by Hammond, Ray
Haley had arrived promptly at eight. Jack recognized her face on the downstairs security camera and buzzed her in. He checked the elevator location display inside his apartment and, as it rose to the top floor, he crossed to open his door. He watched as the elevator doors slid back. She was wearing a black silk blouse and black trousers. A grey sweater was draped over her shoulders. Her smile lit up the elevator even before she stepped out.
‘Welcome,’ he said.
She had brought a bottle of white wine. ‘It was chilled,’ she complained, her deep-brown eyes earnest. ‘But that was before I found that I had to walk half a mile here from where the taxi dropped me.’
Jack took the bottle with a smile. ‘Gramercy is a traffic-free zone. Great for the environment, hell when you need to get the groceries home. The local stores deliver by refrigerated bike.’
She looked around the old loft. The UNISA security installations had required a full redecoration of the apartment – finally forcing Jack to allow the physical obliteration of his past life with Helen – and the new pale lime paint and clear varnished wood surfaces glowed.
‘This is lovely,’ his guest observed. ‘It feels very comfortable.’
They sat at the much-used wooden kitchen table and Jack poured the wine she had brought.
‘To your book.’ He raised a glass in a toast.
Haley’s smile seemed to increase the level of illumination in the room. ‘I’m so excited,’ she laughed as they clinked glasses. When she had sipped the Pinot Grigio she put her wine back on the table and pulled her VideoMate and a pocket video camera from her bag. ‘Let’s get started,’ she grinned.
‘I not sure that’s a good idea,’ Jack said gently, nodding at the capture devices. ‘I can’t go on the record, so any help I give you will have to be informal.’
Haley frowned at him. ‘I wasn’t thinking of using the actual recording, I just like to–’
‘It’s just not a good idea to have any identifiable record,’ insisted Jack, gently but firmly. ‘Make written notes by all means.’
Even though he had kept his tone light, he saw Haley register his resolve. Then he saw her small chin jut determinedly.
She was recalling what he had said in her London apartment: I normally record everything. Don’t you video meetings and so on? Just for legal safety, and security? This could still be a trap.
‘Are you recording this meeting?’ she asked. ‘That’s what you usually do, isn’t it?’
He spread his hands on the table. ‘No, I’m not,’ he said, dissembling with a strictly literal truth. He and the UN technical services team had discussed how they could feed the signal of this meeting outside the building but had agreed that, given the Tye Corporation’s potential powers, even with highest-level encryption it was too risky. The recording equipment to capture their conversation had been installed by a UNISA technical officer inside the loft earlier in the afternoon and was now being operated remotely.
Haley now had another decision to make. She looked around the large room and then back at him.
‘OK,’ she agreed. She put the device back in her bag and extracted her DigiPad.
‘So, you’re the corporate vice-president of security for the global Tye Corporation. Does that mean you have a seat on the main executive board?’
‘Would you mind using real paper?’
She shrugged again, bemused. She rummaged in her bag and found an envelope and a pen.
‘OK. So do you have a seat on the board?’
‘But you’re not going to quote me in your book.’
‘No, I’m not. You’ll be an unidentified source as far as my readers are concerned. But I have to keep records, even if it’s just for the libel lawyers and, maybe, the courts. To prove my sources.’
Jack nodded. ‘How about this, Haley? I’ll tell you anything I can, you make your notes, but don’t keep anything in electronic form that identifies me as a source. I can’t explain my reasons right now. Keep it on paper by all means but don’t put my name in your VideoMate address book and don’t even make annotations on your DigiPad or word processor. Don’t make any PopUp notes that mention my name or my role. Is that possible?’
Haley cocked her head on one side. ‘Very mysterious. I am able to use secure mode, you know.’
Jack nodded again. ‘I know, I know. But humour me. I do want to help and, if it gets to a court case, I’ll even do what I can to help there. But, in the meantime, don’t file anything about me electronically. Don’t call me, don’t v-mail or e-mail me. I won’t contact you in that way either, I’ll use other methods.’
‘What going on here?’ she asked, her face suddenly animated.
‘What’s my job?’ he replied, with a smile of his own.
‘Security,’ she said.
‘Precisely. Will you work with me on this?’
She thought for a moment and then nodded, her large dark eyes never leaving his.
‘So, how can I help?’
‘So, do you have a seat on the main executive board?’
‘No.’
‘What did you do before you joined the Tye Corporation?’
‘I was in the US Navy.’
‘An officer?’
‘Commander.’
‘You mean you weren’t trained in security?’
‘My training covered a lot of things. Some forms of security included.’
‘So you weren’t a seagoing officer?’
‘At the outset, I was. But, in general, no.’
‘What were you? Exactly?’
‘That’s classified.’
Jack would never admit to his original SEAL background, it was such a cliché. The rest he couldn’t talk about.
Haley paused and looked across at him. He seemed at ease, slightly amused even.
‘But in the US Navy?’
‘Yes. They paid my wages.’
‘Were you a spy?’ she asked, with a mischievous grin.
