by Hammond, Ray
‘You should never wish your mother ill, Johnny,’ she had replied sharply, but he could see the twinkle in her eye. His mother had always enjoyed a little subterfuge and he remembered how easily she had manipulated his father.
So it had been agreed, and his mother had seemed more excited than disturbed when he had explained about a new passport and the need for absolute secrecy. They discussed what to do about her dog and about Clara Morgan, his mother’s best friend. It would be impossible for her to leave without explaining, the elderly lady affirmed, since if Clara thought she was in a hospital, she would break down all the doors to visit her.
Jack pondered these twin problems for a moment. ‘What does Clara think I used to do, Mom?’ he had asked, at last.
‘Oh, nothing,’ his mother had said, with an over-casual shrug. ‘You always told me not to talk about it.’
Jack smiled. His mother had known no details of his work, but she had certainly guessed its nature.
‘You must have said something,’ he prompted gently.
Anne Hendriksen swivelled her shoulders slightly, like a small child trying to avoid making an admission. ‘Well . . . I just said you did confidential work for the government.’
Jack smiled. ‘Would you mind if I dropped round to see her?’ he asked. ‘When I take Skipper out for a walk, later on.’
The red setter lifted his head above the rim of his basket and regarded Jack with a liquid, hopeful stare.
‘I could just explain how you’re helping me, so she mustn’t worry. Would that be OK?’
And later Mrs Morgan had stared up at him, her bright button eyes popping. ‘I won’t breathe a word, John, on the Good Book,’ she swore, ‘and I’ll be pleased to look after Skipper. You just tell your mother to have a good time.’
*
Joe stepped back and looked up with satisfaction at the large pinboard on the wall. Ingrid, his new assistant, had been scouring the networks for such an old-fashioned item, but without success. But Geneva does not desert its traditional retailers easily and in the end she had found the green baize noticeboard, three meters square, at a small stationer’s near the university.
He had spent two days dumping the contents of his VideoMate, his server files and his own memory, as well as contacting his friends and other sources, in order to create this graphic representation. He’d even found images of most of the Tye Corporation executives. Then he and Ingrid had spent another seven days compiling a consolidated and cross-referenced shareholding register for every Tye-related company. Now his only concern was whether he would have to get his graphic display and supporting documents packaged up and transported safely across town to Dr Chelouche’s office, or whether the world’s banker would deign to visit him here.
He had flown back to Manhattan to collect his clothes and tell his friends the authorized version of his sudden move to Europe. Before Joe had been allowed to leave his first encounter with Chelouche, the banker had insisted on the importance of transmitting nothing on the networks that might reveal the true nature of his forthcoming role in Europe. To Joe’s surprise, he had even insisted that this restriction also apply to encrypted messages.
Well, Joe knew no one he wanted to tell that badly and he relished the challenge of establishing a fund so large that he could exercise some control over the market price of the Tye Corporation. He had used the brief trip home to pass news of his new role onto the key pension fund managers and to blow on the embers of a few Tye-oriented relationships that had been allowed to cool.
One such call had produced an interesting snippet: an individual on Hope Island named Zachary Zorzi was shopping around for a loan – a large loan, the source said – based on the value of his stock options in a Tye Corp subsidiary called LifeLines Inc. Joe had recorded a PopUp reminder to research this company. Joe’s stock-in-trade wasn’t real inside knowledge (although he never hesitated to use it discreetly when he came across it) but lay in his ability to find a link between apparently unrelated events: to look for a pattern in various developments and announcements that allowed him to discern the intentions of those who were shaping the markets. If he got that right, he could invest and maybe share some of the spoils.
Joe had also picked up some news that he found hard to interpret. One of the software agents he had programmed to search for Tye’s new equity investments had struck lucky in one of its random Serendipity Excursions and had reported back with documents on a land deal filed as a matter of public record by Finland’s Ministry of the Interior. Joe had been surprised to read that a new corporate identity called Tye International Real Estate Inc. had bought a cluster of uninhabited small islands in the north Baltic Sea. Joe’s network atlas had quickly given him some basic facts: at a latitude of sixty degrees north, these islands were ice-bound for eight months of the year and contained no known mineral or chemical resources of value. The deals were leasehold, each for 999 years, and all commercial fishing rights had been retained by the Finnish government. In all, the ownership of thirty-seven islands had been transferred at a total cost of only thirty-two million euros.
Joe knew the history of how the Tye Corporation had acquired Hope Island and, despite the tycoon’s professed concern for ecological issues, he doubted that Tye Corp was merely buying Baltic islands to protect the local gull populations. Then he had recalled his other software robots and reprogrammed them to go in search of any land deals into which any known Tye-related company had entered over the previous three years.
He had arrived back in Geneva to find that a penthouse apartment in a low modern block had been rented for him, close to Swiss National’s head office. A new Audi was also waiting for him in an underground car park. An alien’s work permit – something even harder to acquire in Switzerland since the country had finally joined the EU – waited amongst the package of documents related to his new home, the car and his appointment to Swiss National. There was also a printed memo from Madame Pioline asking him to pay special attention to the group of companies within Tye Aerospace while he was constructing his organizational chart.
