Trading Reality

by Michael Ridpath

  After a couple of hours, we broke for coffee. Then back to the machine. The most obvious file names had yielded nothing, so we tried the others. Notes to Keith and Rachel. Negotiations over the lease for the factory. The odd letter to me. Letters to my father. Formidable to-do lists. We were beginning to give up hope.

  Suddenly, there it was in black and white.

  We knew. But we had to decide what to do with our knowledge. We didn’t have absolute proof, and there were large gaps to be filled. I didn’t want to go to the police yet. I was weary of their tendency to use information just to generate more questions. We needed to give them the answers. So Rachel and I devised a plan. It would require effort, and it would be a diversion from Project Platform, but if it worked it would all be worthwhile.

  We called all the major shareholders to announce a demonstration of Project Platform in one week’s time. We contacted Wagner, Jenson, Hartman, my father and Sorenson. I wanted to leave out Karen, but Rachel said it was important she was there too, for completeness’ sake, and persuaded Willie to call her.

  To my surprise, she said she’d come. The only refusal was Hartman. There was no point trying to persuade him.

  The demonstration would take place at a virtual meeting, with the attendees in two locations, at Jenson Computer in Palo Alto, and at our factory in Glenrothes.

  A dozen people, led by Rachel, worked round the clock. Keith and Andy flew over to California to prepare everything at that end.

  A week later, we were ready.

  28

  ‘Please put on your headsets.’

  We did as Rachel had asked. We were all sitting round the polished mahogany table in the virtual office: Jenson, Wagner, Sorenson, my father, Karen, Willie and I. The likenesses were very good. We had been photographed beforehand, with a number of different expressions, and those images had been fed into the computer. A small camera in the headset would tell the computer which expressions to use in the virtual world. The room was the same one I had seen before, when Rachel had first shown me Project Platform. It was a large office with views over a gleaming city stretching away to sea and mountains in the background.

  We all looked round the room, getting the feel of the experience. For a second, my eyes met Karen’s in the virtual world. Both of us quickly turned away. We had ignored each other entirely before the demonstration, and I wanted to ignore her now. I wished Rachel hadn’t insisted on her coming.

  ‘Hi, Geoff,’ Sorenson waved to my father and smiled.

  ‘Evening, Walter, or should I say good morning?’ replied my father. ‘What time is it here anyway?’

  Good question. It was seven o’clock in Glenrothes, and eleven o’clock in the morning in Palo Alto. What time was it in virtual reality?

  ‘Let’s compromise,’ said Rachel. Although no one could see her in the virtual world, we could all hear her voice. ‘How about three p.m?’

  There were chuckles round the table.

  ‘What are these headsets for, Rachel?’ asked Scott Wagner. ‘They look like hair-dryers to me. You can’t possibly be intending to use them commercially.’

  ‘Aren’t these the old models?’ asked my father. ‘I remember the first system Richard rigged up had headsets like these.’

  ‘They are indeed,’ said Rachel. ‘The new system is particularly sensitive, and these headsets give a much better idea of the exact positioning of the head than the standard electromagnetic headsets that we normally use now. But don’t worry, Scott, the modification to our lightweight virtual glasses is almost complete.’

  This was a lie, but fortunately they seemed to believe it. Everyone was wearing bulky electronic helmets, which covered most of their heads. They were connected to the VR computer by mechanical arms. It was true that this style of headset was sometimes used for greater accuracy, but our virtual glasses would have done fine. In fact, unknown to the others, I was wearing a pair. They would allow me to flip from the virtual world to the real one at will.

  I flipped them up now. Beside me were Karen, my father and Willie, all in their headsets, and Rachel, sitting at the computer from where she would control the demonstration. On a small TV screen next to her, I could see the conference room at Jenson Computer, where Jenson, Wagner and Sorenson were all plugged into their bulky helmets. Keith, Andy and a Jenson engineer were grouped round a computer terminal there, and I could just see a couple of security guards standing by the door.

  I flipped back to the virtual office. Everyone was waiting.

  I cleared my throat. ‘First of all, I would like to thank you all for coming,’ I looked round the table. ‘We thought it important that our major shareholders could get a preview of this project. I’d like to thank Scott, in particular, as the representative of the public shareholders.’

