The Woman Who Stopped Traffic

by Daniel Pembrey

  The session at the Federal Reserve was short enough for coverage to stay with the camera-friendly reporter, a ‘Live!’ graphic rotating above him like the slowing arm of a roulette wheel. Updates were passed to him, first quoting the regional Fed Chairman as saying it was “no longer acceptable for decent, hard-working American taxpayers to subsidize, with jumbo welfare handouts, investment bankers behaving like drunken sailors on three-day shore leave!”

  And then the reporter broke into his own breaking news: “Wait! The gavel seems to have come down, folks! Carmichael Associates has been sold for … now let me make sure I’m reading this right: Carmichael Associates has been sold for one single dollar, to Occidental Bank of the Middle East –– with the assumption of all debts, and the rescinding of executive remuneration contracts. Now we assume this last part means the undoing of any bonuses or profit share arrangements, with Occidental free to pick and choose from the Carmichael staff pool at will. Well, the market for bankers isn’t what it once was…”

  Poor Ben!

  Natalie turned to her email, and the briefest of responses from Nguyen:

  From: tomn@clamor.us

  To: Natalie@nchevalier.net

  Date: Monday, 12:42

  Subject: yr v.m.

  lots going on as i’m sure you’ve herd. please finish trafficking report and shoot it across

  Sent from my BlackBerry handheld wireless device

  She finished it that afternoon, saved it to her red memory stick and shot it across.

  CHAPTER 28

  The next day, a new development broke online: that Paul Towse was bidding $25 a share for the company, valuing Clamor.us at $3.75 billion. Following the IPO, $2.3 billion in cash was sitting in Clamor’s coffers. So the company would be his for $1.5 billion net of the cash raised at IPO – or just a tenth of the cost he’d confronted a few days before.

  The report claimed that Dwayne Wisnold had already accepted the offer. Now what’s all that about, Natalie wondered. Perhaps for Wisnold it was binary: either full-spectrum control, or nothing. She wished that Ben were there to talk it through with. What was he doing up in some cabin in the woods, anyway?

  She huffed and then noticed a separate but related article about how that ‘mystery options trader’ had made ‘one-and-a-half billion in profit from the Clamor IPO, net of option purchase costs’.

  A billion-five in net cost, a billion-five in net profit: had Towse come by Clamor that week effectively for free? But as the first report pointed out, other shareholders still had to agree to the sale.

  She looked up the San Francisco skyline, the fantastic westward sun turning the buildings to hammered bronze. Thinking back to that Malovich sketch Cindy showed her, she had an idea. She reached into her bag for her glossy red memory stick and was soon looking at:

  It was the application Ray Ott had reminded her about – the one analyzing how well two known points in a network were connected. Her university professors, giddied up by the mid-‘90s tech boom, had encouraged the patent application. Over the years, she’d updated the underlying code.

  She entered her usual login name: ‘search-girl’, and her password.

  When fed two IP/web addresses, the application would score how closely connected they were out of 1.0. The higher the score, the stronger the connection. Everything came down to correlations, to patterns of connection, Natalie had come to conclude – whether with her yoga and the wider universe, or with the world of networked computing that she’d discovered earlier in life.

  Well, now she had known points.

  She recalled ‘Multiworld’ featuring prominently at the top of that Malovich sketch. She searched for it, soon encountering what Ben seemed to have run into: there was no relevant site for an organization of that name. Must be masked. Or did it exist at all? She tried another name, this time from the right-hand side of the Malovich sketch: ‘Surefar’. She froze, from recollection of those appalling scenes at the raid she’d gone on with Cindy and Adam. Regaining composure, she typed a name she knew would connect with it: Further Online Gaming, the corporate owner of MultiQuest.

  The score was high at 0.68. No wonder, given the known clump of paths between Further Online’s game and the Surefar Enjoy site – through Clamor.us, of course.

