by Thomas Locke
The trio seated between Reese and Weldon were members of an intricately interlocked series of corporate boardrooms. Closest to Reese sat Edgar Ross, former US treasury secretary and now CEO of the nation’s second-largest investment bank. He nodded thoughtfully as Weldon continued, “An examination of possible paradigm shifts is a natural component of our mandate. The modern marketplace is too high velocity and too intensely competitive for our members to worry about something that may or may not arrive. That’s our job.”
Next to Ross sat the Swiss chairman and CEO of a pharmaceutical empire that stretched around the globe. He also owned two extremely private Swiss banks. His accent was thick but polished. “Are we quite done here?”
“Not yet. A paradigm shift is defined as an event so monumental it takes humankind to a completely new level of existence. In technology, one paradigm shift came with the invention of the microchip. In medicine it was the discovery of antibiotics. Part of our think tank here is drawn from groups like the Heritage Foundation and the Brookings Institution, where they have been trained as futurists. They take raw data and search beyond the standard event horizon.”
Next to the Swiss sat an Italian telecommunications mogul. He was glossy and slick, and he eyed Reese with the glittering gaze of a well-fed panther. His focus did not shift as he asked Weldon, “You have found something?”
“Until this week, I would have answered you with perhaps. Perhaps we have an issue that might be a real threat.”
“And now?”
“For several years now, a number of respected academics have been predicting that the time is ripe for a cultural paradigm shift,” Weldon replied. “For companies ready for this transition, such a change could catapult them into world dominance. For those left behind or caught unawares, it would mean oblivion and collapse.”
The Swiss magnate said, “Get on with it.”
“One concept arose that troubled us most of all,” Weldon said. “What happened if the next paradigm shift eradicated the global corporate culture?”
The Italian laughed out loud.
“That was our initial response as well. Since the days of Phoenician traders, the world has been ruled by profit and greed. We accused our futurists of watching too many Star Trek reruns. But then we found ourselves unable to let it go. We lost sleep over it, every one of us. Because the more we thought about it, the more valid this concept became.”
Weldon walked over to the window and drew the heavy drapes, blocking out the sparkling night. “The modern corporate culture is built upon certain assumptions. They have been around so long we forget that there was ever once a different system. Today we control the consumer. We dominate their world. We define their fantasies. We promise them fulfillment through our products. We tell them who they want to be. We define success. When they get there, we tell them how to dress and what to drive and how they’ll measure their self-worth. We tell them which pills will make them well, lose weight, stay active. What music defines their life. What entertainment—”
“What did you find?” Edgar Ross demanded.
“Our team decided the greatest risk to our current system would be the simplest. And that is, what might cause the culture to stop listening to us?”
The trio ceased fidgeting.
“And the answer was, it would only happen if they discovered something that was more powerful, more compelling, than anything we had to offer them. Something we could neither market nor package. Something over which we had no control.”
“You mean, another drug.”
“No. Something far worse. Something without any negative side effects at all.”
“Impossible,” the Italian mogul declared. He was no longer watching Reese.
Reese spoke for the first time. “Think about the internet.”
The Swiss gentleman waved her words aside. “We don’t control the medium, but we do control the flow.”
“Not all of it,” the banker mused. “Not by a long shot.”
Weldon said, “We asked what would happen to our situation if we were faced with a new item of such overwhelming allure that everything in the commercial process paled in comparison. Then, almost as soon as we framed the question, we discovered a team working on precisely such a concept. And they were making astonishing progress.”
“Buy them out.”
“Unfortunately, what they are proposing cannot be patented or controlled. Once the consumer learns of its existence, we may well lose them entirely.”
“So crush them. That’s what you do, yes? Operate outside the boundaries.”
“We can’t find them,” Weldon said. “We thought we had everything under control. We drew in their financier, and without his knowing we found a way to monitor the team. But somehow they discovered they were being watched. And they vanished. What’s more, they have brought in a security specialist. A former Army Ranger who trained CIA agents in counterterrorism tactics.”
The room had ceased to breathe.
“We sent in our best force. All of them. He escaped.”
“They know,” the Swiss magnate said. “About us, and about you hunting them.”
“We can only assume this is the case.”
“This is terrible.”
“I agree.”
“Where are they?”
“We are fairly certain it’s somewhere in Western Europe. But we can’t be sure of even that. All we know is, some of their members flew to Zurich. Border controls being what they are these days, we lost them there. There is one possibility for finding them. Just one.” Weldon focused on the two European gentlemen. “For that, we need your help.”
19
Charlie’s air taxi had departed Melbourne supposedly for Tampa. But immediately after takeoff it had swung north of Orlando, then descended into the rich horse country of Ocala. They made what the pilot said was an unscheduled landing on a private strip shared by a dozen mansions, all of which had airplane-sized garages fronting the strip. As Charlie descended the air taxi’s stairs, a needle-sized Lear was already powering up. He boarded and the pilot shut the jet’s door, telling Charlie they were headed for New York.