  ‘I’m excited to be here,’ Wagner said with a virtual smile.

  ‘We expect that Project Platform’s power to bring together people thousands of miles apart in virtual meetings like this one will be one of its most popular applications. But the system includes a whole range of other features that we would like to demonstrate. Now to do this, we would like one of you to take a trip through a virtual world. Walter, as chairman, would you do the honours?’

  ‘I’d be glad to,’ said Sorenson.

  ‘Good. When we switch to this virtual world, we’ll all be there with you, seeing what you see, and hearing what you hear. But you’ll be in control. You can use the 3-D mouse to navigate through the world, OK?’

  ‘OK. I’m ready. Run it!’

  ‘All right, Walter,’ Rachel began. ‘For this demonstration you start off walking through some woods. You can take it from there.’

  I was switched into Sorenson’s world. Through a virtual Sorenson, I was experiencing a virtual world which was under Rachel’s control. So was everyone else. Sure enough, there we were in a pine forest. It was sunny, and birds were singing all around us. It felt like a spring day. Sorenson must have moved his mouse, because we began to walk along a path. After a minute or so, we came to a grey stone wall with a large wooden door.

  ‘Can I go in?’ asked Sorenson.

  ‘Sure. Just turn the knob,’ said Rachel.

  I flicked up the glasses to watch Sorenson in Palo Alto on the TV screen. He looked strange, sitting in his chair, most of his head hidden by the large helmet, turning an imaginary knob with the 3-D mouse in his outstretched hand. But when I flipped down the glasses again, I saw we had entered a tunnel.

  It was poorly lit, but I could just make out another door at the end. The door behind us slammed shut.

  It was creepy, claustrophobic. A bat suddenly flew into my face, or our face, causing me to draw in my breath. Sorenson hesitated, and then went on. I could hear things scurrying underneath our feet.

  ‘Hey, this is really good, Rachel,’ Sorenson said. ‘I feel like I really am in a tunnel.’

  Rachel didn’t answer.

  ‘Rachel? Rachel?’

  No reply.

  Sorenson paused and then went on. Eventually, we came to the gate at the end of the tunnel. He opened it, and we were pushed through with a rush. The door slammed shut behind us.

  We were in a graveyard. It was dead quiet. A high wall surrounded us on all sides. Sorenson turned to go back, but he couldn’t open the gate. ‘Get me out of here, Rachel!’

  Still no reply.

  Hesitantly, the virtual Sorenson moved through the graveyard. The wind rustled through the trees, but apart from that, there was no noise. It was impossible to make out anything more than the shadows of the gravestones and sarcophagi, and the trees surrounding them. There was a moon, but it was dimmed by dark clouds.

  Suddenly, I heard a grinding, creaking sound as a stone moved. Sorenson turned to look. A horizontal gravestone slowly lifted up.

  Sorenson laughed, but his laugh had just a touch of nerves to it. Good.

  The grave was fully open now. A figure climbed out of the ground, and perched on the headstone. It was too dark to make
out the features of his face.

  Sorenson slowly moved closer.

  Suddenly, the wind blew the clouds away from the moon, and the figure was revealed. Sorenson gasped. ‘Hello, Walter,’ said the figure.

  ‘Richard! What the hell?’ Sorenson turned frantically, and then calmed down, remembering he was only in an electronic demo. ‘Rachel, this is ridiculous. It’s sick. Get me out of here!’

  ‘You can’t get out,’ said Richard. ‘You’re stuck here, with me. And I would like to talk to you.’

  A chill ran through me. Even though I knew I was listening to my own voice, cleverly altered, the figure looked and sounded just like Richard. A torrent of emotions churned inside me. I wanted to speak to him myself; I realised that was one of the things I missed most: the chance to talk to him. I felt a tightening in my throat, and a stinging behind my eyes.

  God knows what Sorenson felt. ‘Rachel!’ he shouted. ‘Mark!’ The view began to shake about violently. I realised he must be trying to take his helmet off. I flipped up the glasses again and looked at the TV screen. Sure enough, he was writhing in his chair pulling at the helmet.

  ‘Get this thing off me!’ he screamed.

  He tried to stand up, but couldn’t. The mechanical arm attached to the helmet only allowed a small degree of movement. He pulled at the straps round his chin, but Keith had fastened them tight. He writhed and kicked but to no avail. He couldn’t get out of the virtual world.

