeated tests several times a day, in different climatic and light conditions. More likely a month, though. A month is what we recommend.”

  “And at that point, is the weapon able to hit a target at that distance?”

  “Theoretically. But only in theory, of course. Man is always fundamental. And as far as I’ve read, it takes a great shooter.”

  “Forget it, ma’am. I’m sorry I bothered you. And thank you for the interview.”

  The hologram of the redhead will approach the journalist, showing a round face supported by a neck framed by an evident double chin.

  “Yes, but what are you going to do about my book?” she will ask sharply. “Someone will publish it, right? Tell your readers, let them know that they want to censor us. This is an incredible thing; it can’t happen in our day. Where do they think they are? In the Middle Ages? These are holy inquisition methods, and I’ll not allow...”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Rosbow,” Madison will interrupt. “Rest assured, you’ll see that everything will be resolved. Thank you again for your kind availability. Good morning.”

  The little blonde woman will turn off the communicator, and the redhead’s image will vanish from the living room, leaving only the echo of her shrill voice cursing. She’ll collapse onto the couch, sighing. The two will look at each other, disheartened. The woman will be the first to speak.

  “We didn’t start off very well, did we?”

  He will look at her without answering.

  She’ll shrug her shoulders, then pick up her coffee cup. “Well, it doesn’t matter,” she’ll say, holding the cup with two hands. “We’re only just beginning, and in this profession you have to be patient. I don’t get discouraged easily. Finish your coffee. Let’s line up our ideas, make a plan, and start again.”

  The man will look at the little blonde woman, who will sip her coffee, returning his look. Then he will nod and take back his cup, looking into it as if searching for something.

  Cervetti, walking through a small table, will look at the young man. “And did you also get the impression that the client and the shooter could be the same person?”

  The young man will bite his nails, sitting uncomfortably in the metal chair. “I don’t know… I think so. I don’t know.”

  “But from the way Janus spoke, from what he said, I want to know what impression you had. Could it have been? He was competent, the one who asked for details. Did it give you the impression that he was the shooter himself?”

  The young man will think, looking at the window, and exclaim, “Yes, indeed. Yes, of course.”

  Cervetti will bend over the table, like a hunter leaning towards his prey. “Why, how do you know?”

  “Because of the physical parameters.”

  “Physical parameters.”

  “But yes, of course,” the young man will explain. “When I asked what types of parameters I had to look for, weight, stature, limb length, height, eye position, and so on, Janus told me not to worry, that he had them. And he had them because he had recorded the recorded images of his client.”

  “Which tells us...” Cervetti will comment.

  Cervetti will lock his image in the hologram and address the magistrate. “Which tells us, Doctor, two things. First, that the shooter and the buyer are the same person.”

  “And second?”

  “That Janus and his client met physically. If we don’t want to think about the far-fetched hypothesis that a man who is shrewd enough to look like a ghost has sent his physical data and images around the holographic network.”

  “So, if we catch this Janus...,” the magistrate will say.

  “We will have an identification of the customer’s physical characteristics,” Santilli will conclude.

  Friday, 11:24 a.m.

  The morning at the end of November will be cold and windy. In the skyscraper apartment in the city center, a man and a woman will argue animatedly, knowing that they are facing something new, incomprehensible, and dangerous. The man will turn to look at the flying car that will flow, a few hundred meters above him, in the second belt of the ring road, producing only distant mingled noises, inside the living room.

  “So, that’s the plan,” the little blonde will say in a resolute tone. “The Chinese man is not there at the moment. But are you sure that’s a good idea? I did a quick search on the web, little stuff, a few conferences, mostly from many years ago. And then, just criticism. His colleagues around the world criticize his methods, his working hypotheses. In the most prestigious scientific journals, he’s described practically as a charlatan. Look at this.”

  Whiley will look absent-mindedly at a holographic sheet, stock images, people at a congress, paragraphed texts on the sides of images, extracts from scientific articles.

  “And since when are we to judge from what is on the holographic network?” the man will ask, sitting down. “Don’t forget that it’s the same source that didn’t allow the publication of Rosbow’s novel. Maybe the world isn’t missing out on this great masterpiece, but I’m getting a hint of a bad smell, aren’t you?”

  The little blonde will open another sheet. “So in the meantime let’s try with the Russian, Cheslav something, what’s his name? And then in the early afternoon we’ll go to see this sociologist, what’s his name? Dr. Galloway. That would be your friend’s boss, the one they killed, right?”

  “Yes, but we’re not going together; you’re going to the Department. Make an appointment and go alone. I’d better not show up. You never know.”

  “All right, and then in the afternoon we’ll try again with China.”

  “Yes, and we’ll hope to come up with something,” Whiley will say, turning around. “This time.”

