Baptiste nods. ‘All right. Take Owen with you. See what you can find out.’
22.
The next morning, Owen drives them to WadeSoft’s head office while Rose takes out her smartphone and does a search on Wade Wolff, the corporation’s youthful chief executive. There are over a million hits. He had found success at an astonishingly young age, just as Mark Zuckerberg had done. But he runs his business in very different, idiosyncratic ways.
While Owen merges into the steady pace of freeway traffic she narrows the search down to video clips and taps a listing. A video window opens up. There’s a short commercial and then the logo for The Tallent Show appears and then dissolves to reveal the slender host, Johnee Tallent, walking towards the camera with a thoughtful expression. In the background looms the gleaming glass of a corporate head office. Tallent pauses and does his trademark tilt of the head as he asks:
‘Who is Wade Wolff?’
The screen explodes into a burst of blue flames.
Cut to filler shots of Wolff’s youth, his first publicity photos, the company’s products and the corporate headquarters.
‘An IT graduate from Stanford, he set about creating a new social network that combined every aspect of life, all in one system – social media, entertainment, leisure and office productivity, all for free. He called it the StreamPlex. He then sold specifically targeted advertising by profiling every user, and by the time he was twenty-six he had generated his first billion in advertising revenue.’
Cue a shot of Wade in a black suit sitting on a white sofa in a bar. He has neatly parted brown hair, a young, boyish face.
‘His corporation is the manufacturer of the smartphone you are probably using to watch this right now, as well as MIA, his Multimedia Interactive Assistant.’ Quick flashes of smartphone screens of different shapes and colours race by.
‘Innovation, Design, Integration. That’s my mantra,’ Wade remarks, taking a sip from a mojito.
‘In the last few years the StreamPlex has made Wade into a household name. Still only twenty-eight, Wade Wolff has amassed a private fortune in excess of ten billion dollars. Romantically linked to several supermodels and pop stars, he’s one of the richest men in the world, and some say the most powerful, with many political connections.’ There are several hand-held video clips of Wade on an evening out with two society climbers draped either side of him. He pauses to hug the current president.
‘But Wade Wolff is not without his controversies and critics. He’s had death threats—’
This cuts to Wade raising his eyebrows. ‘I mean, really. Me? I’m not a crazy dictator.’
‘So he released an app where, yep, you guessed it, you can shoot Wade on your smartphone.’
Wade raises his hands. ‘It just seems a good idea to me. A lot of people out there hate me, and that’s to be expected. Successful people are always hated by the majority of the population, it’s a fact of life. So I thought I’d give something back, even to the haters. I mean, I imagine shooting some of them, so it’s only fair.’
Tallent looks at the camera. ‘The app is currently number four on the download chart.’
The screen cuts to hand-held camera footage of protests outside a hexagonal glass building.
‘Wade was also in the spotlight over a recent remark he made that he is proud of not paying his taxes, referring to the matter as merely capitalism in practice. Later, protests outside WS headquarters turned ugly when WadeSoft’s mass dumping grounds for obsolete equipment in China were uncovered. The company denies claims that toxic chemicals are leaking into local water supplies, causing illness and birth defects.’
This cuts to footage of a Senate hearing.
‘He’s also locked horns with the Justice Department and Senator Chris Keller.’
There’s a medium close-up of Keller jabbing his finger as he intones, ‘Encryption technology and lack of cooperation with law enforcement helps organized crime, and worse, it hands power to the very terrorists our great nation has been trying to stamp out for over a generation now.’
The screen cuts to Wade, who responds, ‘Technology and StreamPlex companies must not become an arm of the surveillance state. You can obtain the same information elsewhere. It’s not down to me.’
Back to the senator, leaning closer to his mike. ‘According to the FBI’s latest research, most crime is now perpetrated through your StreamPlex and nurtured by archaic privacy laws. You’re allowing people to place themselves above the law and using that as a selling feature to criminals.’
