Hacking Einsteiner (Einsteiner, Book 2)

by VK Fourstone

  He shrank away from the commissioner.

  “I’d like to hire a lawyer. After all, I have that right.”

  “You’ll hire one when I want you to. Or will you get the money from Pascal again?”

  “Where I get my money is my business.”

  Isaac tried to behave confidently, but he did not really know how to behave: whether to answer politely or aggressively, or not answer at all. He thought in any case it was best not to get the commissioner angry.

  “Isaac, we’re not enemies,” the commissioner continued gently. “You raised your voice at me. I know how to speak loudly too, as you can see. Let’s just get on with it calmly and peacefully. Everything’s all right, you haven’t broken the law, have you?”

  “I haven’t.” Isaac was clearly glad of this change of course. He was afraid of being too impolite and getting himself charged with something like insulting an officer in the course of performing his duty or something of that sort.

  “If you haven’t, then good for you! But what Pascal did is very unusual. Not really a Happy style.”

  “All people are different. And anyway, I got the documents for the patent on my invention. And I guaranteed that I would pay back everything down to the last cent sometime very soon.”

  “Of course people are different. If Pascal gave you the money, I am only for it. Why should I be against people doing good deeds? You’ve got a great sister. A fine girl. She will recover, you’ll see!” Pellegrini gave Isaac a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. She’ll recover.”

  Isaac relaxed a little. If warm words about anyone could win his sympathy, then that person was Vicky.

  “Did you never think of joining the police?”

  Isaac had got completely confused by Pellegrini’s questions.

  “I never thought seriously about it. But I like stories about good cops,” Isaac added, just to be on the safe side.

  Pellegrini grinned.

  “Just another couple of minutes, Isaac, and then you go home, OK? As for me, I’m already getting hungry. Feel like going to a little Italian restaurant.”

  Isaac was really glad that the interrogation was finally about to come to an end. He realized he also was ravenous and exhausted, so he shifted closer to the desk.

  “Two minutes, I’ll finish filling out the papers and you can go.”

  “Thank you.”

  Commissioner Pellegrini wrote quickly and Isaac waited. The commissioner finished, loudly slammed down on the desk, which apparently signified the end, looked at Isaac and suddenly painfully squeezed his shoulder asked in a casual voice.

  “Tell me, where did you put the board from the computer?”

  Isaac had probably slipped up somewhere. He guessed immediately that the commissioner had spoken to Elvis. Had Elvis given Isaac away or not? Apparently he had, since Pellegrini had asked Isaac the question. And the cunning commissioner had slipped it in so underhandedly, when Isaac was already thinking about where to go for supper. He wasn’t ready for this sudden U-turn.

  “Surprised? I know everything, Isaac. I’m only interested in certain details. It was interesting to watch you lying to me.”

  The commissioner raised his voice, speaking with regret and disillusionment at the same time.

  “A lot of things depend on me. But your lying made me upset. I could help, if you had done something stupid by mistake. But that’s not the case here. You clearly acted consciously and deliberately.”

  Isaac felt like he was drifting. Thank God, he couldn’t say anything, his thoughts were in a hopeless tangle. There was only fright. “Sign,” said Pellegrini, handing him the sheet of paper.

  “What is this? I didn’t do anything with any board. I don’t understand what you are talking about.”

  “You understand perfectly well. Sign it. It is an undertaking not to leave the area. Or I’ll keep you here as a potential fugitive from justice.”

  “What would I run from and where to?”

  “From having lied to me.”

  “I haven’t lied to you.”

  “Of course not. Clearly you spent three weeks in Ibiza, as you testified the last time, while your mobile phone roamed about Italy and even took a holiday on Sardinia.”

  “What do you mean, Sardinia?” Isaac asked, unable to stop himself, although he knew it was best for him not to say anything.