Charlie spent the journey north flattening Gabriella’s letter on the burled-walnut table. The letter said simply, I need you, Charlie. Please come.
He had nothing against a woman who did not mince her words.
The jet landed at Teterboro and Charlie took a taxi into Manhattan. Remy Lacoste phoned as the taxi was crossing the Hudson River. He said in greeting, “Only reasons I’m calling is one, I said I would, and two, I want my money.”
“Are they still on your tail?”
“You’ve brought me some serious heat. I want a lot of money, bro.”
“I’m off the grid myself, Remy. Strang fired me. There isn’t a lot of money to pass on.”
Remy gave that a beat. “So you’re taking on the Combine.”
“First time I heard that name was this morning.”
“You’ll soon be wishing you missed that conversation. I know I do.”
“Give me what you’ve got.”
“I been tracking rumors for years. The Combine is basically your corporate bogeyman. There’s nothing written, and most people who know anything for certain are too scared to talk. What I heard, they were originally founded in the early eighties to counteract the surging might of the Japanese keiretsu, or family of companies. There aren’t any Chinese or Japanese companies in the group. Otherwise it’s pretty much borderless. A majority of the companies might be headquartered in America, but that’s basically just an address. Their loyalty is to money. Their goals are simple in the extreme. Maximize global profit and power. Vanquish all opposition. Anybody who stands in their way gets toasted.”
“Why no Chinese?”
“The Chinese government and companies are so tight they’re basically one and the same. The Combine doesn’t include any company whose interests are tied to a national government. Sometimes they’ve got to take the gloves off and o
bliterate government opposition.”
“You got anything on the two names I gave you?”
“Typical Combine personnel. Reese Clawson was probably taken straight from university, on account of how her personal records basically vanish at age twenty-one. She might as well have emigrated to Mars. Weldon Hawkins was CIA, then went to work for Raytheon. At age forty-one, he basically vanished too. Must’ve joined Clawson on the red planet.”
“You have an address for the Combine?”
“What, you’re thinking maybe you’ll drop by, see if they’re hiring?”
“And a phone number and website.”
“Man, you are seriously twisted.”
The cab pulled down a leafy side street and halted in front of a red-brick neighborhood church, the address Brett had written on the envelope. Charlie handed the driver a bill, slipped from the cab, and said, “It’d be good to have an idea how many security agents I’m up against.”
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You can’t pay what you owe me, you’ve brought me some serious heat, and you want more?”
“If you could track the movements of either Hawkins or Clawson, that might help as well.”
“In your dreams, bro.”
“I appreciate everything you’ve done, Remy.”
“Wait, here’s something on the house. You find the Combine on your tail, you run.”
The church stood between Second and Third Avenues, five blocks from Central Park’s north end. Charlie had left the East Side glitz about ten blocks earlier. The buildings here were modest brownstones, the pedestrians a Manhattan mix of young up-and-comers and Harlem’s more international flavor.
The church was red brick and stone, very much in keeping with the neighborhood—comfortable, a little stodgy, fronted by wide steps and a few stunted trees. As Charlie pushed through the doors, the leather strips swished softly over the stone floor. He had always liked how Catholic churches smelled, the old incense a silent welcome for drifters like him. He scouted the sanctuary but did not see Gabriella. He settled into an empty pew. He did not need to reread the letter. He was as certain he had the right place as he was that she would show.
Ten minutes later, Gabriella emerged from the confessional booth. There was obviously some silent pecking order, because instantly another parishioner rose from a front pew and slipped inside, closing the door behind her. Gabriella wore a shawl of mantilla lace over her hair. Charlie watched her settle into a pew about five up from his own and wondered if this was some genetic oddity, how certain women could take anything, even a strip of coffee-colored lace, and turn it into a fashion statement.
Then the priest’s door opened. A spare man with wispy hair poked his head out. He searched the sanctuary until he found Gabriella. He stared at her so intently, several parishioners turned to follow his gaze.
The priest slipped back into his booth and shut the door. The parishioners kept staring at Gabriella. She remained bowed over her hands, giving no sign she was the least bit aware of the attention. Charlie made no move to join her. She had not looked in his direction, but he was certain she knew he was there.
Ten more minutes passed before Gabriella joined him. Her first words were, “Someday I hope I find a way to say how much it means that you are here.”
Charlie gave her sad countenance a brief examination. “Will you tell me what’s going on?”
“Soon.” Gabriella checked her watch. “We have a few more minutes. Do you mind if we stay here?”
“Not at all.” He motioned toward the confessional. “Something you said sure rattled that priest.”
“I told him what was happening today. I asked him if Galileo sought absolution before he wrote up his discoveries.”