Quick dissolve to a close-up of Johnee Tallent: ‘Wade Wolff, a villain to some in the establishment, but a hero to his many fans.’
Cut to a shot of Wade surrounded by a crowd of enthusiastic young schoolkids.
‘Some claim Wade Wolff is a technological messiah,’ Tallent’s voice-over continues. ‘Spurring enormous advances in artificial intelligence, immersive social media and marketing. So, who exactly is Wade Wolff?’
‘A goddam genius is how I’d describe myself,’ Wade says, flashing a smile.
Rose slides her smartphone back in her pocket. Her new lead, it seems, will be a challenge.
‘We’re here,’ Owen says.
Rose sees they are approaching a large green road sign indicating the turn-off for WadeSoft. The beating heart of Silicon Valley. The corporation’s head office is a vast glass hexagon, surrounded by the high walls of a security compound, newly added following recent protests. After showing their identification at the security booth, they are handed visitors’ passes and buzzed in via the sliding metal-barred gate. They are directed to the parking area. The head office is a huge sprawling campus. They pass water features, shallow swimming pools, sand volleyball courts, lush grass lawns where employees sit under sunshades sipping from disposable cups. Rose is a little surprised by its vacation resort ambience.
The main lobby of the facility has an airy, clinical atmosphere with lots of white light falling across a range of cold-looking metal and granite surfaces. A smiling helper is waiting to guide them to the executive wing for their appointment. As they walk through the offices there’s a projection of current activity on the Stream that spans a screen forty feet wide. Random toys are stacked and scattered on shelves, across desks – Rubik’s cubes, Slinkys. Employees, casually dressed, sit at their desks, which have two, sometimes three, monitors on them. They pass a globe with twinkling lights, and backlit maps track the number of Stream users at any time, day or night, from around the world. All fitted with the WS logo in chrome finish and blue trimmings.
At the reception desk of the executive wing, there’s a large female face on the screen cropped beneath the hairline and above the chin. Her blinking expression loads into a broad smile.
‘Good day, visitors, my name is CLEM – Client Liaison and Experience Manager. How may I help you?’
‘Special Agents Blake and Malinski. We have an appointment to see Wade Wolff at 11.15,’ Rose says, glancing at her watch. ‘Ten minutes from now.’
CLEM smiles. ‘Certainly. May I see your ID, please?’
Rose and Owen hold out their lanyard cards in front of the screen for scanning.
‘Thank you. I’m sorry, but Mr Wolff is very busy today. His current meeting is overrunning. He will be free in . . . thirty minutes. Meanwhile, he thanks you for your interest and invites you to take the tour of head office.’
An arrow appears on the screen, pointing to the right.
Rose draws herself up to her full height. ‘We’d rather speak to Mr Wolff now.’
‘Nevertheless, Mr Wolff is in a meeting for the next thirty minutes.’
Rose holds up the bagged Skin remains. ‘I’ve got a dead body wearing one of these. Look familiar?’
‘One moment, please.’ CLEM’s face fades from view to be replaced by an infomercial about WS’s la
test smartphone. After a moment CLEM’s face reappears.
‘Sorry to keep you, Special Agents. If you take the elevator behind you to the third floor, Mr Wolff’s office is at the end of the corridor. You can’t miss it.’
‘Thank you,’ Rose says.
‘You’re very welcome. Have a good day.’
Ding.
The chrome elevator doors behind them slide open.
Rose paces into the elevator with Owen, presses the button for the third floor and the doors close.
‘In a meeting, my ass,’ says Owen. ‘No bastard plays power games with the Bureau’s finest, even if his name is Wade Wolff.’
Meeting a man of power is always a little daunting. Meeting the man who owns a significant chunk of the world’s personal information, who has more money than many sovereign nations, is unnerving. But he still breathes, eats, drinks and shits like anyone else, Rose reminds herself. And she has no intention of letting Wade Wolff forget the fact.