  Next she ran the application’s Thematic Extractor command, the function that got her university professors so excited. It identified key attributes of the path. It was similar to the technology that went on to make investors in certain search firms so wealthy. The key attributes in this case were: ‘Dating’, ‘Singles’, ‘Casual Relationships’ – the usual euphemisms…

  Recalling the other entities written down the right hand side of Malovich’s sketch, she entered ‘Sayonara’. There were many apparent ‘possibles’, but with the Theme Extractor running, the point of connection resolved to a single point: an investor called Xiao Lin.

  She ran a separate search on him, the most eye-catching result being a feature for the local section of the San Francisco Chronicle, according to which Lin was a Chinese citizen, US educated, with a penthouse in Nob Hill – barely a few blocks away. She stared for a long second at the picture of him in the Chronicle, at his clenched jaw and hollow, prison-like eyes. Was this the man at the source? – of the Jasmines, their supply?

  So many unanswered questions. The last name on Malovich’s sketch, ‘LLA’. Again there were innumerable results with such a common acronym, but again the Theme Extractor forced a hit: ‘The Leading Ladies Agency, an elite escort agency featuring the finest girls from the Baltics, Hungary, the Ukraine –’ Paris-based, Armenian registered, and password protected.

  Around the world in 80 clicks.

  * * *

  That evening, Paul Towse appeared on the top-rated TV financial affairs show Money Now. He appeared against a slightly out-of-focus Transamerica Building back-dropped by blue sky. He wore a loose grey jacket and periwinkle-blue shirt. Despite the ‘establishing’ background, he didn’t appear to come from – or belong to – anywhere.

  Yet he was everywhere. Omniscient!

  The presenter in the studio was a real blond honey, Natalie noted. Sassy, wearing a form fitting beige suit profiling the swell of her breasts, her skirt ending above the knee just so. Never mind the recent deaths or the child sex trafficking allegations. The audience was to be treated to the sexual chemistry between these two.

  The presenter led with a series of teasingly provocative questions about his intentions for the takeover bid, the resistance he may encounter – “Just how would you overcome the company’s challenges, Mr. Towse?”

  Certainly his TV persona was well crafted. He was clear eyed: optimistic, yet pragmatic. He answered directly. He spoke of everyone being “wholly unprepared for this sequence of events”, of these being “the most unusual economic times for all.” He likened Clamor’s stock market debut to “a flag ship of the Web 2.0 economy, tragically sunk on her maiden voyage.” Help was at hand. He was ready to put his fund’s resources and acumen at society’s disposal. “What matters, I think, is that we preserve the integrity of our technology sector – and the jobs, innovation and wealth that flow from it.”

  The on-screen duo then touched on another of Towse’s ventures: “long term retreat centers”. Young gamers could move into honeycombed condominiums below ground – and play MultiQuest: Dark Ages to their hearts’ content. All ‘support services’ would be arranged, including ‘physical relationships’ – whatever that meant. It sounded like assisted-living for the young. He’d broken ground on the first center in Pine Bluffs Nevada, not thirty minutes from where he grew up. It was already 75% sold through with plans for another 40 such centers across North America and a further two hundred or so around the world, the immediate focus being on the Far East.

  At some level, Natalie had to hand it him. He was, quite simply, a brilliant businessman. It was a more-than assured performance on Money Now. Indeed it looked like an outright PR coup. Which it needed to be, if he was to elic
it that precious consent for his tender offer from those other Clamor shareholders – the largest undeclared one, Natalie reminded herself, being Jon Vogel’s estate.

  CHAPTER 29

  Natalie and Ben met up again on his return from Tahoe, at an outdoor café near the Keaton. It was silly, really: all those phone calls, with her hotel and his office having been just a few blocks apart, but perhaps they’d already become too close already.

  The weather had cleared up entirely. The sky was California-blue, the eclipsed sun hazy between the tall buildings.

  He appeared different to her. The tightness of his face had dissipated, his eyes were clear. He seemed happy, relaxed – at least more so than at any time she’d known him.