‘Absolutely not,’ said Jack firmly.
There was a pause.
‘So how did the Tye Corporation recruit you?’
‘They contacted me shortly after my discharge. An old friend recommended me.’
‘Who?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
Haley thought about a challenge but decided on a new tack. ‘You’re married?’ It was put as a question, despite his ring.
‘Why?’
Helen smiled down on him from the wall opposite, behind his guest’s head.
‘Are you married, Jack?’ she repeated.
‘No. I mean I was. Not any more.’
‘But you still wear your ring,’ she objected, gently touching his hand and peering at the gold band.
He hesitated. ‘I’m a widower.’
Haley removed her hand quickly and he watched her digest his answer. Her next question was put more softly. ‘Any children, Jack?’
‘No.’ That would have come next. He wondered why she was asking.
She moved on. ‘What’s your remuneration?’
‘That’s not relevant.’
‘It certainly is. The lawyers will have to make a judgement on your actual status in the Tye corporate hierarchy. If you’re a VP but you’re not on the executive board, your salary level is the best guide to your seniority.’
Jack considered. She was waiting for his answer, preparing her next question. Intelligence shone from her dark eyes like a beacon. He found he that he didn’t at all mind telling her.
‘Sixteen dollars and three cents per working minute.’
Like everybody these days, he was paid in real-time and by true value transfer. Money worked much harder and more effectively when it was kept moving.
‘OK, Jack, save me the math. How much is that a year?’
‘Eight and a half million dollars, US.’
Haley raised her eyebrows, but made no comment. Then, ‘Anything else?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Any other sort of benefits? Cars,
share options, pensions, health insurance, et cetera.’
Jack nodded and smiled. ‘All of those, except the car. There aren’t any cars on Hope Island.’
‘What’s your total package worth?’
At eight and a half million dollars he was highly paid, but not by global VP standards. Even though corporate security had grown up to become a function of the senior executive in most corporations, he and his peers had yet to penetrate the highest echelons of capitalist power.
‘I get more share options added each year. I suppose the total now has a value of several hundred million dollars.’
This time Haley did allow herself a smile. ‘And you’ll risk all this to help me?’
Now he saw her point. ‘No. I’m helping myself. I have my own reasons and . . .’
He noticed her frown. ‘I’m not using you,’ he said quickly, even though as he said the words he realized that the opposite was true. ‘Like I told you, I think things have gotten out of hand. Something has to be done.’
‘Like what?’ she demanded.
‘Well, the international legal system doesn’t seem–’
‘No. I mean like what things are getting out of hand?’
‘I’ll come to that,’ he said as he rose from the table.
Jack crossed the loft’s wooden floor and bent to open a low two-drawer filing cabinet. He extracted a thick file and returned to the table.
He pushed the bottle and his glass aside and opened the file.
‘First, I thought you might be interested in a little personal background on Tom. This is all on paper,’ he muttered as he leafed through, looking for the first document he wanted to show her. Deakin’s research team had unearthed it and it was perfect for the occasion. ‘This is for you, but please don’t scan it, or digitize it in any other way. Is that OK?’
Haley nodded, mystified but intrigued.
He found what he was looking for and held the photocopy of an old press cutting out to her.
‘This should also make good copy,’ Jack suggested as he turned to locate another bottle of wine. ‘It’s about the mental institution to which Thomas Tye was committed. He’s purchased his past.’
Chapter Thirteen
Towards the end of the first decade of the twenty-first century, at the peak of uncontrolled vehicular excess, the controllers in the Los Angeles Department of Traffic and Highways offered up a daily prayer in the hope that the Santa Monica Freeway would be able to cope with 32,000 vehicles per hour. As the months went past this prayer changed from a forlorn entreaty to an abject confession, a mobilis-miserere, as they finally acknowledged that the capacity for which the freeway’s designers had planned it had long since been exceeded. At the best of times progress was slow. Often the freeway, like many others in the city, became gridlocked. Average traffic speeds in the Greater Los Angeles area had dropped to twelve m.p.h.
When the first fully automated traffic-flow system was finally introduced in commuter lanes there was much public outcry and intense political debate. Drivers felt uncomfortable handing over control of their vehicles’ movement to computer systems, even if the state was providing them with generous tax incentives to assist with the cost of installing the necessary automatic driving systems. It was only when non-automated traffic was completely banned from the fast lanes in peak periods that drivers seriously began adopting AutoRide technology. The Los Angeles City Council fuelled the experiment by providing an eighty per cent cash subsidy for these in-car control systems and, during the first years of the experiment, the flow of vehicles was managed by roadside locators and broadcasting systems.
As a result, average traffic speeds rose from twelve to forty m.p.h. and the number of vehicles able to move along the thirty-five miles from the center of downtown Los Angeles to the Pacific coast increased to a record 38,000 an hour. The problem was that traffic on the adjoining roads, particularly the San Diego Freeway, remained uncontrolled and thus the local terrestrially based solution was only partially successful. The on and off ramps continued to be a mess and lengthy waiting periods at smart traffic lights provided only a partial solution.