23.
Exiting the elevator, Rose and Owen head down a brightly lit white corridor. They reach the end of the hall, where the corridor widens in front of a pillared door bearing the name of the company’s creator in large polished brass letters. At their approach the door slides soundlessly to one side and reveals a large office beyond. The far wall is one long window, floor to ceiling. In front of it is a large oak desk. Wade Wolff is standing behind it and smiling.
‘Special Agents, please come in.’
They enter and the door slides shut behind them. Rose is taken aback by the surprisingly traditional design of the office. It is lined with wood panels and a beautifully grained bookcase stretches along each side wall. Few of the shelves contain any books though. Most of the space is taken up with science fiction models, some of which Rose recognizes from movies.
Wolff has neatly cut brown hair, is wearing a black T-shirt and light slacks, and is barefoot. He has a silver smartphone in his hand. He is not alone. Two men in overalls are positioning a coffee table between a large sofa and the window. As Rose glances towards the table she can see that there is movement on its surface. The entire thing is a computer screen, with sleek-looking apps and widgets.
‘What do you think of it?’ Wolff speaks with a distinct Southern twang.
Rose nods. ‘Impressive.’
‘Of course it is. It’s permanently linked to the Stream, and powered wirelessly.’ He pulls a small black box away from the surface. The projected images disappear. ‘It turns every surface into an interactive screen. Interactive, augmented lives.’
‘Mixed reality?’ Owen asks.
‘Precisely.’
He places it back down on the table and the screens reappear. ‘In a few years these are going to be in every home . . . Well, every home that can afford one. One moment, please. I find it extremely difficult arranging furniture. It’s distracting if it’s in the wrong place.’ He waves the two men back from the table and stares at it, stroking his jaw.
Rose catches Owen’s eye and then looks to the heavens.
Everyone waits. Then Wolff smiles, apparently satisfied. ‘Now find me a plant. A small plant. For the corner there.’
One of the men nods, and then they leave the office as their boss turns to his guests and offers his hand in greeting.
‘I apologize. I lack certain social graces. I should have introduced myself as soon as you came in. I’m Wade Wolff.’
For an instant Rose is charmed by the gesture, as if there was the remotest chance they had not recognized him. Then she realizes it is just a gimmick, designed to flatter them. A businessman’s trick.
‘Thank you for seeing us, Mr Wolff. I’m Special Agent Rose Blake and this is Special Agent Owen Malinski.’
‘Call me Wade,’ he says, shaking Rose and Owen’s hands. ‘Everyone else here does . . . Well now, I have the FBI right here in my office. I gotta get a selfie, if you don’t mind?’
It isn’t a question. He picks up his slim glass smartphone and, before Rose can even think to protest, holds it out in front of them and takes a picture.
‘I’ll have to ask you to erase that, Mr Wolff,’ says Owen. ‘I don’t think the Bureau would be keen on having its agents used as selfie props.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about it. I happen to know the director. I’m sure he won’t make a fuss. Anyway, please call me Wade.’
He taps on another part of the screen. ‘This is a prototype of the new smartphone – pretty chill, isn’t it? I’ve been doing a bit of background on you since I heard you’d arrived.’ He switches his attention to Rose. ‘Rose Blake, the agent who nearly took down the Backwoods Butcher – I’m honoured. I’m sure the Bureau will get him next time.’
‘I am sure that we will,’ she says.
Wolff swipes his hand across the desk, and with a low pulsing sound, application windows instantly fold and fade from view, to be replaced by an image of clear blue water rippling across the top of the table.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ He says, motioning them to sit down on the chairs to one side of the desk.
‘We’re fine, thank you,’ Rose assures him as she takes her seat.
‘Mineral water for me, actually,’ Owen says.
Wolff opens his small refrigerator, takes out a sealed bottle, cracks the lid and pours it into a glass before passing it to his guest. Then he sits down on the steel and black leather chair behind the desk. ‘So . . . what brings the Bureau to my office?’