  The magistrate will pound a hand on the table. “At last! Let me see the rest.”

  In the prison, at the interrogation table, Cervetti will question the young man. “So, if the client and the shooter are the same person, we have to imagine that the shooter will have to train with the rifle quite a lot, to make him able to attempt such an incredible shot. And by the way, we have to assume that the client is a formidable shooter. Is that correct?”

  “Yes. Obviously.”

  “And do you have an idea why the shooter would want to risk such a long-range shot? But it would no longer be convenient to shoot as I know at five hundred meters, a thousand meters.”

  The young man will fidget nervously in the chair. “I asked Janus once too.”

  “And what did he answer?”

  “Because of security. He told me that the client had explained to him that the target was one of the most protected people in the world. And that it was necessary to go beyond the perimeter of the safety cordon usually used.”

  Cervetti will pound a hand on the table. “That obviously doesn’t exceed three thousand meters,” he will say, looking at Jankowski and then the young man.

  He will shrug his shoulders, as if to say he really has no idea.

  “And when will the sale take place, in your opinion? How long will it take Janus to close the schedule?”

  “Six days. No more. Maximum, a week, including last night. So, he told me.”

  “And so, in a week, roughly, Janus will send the completed program to his client.”

  “Yes. He should, if they don’t change their minds. At least, not that I know.”

  Cervetti will move like a caged lion in the interrogation room. “First you talked about this weapon as a prototype. There’s always talk about a unique weapon.”

  The woman will open a holographic file, and a man in his forties, blond, thin, casually dressed, will enter the apartment, talking to colleagues in apparently remote areas.

  “Here’s what I found. Dr. Cheslav Ivanovic Golubev, Russian research
er, Moscow University, seems to be a biologist, specializing in renewable energy applied to agriculture. Looks like he published a lot, until two years ago. See?” The woman will show holographic images of texts. “He also seems to have shot a lot in Africa, Nigeria, Angola, Ethiopia. Then, for a couple of years now, nothing more. Looks like his biography’s gone. Isn’t that strange?”

  “Yes, that’s strange.”

  “Well, look, we’ll hear something from him in person, then,” the woman will comment, uploading the instant translation program from Russian.

  “Very good. Go on.”

  The connection program will take a while to get online, and the woman will have to specify several times the Department, the office, and the name of the researcher, as resulting from the last available file. In the end, a man will appear in the living room, older than in the stock images, with an unkempt beard. But it will be him.

  “Dr. Golubev?” the woman will ask, sitting on the couch.

  “It’s me.”

  The hologram will move in a room a couple of meters by two, covered with old computers, shelves, and books stacked in a confused way.

  “Margareth Madison. Of the Chicago Sun Times,” the woman will say, hearing the voice a little distant. “May I ask you a few questions?”

  “Look, I want to be left alone,” the man will reply. “I haven’t offended anyone, and I don’t intend to do so. If your government has anything against me, write to my lawyer. And by the way, I don’t deal with what you accuse me of anymore.”

  “But look, there’s a misunderstanding. We’re not accusing anyone. I’m just a journalist, and I’m interested in hearing about your work.”

  The man will laugh sarcastically.

  The Italian will stop in the middle of the interrogation room before turning around and resuming speaking. “There’s one thing I don’t understand. Why shouldn’t they mass-produce it? I mean, who says it’s not built to become a standard of the armed forces of any country?”

  The young man will shake his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it will only be used once. Only once, then the customer will no longer use it.”

  “This is beautiful,” Jankowski will comment. “And how do you know that it isn’t a bullet, that it won’t be used in another hundred murders? You’re a little naïve, kid, they were fooling you.”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Why are you sure it will only be used once?” Cervetti will ask, sitting on the edge of the interrogation table.

  “Because the customer wanted a particular specific software.”

  “What could it be?”

  “A timer, to connect to a bomb. Once the trigger is pulled, the timer will detonate the rifle within ten minutes.”

  Cervetti will look at the Polish Captain.

  “And why?” the latter will ask.

  The boy will shrug his shoulders again.

  “What do I know? Janus explained to me that the client had told him that later it would no longer be necessary to use such a rifle.”

  “Why?” Cervetti insists. “What exactly did he tell you?”

  “He said there was only one person like that in the world.”

  In the room in Rome, the Magistrate will get up, approach the window, order the opening of the curtains and darkened glass, flooding the room with light. He will turn to look at the two colleagues, then the figures in the middle of the room. The Commissioner’s hologram, stuck in a frozen image, will still be looking at the young man’s face, with his mouth open on the last sentence.

  “My work? And who ever took an interest in my work? Do you see where they put me? My career is here, in this hole. Three floors below the ground, if you want to know,” he will say, spreading his arms. “Anyway, what would you like to know?”