  “Nguyen accelerated my data study and report,” she updated. “He’s made it pretty clear that my stay at the Keaton is coming to an end.”

  Things had in fact never been quite right since she’d logged into his office voicemail late that night at the Clamor office, she knew.

  “But after the Bugle ran that story on IPO day,” Ben said, “surely the sex trafficking problem is more pressing than ever?”

  “In one sense, yes. In another, not so much. From Tom’s point of view, the worst has now happened. Whatever media embarrassment they feared, it’s played out. I guess it’s the difference between the fear of being hit, and actually being hit. The first is maybe far worse. I mean, sure, something should be done, and no doubt will be done once Cindy and the federals are through with it. But the business press is already acting like Clamor.us never had any responsibility for what users do on its site.”

  “Bob Swaine was right,” Ben said.

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, just some assertion he made, when I met with him and Wisnold – that Clamor wasn’t culpable for its members’ actions. You got paid for your consultancy work, though?”

  “Yeah.” She didn’t mention the eighty percent she’d paid on to the Captive Daughters charity. “But just back on Dwayne Wisnold for a moment: didn’t it strike you as odd that he sold out to Towse?”

  “You mean by agreeing to Towse’s tender offer? Honestly Natalie, nothing about this situation surprises me any more.”

  She was wearing black yoga pants and a top sporting the logo ‘Be Present’. She’d found a nearby yoga studio and hadn’t yet changed after class. It had been a powerful, revivifying flow class. Her eyes felt blazing alive.

  A jazz band struck up across the plaza – double bassist, drummer and singer with two-tone wingtip shoes and upturned hat: pure San Francisco.

  Sure looked back to him.

  “What’ll you do next?” he asked.

  “Return to the Bahamas, I guess,” and she hunched her shoulders. “And you?”

  “Looks like Occidental may be interested in me. Occidental now being in charge of Carmichael’s operations. Somebody apparently put in a good word, about how I at least tried to steer Clamor away from total calamity. It’ld be a promotion, even. You now, I –”

  He waited a beat, then another. He looked at the band. ‘Everybody – Loves My Baby / But My Baby – Don’t Love Nobody But Me –’

  “You were saying?” she said.

  “I did a lot of thinking up in Tahoe, Natalie. It’s a very special place for me. Looks straight down into the lake itself. Anyway, I thought a lot, about growing up, and about who I’ve become. And some interesting stuff came up.”

  “Like?”

  “Like when I was growing up: I never knew why this was, but my mom used to talk my dad down a lot. Or to put it another way, she never seemed to show him any real love. My dad wasn’t the most demonstrative guy either, but in his own way managed to make it clear he loved my mom. Not the other way around though.

  “And I think, at some level, I drew this lesson: that a man isn’t worthy of a woman’s love.”

  “Ben! C’mon, we all have our family issues…”

  “No, but hear me out: that for so much of my life, I’ve lived by other peoples’ expectations. But I realize it doesn’t have to be that way. That I get to choose.”

  She said: “Maybe it’s no bad thing, to want other peoples’ approval?”

  “Maybe it isn’t. But maybe my own approval should count for more. Therefore, in answer to your question, I don’t know what I’ll do next. But I intend to figure it out. Perhaps I’ll go to write that book after all. Who knows?”

  “Towse?” she said, with a sidelong glance. But neither of them was quite ready to treat casually Paul Towse’s fait accompli at Clamor.

  “At least I got to the bottom of the Multiworld mystery,” he said.

  She couldn’t talk to him about the Malovich sketch, the FBI having sworn her to secrecy.

  “Towse,” he answered himself. “It’s his company. It owns Further Online Gaming. Winston Ma found out about it from his contact there. Told me so on IPO day.”

  “Huh,” she said deliberatively.