“Is the church threatening you, Gabriella?”
“I hope and pray not.” She shuddered. “Will you tell me what has happened to you since we were last together?”
Charlie recounted the events leading up to his flights north. “Do you know who the Combine is?”
“Not the name. Not even why they are after us.”
“How many are you?”
“Nine, counting you.” She glanced at him, looking anxious now. “You are with us, yes?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Our goal seemed so simple initially. We sought to replicate certain experiences in a measurable and clearly defined manner.”
“Religious experiences.”
“That was the problem that started me down this path, Charlie. So many people today feel that religion is an empty word. The question for me was, how could I combine recent scientific developments with this constant human hunger for something beyond the physical.” She cast him a sad smile. “Who would ever have thought we would generate such a huge . . . I’m sorry, I can’t think of the word.”
“Firestorm.”
“Yes. That. We knew there would be opposition, but we expected it from the scientific community. But not this. Never this.” She was silent a moment, then murmured, “The two default structures for mankind’s perception of the world are religion and science. Since the Reformation, these two have grown farther and farther apart. Nowadays, the catchword among most scientists is exclusive. Either you are scientific or you are religious, but you cannot seriously be both. But this is all beginning to change. Prohibiting an appeal to the supernatural, in my opinion, cripples modern science. Quantum physics is entering a phase where these two structures are no longer so clearly divided. To progress, the new operative word must become totality.”
Charlie said, “Okeydokey.”
But Gabriella was too involved in her internal vista to realize she had lost him. “I am a psychologist. My discipline has been under attack since Freud began his studies. The criticism is always the same. How do you quantify unseen experiences so that they can be measured? Did I say that correctly, ‘quantify’?”
“Your English is better than mine.”
“Thank you. Yes. The problem with all nonphysical states is the same. Some psychologists, called behaviorists, have responded by claiming that all human action is based upon external stimuli, and this can be defined and controlled and measured and predicted. I have spent nine years in behaviorism and I know it to be a lie. But their methods are valid. Over time I met others from different disciplines who shared my desire to measure identifiable components of the human psyche.”
Her voice had risen such that glances were cast their way by other parishioners. The priest left the confessional and stared at her once more. Gabriella noticed none of it. Charlie did not mind the attention, or the fact that he did not understand a lot of what she was saying. He was content to sit and draw a fraction closer to this amazing woman.
“We sought one specific issue. One definable experience. Something we could instigate, measure, and set within established parameters.”
“The experience you led me through.”
“I came across research done back in the seventies and eighties. The man, an American, was a radio engineer. He conducted the first-ever experiments using sound to stimulate particular brain-wave patterns. What you experienced, separating human consciousness from the physical body, was for him just a secondary phenomenon. The man has since died, and his work was left unfinished. We decided to apply new developments in quantum mechanics and something called chaos theory to a more highly refined experimental structure.
“That is where Brett came in. He is a biologist specializing in brain chemistry, which means he has also done considerable research into the electro-impulses that create thought, memory, and emotion. Brett helped us re-form the radio engineer’s work around recent discoveries in brain-wave patterns. Our aim was to separate consciousness from the physical form in a controlled environment. If our work proved valid, it would mean redefining the entire structure of scientific thought and the human experience.”
“You’re talking about the soul, aren’t you.”
“Perhaps. Are you religious, Charlie?”
“Not really.”
“Then I urge you to be very careful with names. Too often people use names as a shield. They say the words and pretend that is all they need, as though attaching a label grants them the power of wisdom.” She glanced at her watch. “You must have questions of your own.”
“So many I don’t know where to start.”
Her smile was as sad as her eyes. “Then we have more in common than you think.” She rose to her feet. “We must go, Charlie. It is time.”
They took a taxi to the other end of Central Park. The day was nice and Charlie would have preferred to walk. But Gabriella had emerged from the church wearing the day like a shroud. So Charlie remained silent and followed her lead. He asked, “Do you want to tell me what’s going to happen?”
Her response was another shudder. “Not yet. Would you please just keep me company?”
“Sure. Does that mean we’re not facing any threat here?”
“No physical danger. I’m sorry, Charlie. It is very hard for me to talk about this.”
“It’s no problem.”
“I just need your strength.”
“I’m here for you.” Charlie gave that a beat, then added, “If there’s any chance they’re tracking us, you need to get rid of your phone.”
“All of my team have thrown them away, Charlie. We have been made aware of this risk.”
They did not speak again until they pulled up in front of a hotel. The Ritz-Carlton was too large to be classed as a boutique hotel. But its interior held that intimate feel.
Gabriella released his hand as they slipped from the taxi and entered the hotel. She marched to the reception desk and announced, “My husband checked in earlier. I wonder if he remembered to leave me a key.”
“Your name, ma’am?”