Other cities such as New York, London and Athens had responded to the alarmingly accrescent number of private vehicles simply by banning them from parts of their road networks, charging vehicles to enter the remaining areas and significantly improving mass-transit infrastructures. Once public transport became smart enough to provide customers with information about the precise arrival time of the next tram, bus or train, also its current passenger load, its best-prediction ETA and the precise whereabouts and loadings of all connecting transport, the public suddenly began to see the advantages. First Class and Business sections were opened on the larger people-carriers and, in London, the whole top deck of the traditional red bus was given over to cosseting premium-class travellers with display screens, drinks and snacks.
But however smart, reliable and comfortable mass transit had become elsewhere, it wasn’t an option for the Los Angelenos and their administrators. The gigantic urban sprawl of Greater LA had been designed after the automobile had become ubiquitous but before it threatened to choke its host city’s arteries. The scale of the city was simply too large for any conventional form of mass transport system to work. Even if the city fathers had been able to start over and magically dig earthquake-resistant tunnels for a comprehensive under-city subway system, the trains, trams or maglev shuttles would need to make too many stops, and to cover such vast distances, that they would still remain unattractive as a form of regular transport.
The answer was to envision all the city freeways and their feeder roads as one circulatory system; to imagine each vehicle as a single cell inside a giant centrally managed mass-transit system in which individual vehicles obeyed the needs of the larger organism. As a result, the roads became a huge contraflow venous system that was controlled and managed from the skies.
This satellite-based management system was designed, built and administered over a five-year period by a consortium of Tye Aerospace Inc. and Tye Asset Management Inc. (TAMI). Currently, the Santa Monica Freeway handled over 70,000 vehicles an hour travelling seven feet apart at an average speed of forty-five m.p.h. All the other freeways and main arteries in and around Greater Los Angeles boasted similar throughput and, a mile before joining any of the roads or freeways that were part of the LA Intelligent Transport System, drivers logged in their required destinations and handed over control of their vehicle to the ITS, operated on the city’s behalf by TAMI, a system that had been working faultlessly for three years.
On the bright sunny Wednesday morning following the rather less than intimate dinner that Jack Hendriksen had cooked for Haley Voss, most Angelenos were keen to begin their working day. By 7.30 a.m. the freeways were at 84.7 per cent maximum capacity and, from a thousand kilometres up, a satellite of the TAMI network was issuing instructions to more than 130,000 vehicles to reduce their speed from 52.157 m.p.h. to 47.342. Construction had closed one lane of the on-ramp to the Santa Monica Freeway at its junction with 405 South and the satellite’s on-board parallel processors had predicted the resultant congestion and was routing 2,962 vehicles to different entrance and exit ramps, providing in-car displays of the new routes that had been selected and revised estimated arrival times. If the drivers had entered the network ident of those awaiting their arrival, they too were similarly informed of the travellers’ revised ETAs.
Unfortunately, few travellers were paying any attention. Despite state regulations that required a driver to remain available to resume control of a vehicle at all times in case of automatic control failure, some drivers had swung their big chairs away from the dashboard and steering wheel to attend business meetings locally, on the East Coast, in Europe or in any location in any of the fourteen longitudes and twelve time zones in which other humans were still awake. Many had resumed their social conversations and get-togethers via the networks, some reviewed news, sport or business information in their viewpers while o
thers donned immersion helmets, turned up their ScentSims and wallowed in pornography. A minority simply ate, drank and watched TV in air-conditioned comfort. Others, caught in a global frenzy of the time, gambled their way to work.
Grazing the ionosphere above the traffic, 6,000 satellites occupied spaces within a layer of orbits that, in the early days of earth-orbit satellite deployment, would have provided safe locations for less than a hundred of them. As with the cars below them, the satellites were computer-managed and, after a gigantic space-junk clear-up operation to remove the debris of fifty years of uncontrolled near-space colonization, all orbital positions and movements were now strictly controlled. Orbiting refuelling tankers provided energy top-ups and in-service repairs for the satellites: these in-flight maintenance techniques had extended the average useful life of satellites to twenty-five years. Again, the contractor was the Tye Corporation – this time in the guise of Tye Orbiting Management System Ltd (TOMS). The entire system was under the control of a team led by Raymond Liu, group technical director of Tye Networks.
On a geostationary 4,700-kilogram satellite dubbed LAT-6 the real-time memory managed by four 1024-bit microprocessors developed a leak. It wasn’t the first of the day and ordinarily it wouldn’t have caused a problem. The fail-safe memory system supported its data and instruction set inside several artificial shells designed to isolate operations from any equipment or operating system malfunction. But this memory leak was the 643rd to occur in eight hours and such information losses exceeded every scenario the designers had anticipated. All registration addresses in the emergency buffers were occupied and even the flash-storage overflow could accept no more. Despite being guaranteed as completely fault-tolerant, LAT-6’s processing froze and all data transmission ceased.