  “It’s the roaming, Isaac. Haven’t you ever heard of that old invention? Where you phoned from. Where you phoned to. Where you were. You lied, Isaac, and that’s included in the report. So read it and sign it. We’ll continue this conversation on Monday. And don’t even think of shooting off anywhere. I’ll find you quickly anyway and you’ll get an extra five for attempting to flee. Your gain is plain – the money for your sister. But what you did with the board and why you went to Sardinia still remains to be figured out. Perhaps you were Elvis’s accomplice after all, and Captain Robert just didn’t notice? Haven't you been to Lyon with Pascal? Where have you been that night? Or you have a witness, that being Bikie?”

  The commissioner was clearly pleased with himself. In reality he couldn’t have kept Isaac at the station - that required the consent of the prosecutor, and getting that on Friday evening was no easy matter. It could wait until Monday. Where would Isaac run to? His sister was here and he didn’t really have any money. And if he did run, than that would be even more interesting. No, Pellegrini himself couldn’t be bothered to request a warrant from the prosecutor. Oh, that South of France! It would soften anyone into utter laxity. And then again, it is all guesswork as yet, unfortunately. Or rather, he was quite certain, but did not have enough evidence for an arrest. There was a victim, all right, but he was a stupid Veggie, and working with him was really a drag! But never mind. Now that it was clear that something fishy was going on, the questions of the victim and the charge will fall in place eventually.

  Isaac read the report of the interview. He broke out in a cold sweat at the part where he talked about Ibiza, and the commissioner made a handwritten addition that this was a lie. There were no any other notes. And even though his thoughts were confused, and it was hard to read, and his head was splitting, Isaac tried to remember as much about his answers as he could. It was strange, by the way that the commissioner had singled out the section with the lie in it. Isaac felt a brief flash of hope that it was just another police trick to exert psychological pressure on him.

  At last everything came to an end and they let Isaac go. He walked home as if he were drunk. Bikie caught up with him about ten minutes after he left the station.

  “Well then? How did it go? Why so long?”

  “Not so great.”

  Isaac stopped and leaned against his friend. He was emotionally drained and was already eating himself away for being caught out like that. In retrospect he realized that even if Elvis had given him away, his own word carried exactly the same weight as Elvis’s. He should have refused to admit anything and stuck to his guns. And the commissioner has also given himself away when he suggested that they were accomplices. Most likely it was a trick, and Elvis hadn’t told Pellegrini about the board. Or maybe the old commissioner, insidious as he was, had managed to trick him too? Damn, he’d thought he was well prepared. The team had worked through heaps of questions about Pascal’s behavior. But Pellegrini hadn’t even asked about that.

  “Come on, tell me. I’m a total nervous wreck. Even the guys have already called twice.”

  In reply Isaac handed Bikie a copy of his undertaking not to leave the area. Bikie whistled.

  “All right, just pull yourself together. Here, take a swig!” said Bikie, holding out a flask of rum.

  The rum scalded Isaac’s throat, going down into him with an agreeable sensation, and he instantly felt shot away.

  “We forgot about the roaming. From Sardinia.”

  “I get it.”

  “What else is important?”

  “He knows I ended up with the card. The memory card. He called me out
when I was getting ready to leave. I didn’t admit it, but he is certain. He definitely knows, but I can’t say from where. Maybe Elvis gave me away, maybe there were cameras at the police station. I don’t know, but he knows for certain that I have it. I think. Also, he knows about you, the fact that we are working together.”

  “What else?”

  “He was surprised about Pascal and Vicky, but I was prepared, and I think I answered that perfectly.”

  “Is there more?”

  “I think that’s all.”

  “Try to remember, Isaac!”

  “That’s definitely all. I read the report of the interview before I signed it, fifteen minutes ago.”

  “OK. Never mind. Let’s go home quick. We’ll think of something.”

  The commissioner, who had trailed Isaac from the police station all the way to where he met Bikie, thought to himself delightedly: “And here’s another character. An accomplice. Bikie in person. So they’re working together. Well-well. He matches the description from the hospital. He was there with Pascal and Isaac.” Taking out his mobile phone, he entered a note: “Who is Bikie?”