The Director of Human Resources at the bank had been all smiles when Joe arrived at the appointed time the following morning.
‘We’re honoured that Doctor Chelouche would ask for our assistance,’ he said in French-accented English. ‘But this will remain between us, yes? The director of fund management understands you will be working on your own, but the rest of the team are being allowed to assume you are setting up a new fund here in the normal way. Perhaps you would look over this draft press announcement of your appointment to Swiss National?’
In addition to the large pinboard, Joe had developed a non-network electronic version of his organization chart complete with videos and database material on the various companies, subsidiaries and shareholdings of the Tye Corporation and on Thomas Tye himself. He’d never laid out a physical map of the Tye empire before and as he looked at the busy pinboard with its clusters of company names and presidential titles even he was surprised by the depth and complexity of the organization revealed by this visual display.
Joe’s VideoMate chirruped and he found himself looking at Madame Pioline.
‘The Doctor will be pleased to visit Swiss National tomorrow morning,’ she told him in response to the request he’d made earlier. ‘I’ve spoken with the bank’s director and the board room will be at your disposal. Our technical support team will check the room over immediately beforehand. Shall we say nine a.m.?’
Joe nodded. How civilized. How European. How northern latitude. It would give him time for a morning run beside the lake.
*
‘We’ll be bringing in the newly commissioned Treasure of the Caribbean for additional accommodation,’ announced the young, silk-suited female event-producer in what she obviously thought was a clipped, inner-Beltway presentational style. An impressive image of the giant cruise liner, superimposed alongside the quay of the deep-water harbour at Cape Hope, hung pointlessly in the Holo-Theater.
Everybody knows what a cruise ship looks like, thought Jack. Only a DC organization would pad out a presentation so excessively. Next they’ll show me a floor layout to justify their large fees. Just then the image changed to display seven separate deck plans.
‘We’ll have sixty suites, three hundred and twenty double bedrooms and three hundred single rooms for staff. The conference itself will take place here in the Network Control Center – we understand the conversion to the Solaris Control Center will be complete before then – and in Mr Tye’s house, in the lecture theatres on the university campus and in the three lecture theatres and the ballroom of the Treasure of the Caribbean itself.’ Herself thought Jack with a rush of irritation. ‘Outside of the plenary sessions there will be three hundred and eighty-two separate seminars.’
But, despite the over-fussy detail and high-pressure delivery, it had been an impressive presentation. Jack had smiled sagely as the details unfolded but even if he had still had only the Corporation’s interests at heart, he would have been daunted by the task of analysing all the many potential threats and dangers posed by such an ambitious undertaking.
‘We are calling the event One Weekend in the Future,’ the account director had beamed. ‘We are bringing together the world’s greatest business leaders, politicians, scientists, philosophers, artists and writers to spend three days in a conference on the global environment that will set the ecological and technological agenda for the next ten years. Naturally, the Tye News Network will have exclusive television and network rights. An announcement was made to the press this morning.’
As the list of events and activities grew, Jack began to wonder how his staff could possibly cope. Then the PR people turned to the guest list. They started with the ultra-VIPs.
‘We’ve had a provisional acceptance from the president’s office, the Dalai Lama . . .’
Jack stood and held up his hand. The young woman looked up from her list.
‘You mean the president of the United States?’ asked Jack.
‘Yes, we’re all delighted by that,’ said the account director. ‘We heard only two days ago. It’s subject to final confirmation, of course.’
‘And what level of security will he be bringing with him?’
‘That’s to be confirmed. We know he will be travelling in Air Force One. The Secret Service has already cleared the trip – they believe Hope Island is probably one of the safest territories on earth.’
Jack nodded and sank back into his seat. He agreed with that judgement but he dreaded working with the White House mafia again. Twice before his work had taken him into the American presidential orbit and both times the macho, pre-emptive, turf-dominating, gun-toting hubris of the Presidential Protection Section of the US Secret Service had made him want to vomit. It reminded him of the ignorant and stupid young man he himself had been when he had first wanted to join the Marines. They seemed to sum up all the worst aspects of American military culture.
When Thomas Tye had first hired him he had asked Jack’s opinion of American presidential security.
‘It’s effective but wholly over the top,’ Jack had commented. ‘It’s about projecting a tough image when it should be about discretion. I’ve worked with those Secret Service officers and although they’re good as a team, they don’t work well with outside agencies or organizations. Every presidential trip becomes a misery for the hosts.’
‘We’ll see if we can do better when we’re on our travels,’ Tye had then said. ‘But that’ll be up to you.’
The young event producer sensed Jack’s reservations. ‘Mr Tye thought you would start liaising with the White House fairly soon,’ she prompted. ‘Do you see a problem?’
Only one of jurisdiction, thought Jack. He was also wondering whether the President’s late acceptance of Tye’s invitation could be linked to American concerns over Tye’s rapidly increasing power – or whether the US government had suddenly joined the rest of the world and was finally starting to pay more than gas-guzzling lip-service to the plight of the choking planet. He would need to inform Ron Deakin quickly but the covert UN landing party wasn’t scheduled to lay the secure landlines until the following day.