  “About your last article. The one not published last week. On the connection between energy and food. We might be able to publish it, if we knew something about it. I don’t guarantee anything, of course, but I’d like to know. If you would be kind enough to explain to me, put simply, what it is.”

  Whiley will make a thumbs-up sign.

  Good, girl.

  The man will remain silent for a few seconds before speaking, tiredly.

  “The article deals with a well-known theme in the scientific community, of the competition between the use of land for food production and for energy production. As you will be aware, in recent decades, there have been particularly widespread alternatives to the use of fossil fuels in agriculture; for example, biogas plants and photovoltaics on the ground. Both cases involved land area consumption for non-food uses and instead for energy. For example, biogas plants use animal excreta and dedicated crops, such as corn, sorghum, triticale, and other high-yield products in terms of anaerobic digestion; that is, in the absence of air, usually in a radius relatively close to the plants. Are you following me?”

  “Perfectly,” Madison will respond enthusiastically.

  “To put it simply, having toured some poor countries such as Africa, and in some areas of East Asia, I reported the fact that there are two different scenarios,” the man will resume. “In some models, there are local crops, with relatively low land consumption. In others, digesters import the product from abroad, and in some, industrial processing waste or municipal waste is used instead.”

  “And where is the problem?” the woman will interrupt.

  “We use two terms to indicate land use change with the first, and with the second, the indirect land use change. That is, obviously, the replacement of the soil to produce energy instead of food.”

  185 days earlier

  The offices will be bright in the noonday sun in the old building in the center of Rome, at the Federal Directorate of Counterterrorism. In the dusty office, in a mixture of ancient and modernity, three men will be seated at the meeting table, eating sandwiches and drinking beverages distributed on the table by an electronic robot, which will pour their favorite drinks on request. The men will have been locked in the room for four hours when the magistrate will get up and go to the window.

  “Open window,” the little balding man will say to the control unit on the side of the wall. The panels will flow upwards, and a pleasant breeze will blow into the room, helping to improve the oxygen level.

  “A little fresh air will do us good,” the Magistrate will comment, clapping his hands.

  “I don’t see a reason to be so optimistic, Doctor,” Cervetti will say “We don’t have much in our hands, for now, just a lead.”

  The little man will walk around, looking at the two men sitting at the table. Santilli will be devouring a sandwich with a great appetite.

  “On the contrary, dear Cervetti,” he will say, smoothing his mustache. “On the contrary. This operation opens up an important area of investigation, and I welcome that. Far from it; believe me, we know more than I had hoped.”

  The man will approach the board. “We had nothing. We didn’t know who our enemy was, where or when he would strike, or how he would do it,” he will comment, reading the words written with chalk. “And instead we now know, with an acceptable reasonableness, that our enemy is a man who works alone, who coordinates several teams of people who don’t know each other, and that these teams are preparing for him the weapon that is most likely designed to kill that one person in the world so protected by the security services.”

  The magistrate will draw a chalk circle around the word “who.”

  “We also know that we have a flaw in such services, and knowing our weaknesses is good.”

  “Land use change is now relatively easy to measure, but indirect land use change? The second model means that animal feed must be found elsewhere, including abroad.”

  “So, do large installations, which import large crops for energy use, reduce important areas of food production?”

  The man will tap a pen on the table. “Exactly. But the issue is still controversial. Mine was just a ‘what if
’ analysis. Small plants, which operate in a closed cycle, fed mainly with animal waste, don’t have a great impact on land use. But what indirect effect have others around the world had, particularly in poor countries?”

  The woman will interrupt him again. “Sorry, but your comments don’t seem to find much evidence in the rest of the scientific community.”

  “When there is a controversial scientific question,” the man will calmly explain, “where does the researcher’s impartiality end and where does the party interest begin? Do you know that almost 90 percent of the funds allocated to research, in my country at least, come from private sources of funding?”

  “And you assume that your remarks were not well received,” Ms. Madison will suggest.

  “I only reported data. It would be better to have many smaller installations that use system by-products and not dedicated cultures; that is, that they create integration, not competition, between food systems. Why not feed them only in a closed cycle, in the supply chain, with industrial processing by-products and with municipal waste? Moreover, on a local scale, would this allow the reuse of digestate; that is, the resulting product, in agricultural fields, increasing the yield of food production per hectare?”

  Madison will look at Whiley, who will write, unseen by the interlocutor, words that will connect the various texts on their holographic sheet.

  “And this would help poor countries to fight hunger in the world?”

  “Exactly. But that’s not all.”

  The little bald man will tap the chalk on the blackboard. “Our services are insufficient because they are designed to put a security perimeter around the potential target of how much? One mile, two? And instead, we found out that our friend intends to cross the barrier, attempting a shot until yesterday considered impossible, shooting the target from about three kilometers.”