  After that, pleased with the interesting case and successful interrogation, he went to a restaurant and ordered a scallop carpaccio with truffle oil and his favorite lasagna.

  The scallops were magnificent, but he had to wait a little while for the lasagna – the Pulcinella restaurant was crowded. Pellegrini’s hunger reached its highest point, and when they eventually brought the steaming plate, the commissioner attacked it with a redoubled appetite, washing the food down with a light Provençal rosé. He was savoring his meal and the successful ending to the day when his phone rang. The screen informed him it was Pascal Din.

  Pellegrini chuckled contentedly and answered the call:

  “Pellegrini speaking.”

  “Commissioner, please, they’re threatening me!” he heard Pascal’s frightened voice.

  “Who? Why? Who is threatening you?” the commissioner’s smirk evaporated.

  “It’s Isaac. He called me. He is very strange! He’s gone crazy. Very aggressive! I think he’s drunk. I want to call the police!”

  “Calm down! Everything will be fine! Right, hang on a moment. Can you lock all the doors?”

  “Yes, of course I can. I already have.”

  “Don’t call the police - you’ll frighten him off. I’ll be there in ten minutes. And don’t open the door for him no matter what! What’s your address again? ”

  Pellegrini darted across to the waiter, taking out his police badge on the way.

  “You got a car? Or a scooter or motorbike? It’s urgent!”

  “Yes, yes. A car. It’s out there in the car park, the company car.”

  “The keys, right now! I’m from the police! I’ll bring it back later.”

  The waiter ran to get the keys and a minute later the commissioner was hurtling in the direction of Pascal’s home.

  A dumbfounded patron watched the car go with his mouth hanging open. He had never seen anything like that in respectable Monaco.

  Pellegrini pushed the car at top speed. He stopped one block from Pascal’s house and ran, keeping as close to the wall as possible. In the evening light he was barely visible. He glanced at his watch – eleven minutes had gone by. Everything was quiet at Pascal’s house. Aha, so he had got here ahead of Isaac! He knocked on the door quietly, dialing Pascal’s number at the same time.

  “Pascal, it’s me. Everything’s fine, open up. But quietly.”

  “Just a second.”

  First of all the commissioner glanced quickly round the room.

  “Turn off the light, so he won’t spot me from outside.”

  Pascal meekly turned the light off.

  “Phew,” said the commissioner, catching his breath. “Bring me a glass of water, please.”

  Pascal went to the kitchen for the water. The commissioner watched him go, feeling annoyed. “Oh, these Happies. I dashed here, but he’s moving like a tortoise. In no hurry to get anywhere.” Pascal came back, carrying a glass in trembling hands.

  “Don’t worry, I’m here now,” the commissioner reassured him, and downed the water. “Did he call again?”

  “No, he didn’t call. But he said he was coming. You got here very quickly. Thank you, commissioner.”

  The commissioner’s legs and arms suddenly felt heavy. His eyelids were closing – he was falling asleep.

  “Why, you bastard,” was the last thing he had time to think before he blacked out.

  10

  Pellegrini woke up with his head throbbing violently. He tried to get up, but couldn’t – his hands and feet were bound tightly to his chair.

  “You’ve come round, dear commissioner,” he heard a polite voice say.

  Pellegrini peered at the speaker. A late-middle-aged man holding a cigar... And then a jolt of recognition seared him like an electric shock: sitting there in front of him was the famous Professor Link in his own person! The one who had disappeared without a trace!

  The professor continued calmly:

  “At last you and I can talk in a calm setting, since you know, you’re always in pursuit. On your side, commissioner, you have all the technology and thousands of brains, including the best in the police. On our side we have only four creative, high IQs and a longing for a free life. Almost even odds, right?” the professor winked slyly. “But we have won. How are you feeling?”

  “Does that matter?” the commissioner asked venomously.

  “Of course. We’re human beings, and exceedingly humane ones. Which cannot be said of machines. Computing machines.”

  “In that case, I wouldn’t mind a glass of water.”