  It was an intriguing elucidation of the pattern. For, if Multiworld was Towse, then according to that Malovich sketch, all those illicit organizations – Surefar Enjoy, the Leading Ladies Agency – pointed to him. And what did that imply about his relations with other key stakeholders in Clamor? – Or entities beyond? What about this Xiao Lin guy, who she’d just uncovered using her Mapper?

  Wait: could it be that Towse and Wisnold had a deal going from the start?

  “How much of Clamor does Dwayne Wisnold own?” she asked.

  “About a third, following the IPO,” Ben said. “Look! There’s something I need to tell you Natalie.” He cleared his throat. “We’ve worked pretty well together, haven’t we? I mean, you and I. And …”

  Uh oh, where was this going?

  “How much before the IPO?” she interrupted him.

  “Huh?” he said. “Oh, around 40%. Natalie...”

  “But that means –”

  “Jesus Christ, Natalie!” Ben almost stood up: “Can you just leave that stuff alone for five minutes?” He started to take both her hands, then hesitated: “What I wonder is – whether … we should start a security company, perhaps Silverman-Chevalier Associates.”

  She raised both eyebrows.

  He caught the need to lighten it: “Maybe get Winston in on the act, ya know. Silverman, Chevalier and Ma.”

  “SCAM,” she said, laughing.

  “Huh? Oh, that’s what the initials would form. Right!” And he laughed too, after a pause. “I guess we’ve witnessed enough financial scamming for one week.”

  He struck her as such a genuine, decent guy. Why was she always drawn instead to the cad, the blackguard – her ex from her last job being merely the most extreme case yet? All they’d ever shown her was a proven ability to wreck everything.

  Perhaps that was the point. Perhaps she needed their darkness, to find her light.

  Ben: “Meantime, I guess I should take the Occidental job. I mean a job’s a job, right?”

  She wrinkled her nose affectionately, in assent.

  A buzz came from her tote bag. She rootled around in it. Snapping her phone open: “Brastias!”

  “I may have to ask for my spare weapon back,” her federal agent friend informed her.

  “Of course.” He knew she was leaving? Funny, she hadn’t told him yet –

  “Natalie, I think we got ‘em. – The suspects, for the Malovich and Vogel murders.”

  W-o-w, she mouthed.

  Ben looked on.

  Adam: “I can’t tell you who yet, but –”

  “But you can’t just call me up, and tell me … that you can’t tell me!” she fizzed.

  “Sorry Natalie, I really can – not do so. But in all likelihood the coast is clear, so it would be great to get the Glock back. It was pretty irregular procedure handing it out to you like that.”

  “Just give me a sign then, if I throw out a name: Wisnold!”

  Adam said nothing.

  “Well what about Rage, in the game? Did you get a warrant? Did you get into his MultiQuest ac
count?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you about that either. But we’re real close to bringing charges. We just have to establish intent. We’ve got a top profiler out here from DC, looking at the homicides, Rage’s behaviour in the game and the likely character profile behind it all. It’s starting to piece together.”

  Natalie tried to classify Wisnold’s profile there and then. He’d struck her as having Asperger’s Syndrome, a form of autism found among technologists in the Valley, characteristic of which were extreme intelligence and social impairment – and the impulse to seek attention and control through alternate channels of influence. She thought back to Wisnold’s behaviour at that Sunday strategy session – his bizarre mood swings, how transformed he’d been by a call from his publicist…

  But Adam had said suspects, plural. Natalie couldn’t help but think of Wisnold and Nancy Wu sat in that same conference room together – the other day too, with Bob Swaine. Even stepping down from Clamor in tandem. She thought as well of her fake profile page, and that Wu symbol.

  But still it didn’t seem to piece together.

  For one thing, why go to the lengths of killing people involved with the company? Was it that Asperger’s sufferers had some need for space that no one else could intrude on? – that a switch had somehow flipped inside Wisnold? But how did that implicate Nancy?

  So many questions. So much uncertainty and ambiguity. The beach in the Bahamas – her way out of all this – beckoned.

  Adam was saying: “I just wanted you to know that you’re likely no longer in danger.”