‘This,’ Rose says, placing the bagged Skin fragment on the table along with a broken piece of visor. ‘It was found on Gary Coulter, who we believe was murdered last Sunday evening.’
Wolff leans forward to inspect the sealed evidence bag. ‘May I?’
‘Through the bag is OK.’
He picks up the bag and runs his thumb over the nodes beneath the plastic.
‘Recognize it?’ asks Rose.
‘If you mean do I know what it is, then yes. Looks like one of our Skins, but it isn’t. You found this on a murder victim?’
‘Murder is the working hypothesis,’ Rose corrects him. ‘And we’re wondering why the victim would be wearing something very similar to a product your company manufactures.’
‘Beats me.’
Owen takes a sip of mineral water and clears his throat. ‘Given your product hasn’t been released yet, we need to know how Coulter managed to get his hands on one of these suits. Can you help us out on that one, Wade?’
Wolff shakes his head. ‘It’s not one of ours. I know that just from seeing this piece. In any case, all the promotional suits are held here in this building under tight security. They won’t be going out to the media for another ten days. The first production run has only just started and not all the components have been shipped to the assembly facility. It’s possible that there’s another company working on the same technology. Our product is lighter. This looks like it could be one of the older military prototypes. We abandoned some of the earlier models. They proved too uncomfortable for prolonged wear.’
‘Military prototypes?’ Owen asks.
‘I should tell you that after you first called my office to arrange this meeting I had a conversation with my contact in the Pentagon about what I could and could not tell you about this product’s history. So I have to be guided by what he told me I was at liberty to reveal.’
‘This is a murder investigation, Mr Wolff,’ Rose says. ‘We could subpoena you.’
‘You could try. But I bet national security trumps even a murder investigation. Been that way since Kennedy was shot. Right?’
Owen frowns. ‘Kennedy?’
‘Ah, come on, Special Agent. The Bureau was up to its neck in that conspiracy. Don’t even try to deny it.’
‘Before my time, sir,’ Owen says. ‘And above my pay grade. What did the Penta
gon allow you to tell us?’
‘This contact . . . Wouldn’t happen to be Assistant Secretary Maynard, would it?’ Rose asks.
‘Maynard is in charge of many special projects. I can tell you that much.’ Wolff collects his thoughts. ‘I’ll give you a brief overview. The original Skin project commenced over five years ago. We kept it under wraps, for obvious reasons. You know what the tech industry is like. Once an idea gets out everyone wants a piece of the action. Somehow, word of what we were developing got to the ears of someone at the DoD, and before you know it they’re all over us like a rash. They took one look at the specs and slapped a federal secrecy order on us.’
‘Never heard of one of those,’ says Owen.
‘It’s got that name for a reason, Special Agent. So anyway, they tell me that the Skin can give them a vital training tool for Special Forces. We cut a deal where Uncle Sam paid for research and development, in exchange for giving us the rights to adapt their simulated warfare software into consumer games. At that stage there were a handful of prototypes in development and the cost per suit ran into the tens of millions. So I can see why they didn’t want to roll out the production. Eventually their project was shelved, deemed too expensive, and these suits were stored in an R & D facility. But I could still see the potential in the consumer market and we worked to develop and manufacture a far cheaper alternative. It would seem Gary Coulter might have got his hands on a mothballed prototype for himself. For whatever purpose. I suppose he might have been thinking about offering it to one of our competitors. I know Chin Hau Enterprises would kill for an early look at it. Our Asian pals are no respecters of intellectual property, I can tell you.’
Rose nods. ‘Seems like Mr Coulter has a penchant for stealing. A week before his death his contract was terminated at Peek Industries for stealing company property from the premises. At least that’s what we were told.’
‘Really? That makes more sense than him having a Skin. He’s more of a code monkey than a hardware type.’
Owen leans forward. ‘So you knew Coulter?’
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