  “Sparkling or still? Local or Italian?”

  “Without any poison!”

  “What poison? It was a standard sedative. The latest generation. Your head will stop hurting in a couple of minutes. So would you like French or Italian water?” asked Link again with a smile.

  An Italian being the head of the French Police Department. Apparently, the professor knew about Pellegrini’s career setbacks due to his Italian name. But how did he, the commissioner wondered. It was Pellegrini’s secret grudge, one he had always kept to himself and never shared with anyone. And from out of this grudge grew a great and powerful resentment of all nationalist blockheads. With his professional attention to detail, Pellegrini realized that for some reason this was no secret to the professor.

  “When did you go digging into my head?”

  The commissioner forgot the condition he was in for a moment and almost barked at the professor in his stock interrogation voice. He had been an interrogator many times, but this was his first time in the position of a detainee. Well, or a prisoner, which wasn’t all that different. Checking himself, the commissioner relaxed his shoulders slightly and glanced imperturbably round the room. Isaac and Pascal and Bikie were here. So they were all in it together. Pascal wasn’t a victim at all!

  “Bring me a double espresso with brown sugar and a croissant,” Pellegrini said in the most brazen and provocative voice he could manage.

  “Isaac, bring the commissioner some water and a cup of coffee. With a straw,” Link added and turned back to Pellegrini. “I haven’t been digging into your head, which contradicts our basic principle. At this stage we are opposed to the use of other people’s thoughts or collective thoughts. It is simply that, as often happens after the sleeping drug that Pascal slipped in your water, you were slightly delirious and you let slip one of your closest secrets.

  “In this case you spoke abusively for a long time, expressing your grievances by using the words ‘Frenchmen’, ‘Italy’ and ‘surname’. As your opponent, I have studied you quite closely, and it wasn’t hard to guess what you meant.”

  “That’s contemptible!” said Pellegrini, turning scarlet.

  “You’ve got nothing to worry about: it is of no interest to me, and I didn’t eavesdrop on you deliberately. I simply came in to check on your condi
tion. In a moment you’ll have your coffee.”

  The muscles of the captive’s face relaxed slightly, forehead lines smoothed out. The professor saw that the commissioner was starting to calm down.

  “Will you give me the croissant through a straw too?” Pellegrini drawled caustically. “Is there anyone here to chew it up for me, apart from rats?”

  “There now, see how useful it is to have imagination,” Link commented in the soothing voice of a pediatrician. “You can even compare people you don’t like with rats. Soon you’ll be able to eat whatever you want – that’s if you want to, of course. Very soon, so you’ll have to wait a little bit for the croissant, especially since it’s evening now, and croissants are only served at breakfast here.”

  The skilled policeman in Pellegrini suddenly had a bad feeling. Link was standing there in front of him, alive and kicking. Pascal and Isaac weren’t hiding the fact that they were working together: this all meant trouble.

  “Dead men don’t eat whatever they want,” the commissioner summed up.

  “Dead men? Oh, come now, commissioner! We’re scientists, not murderers! We’re not going to kill you.”

  “Oh, sure. Then why have you suddenly decided to reveal all your secrets? To make my job easier?”

  “Firstly, we don’t intend to reveal all our secrets to you. And secondly, by morning you will be entirely harmless to us.”

  “For rats a good rat catcher is always dangerous,” the commissioner hissed through his teeth.

  “Isaac, is the helmet ready?” Link asked, then turned to the commissioner and continued imperturbably. “We tried to decide what to do with you for a long time, and then we had an idea, which, as you’ll appreciate, is rather brilliant in its own way.”

  Pellegrini was really annoyed by the professor’s smile, but he didn’t show it, not blinking an eye.

  “We are humane individuals. Of course, we can’t let you go, but we won’t keep you prisoner. We’ll hold a ‘Link court’ over you, they used to ‘lynch’ people, now we’ll ‘link’ you…” the professor smiled at his own joke. “And you’ll go back to your job.”