‘Please go on.’
‘The Dalai Lama, President Orlov of Russia, President Cohen of the EU, the Sultan of Brunei, Prime Minister Benn, President Boutard of France, Lord Berners-Lee . . .’
Jack listened as she read off some of the world’s most famous names. He knew Tye wanted to create the ultimate launch event for the first public unveiling of the Phoebus Project, his largest project and investment to date. But Jack wondered if all the many guests would react in quite the way Tye expected.
*
Calypso had waited a week for news. She hadn’t seen Tommy since that lunch on Tye’s terrace when she had laid down her conditions for continuing as the boy’s . . . she still didn’t know how to describe her role. Chaperone? Companion? Psychiatrist? Playmate? Observer? Love-giver?
She knew she genuinely loved Tommy, but she was resigned to the fact that he might already be beyond her reach and her help. At the end of their lunch she had insisted that Tom reconsider his decision about Tommy’s attending school and about allowing the boy to join her on a trip to visit her mother. She wanted Tommy to witness other aspects of life, and by having him meet some of her nieces and nephews she wanted this child of ultimate privilege to see how different family life could be on an island not so very far from his own.
Since then she had called the main house three times each day but every time one of the staff had explained that Tommy was in a lesson, or swimming, or in the bath, or in bed, or playing the piano, or immersed in a game or anything but able to see her or even speak to her on a communicator. She’d started to call Thomas Tye himself and, once again, was told that Tom was in a meeting about the Los Angeles problem, or down at Cape Hope for a launch, or was in holo-conference with the president of this nation or that nation. She’d even strolled around the foot of the mountain to see if she could somehow get into the grounds of the mansion. But she discovered that down at sea level would-be trespassers were greeted by nothing but sheer cliff face.
Then she had decided to act. She had had enough! She walked to catch the Mag, determined to visit the house itself and persuade whoever she found there that she must see Tommy immediately for his own good.
But the shuttle had refused to leave the station. She pressed the destination button for Tye’s residence again and again but the car refused to budge. At first she thought maybe the power had failed, but when she pressed the button for Little Venice, the shuttle pulled away instantly. When she arrived at the waterfront she pressed the button for Tye’s house again. Once again, the car would not move. Resigned, she pressed the button for the station near her home and the shuttle started instantly. It was now clear that the security system was simply denying her access to the main house. Her VideoMate locator and also the facial-recognition system of the island’s camera network were automatically communicating, and the security system was obeying instructions to deny her access.
When she woke the next morning, she found Tye’s decision waiting for her in her mail box. Seeing that he had recorded it during the night, she presumed it was her attempt at visiting the house that had at last prompted this contact.
‘I’m sorry, Doctor, but I have considered everything and I’m afraid I can’t let Tommy return to the school or leave the island even for a short trip. I understand your genuine concerns, but Tommy is an exceptional boy destined for a very special role in life. Therefore his world can’t be exactly like that of other boys. I hope you will understand – or that you will come to understand in the future.
‘Given the strength of your feelings on this matter, it is probably better if we now terminate our agreement. Technically, you’re still within your probationary period, but I’ve arranged for severance pay to be made to you as if the full contract was already in place. Logistics will arrange for your transportation off the island. I’v
e told HR to provide an excellent reference regarding your professional capabilities. Thank you, Doctor Browne.’
Then the screen had gone blank. Patronizing bastard, Calypso had thought: ‘. . . or that you will come to understand in the future.’
What she did understand was that it was now time to leave and her instincts told her to do so quickly. HR and Logistics confirmed that a helicopter would be available to her at ten a.m. the following morning to take her to Mayaguana and she spent the day packing her clothes and the lightweight possessions she had brought from her Chicago apartment. Most of her furniture and pictures were still in a run-down Me-Lock self-storage depot near O’Hare airport where, in sullen silence, Larry Sumner had helped her load the container. She hadn’t been on the island long enough to arrange to have them forwarded to her.
She had already laid out her travelling clothes on the queen-size bed and, by late evening, she was packing the last of her underwear and shoes into a leather overnight bag. It had been one of her first ‘luxury’ purchases seventeen years before, after winning her first serious prize money. The bag was old but with a battered quality that improved with time and had the comfortable smell and feel of a much-loved travelling accessory.
She heard a banging on the door to the veranda. Then a familiar voice. ‘Calypso? Calypso?’
She ran through into the living room, pulled the inner door open and swung the mesh door outwards onto the veranda.
‘I knew you hadn’t gone away,’ he said simply, his violet eyes full of tears.
Tommy was still wearing blue striped pyjamas but he’d pulled on dark trainers for this excursion. Jed was trapped firmly under his left arm and the boy held a bottle of water in one hand and a chocolate bar in the other. Calypso wanted to smile at these preparations he’d made for his expedition. Then she noticed that he was wearing a small surgical mask pulled down around his neck, and even pale latex gloves. She put her arm around his shoulders and led him into the light of her living room.