  He was locked in.

  I looked around the real room in Glenrothes. Willie, Karen and my father were all sitting completely still. My father’s lower jaw hung open. The part of his face that I could see beneath the helmet was pale. This must be rough for him. And it was going to get worse. But there was nothing I could do about that now.

  I flipped back into Sorenson’s world. Richard was smiling at him. The moonlight illuminated the familiar features, and shone yellow off his hair. Richard’s face and whole body had been extensively body-mapped nine months before. All his actions were controlled by Rachel, hunched in deep concentration at her computer.

  ‘Walter, you can’t escape. Let’s talk.’ Richard’s tone was calm, reasonable, comforting. ‘Talk to me.’

  ‘I won’t talk to you,’ said Sorenson.

  ‘I want to show you a few things. Come with me.’

  He turned and walked down some steps into the ground from where he had come. Once again the view bucked as Sorenson tried not to follow. But there was nothing he could do; his controls had been overruled. Together we were pushed down into the grave.

  There were steps down to a door. Richard opened it, and beckoned to us to follow. We did.

  We were in Richard’s office. The pictures of the old VR machines adorned the walls, and we could see the Firth of Forth through his electronic window. Richard was sitting behind his desk.

  ‘Hello, Walter. Thanks for coming,’ he said. ‘I’ve found something very disturbing I’d like to show you.

  ‘As you know, I’ve been worried about the way our shares have been trading since February. I’ve talked to the SEC in America, and they informed me that a man called Frank Hartman has been building up a sizeable position in our stock. They also believe that Wagner Phillips has been manipulating the stock price to make it easier for Hartman to build up his stake at low levels. Do you know Frank Hartman, Walter?’

  No answer.

  ‘Well, the SEC has kindly sent me a list of companies that they know Hartman has been involved in over the last few years. They suspect he traded on inside information in each case. Here is the list.’

  He handed a sheet of paper to us. We had no choice but to look at it.

  ‘Do you recognise any of those names, Walter?’

  Once again, silence.

  ‘And then there’s this.’ Richard handed over another sheet of paper. It was a page of the documentation for the public offering of FairSystems shares, and listed Sorenson’s past directorships. Five of the eight companies that were on the SEC’s list were also on this second list. Sorenson’s virtual hands held both lists together for easy comparison, and there was nothing the real Sorenson could do to stop them.

  Richard continued. ‘This is evidence that you’ve been providing Frank Hartman with inside information on these five companies. As a director, you would hear about future takeovers or new product launches before they were announced. You told Hartman, who bought shares through nominee accounts, probably buying some for you at the same time.’

  ‘That’s bullshit!’ said Sorenson.

  ‘It looks convincing, Walter. One list comes from the SEC, and the other from FairSystems’ offering documents. You can’t deny the similarity. There’s only one obvious conclusion, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ protested Sorenson.

  ‘Here, look at this graph.’ Richard handed us another piece of paper, this one showing the prices and volume of trading in FairSystems shares since the company had gone public in November.

  ‘You can see that volume picked up sharply in FairSystems shares on the twenty-first of February. That’s one week after I told you about Project Platform. You told Hartman, and Hartman started buying shares. With some help from Scott Wagner, no doubt.’

  If Wagner protested at this, we couldn’t hear him. Only Sorenson’s words were picked up. Rachel and I didn’t want exclamations from the others ruining the effect.

  ‘Now, I’ve drafted this letter to the SEC explaining everything,’ said Richard, handing a sheet of paper to us. ‘But I won’t send it right away. I’ll give you a week to decide what you want to do.’

  ‘OK, Rachel, this has gone far enough. You’ve had your fun. Let’s quit now,’ said Sorenson.

  ‘OK, let’s go,’ said Richard. We stood up, and followed him out of the room. We walked down a featureless corridor while Richard talked. ‘We have a problem, don’t we Walter?’ he said in the same reasonable tone. ‘If this information gets out, then it’ll be very difficult to raise the money we need to complete Project Platform.

  ‘Of course, your problem is much worse than that, isn’t it? If this comes to light, then you’ll be prosecuted for insider trading. That will be followed by a couple of years in jail. But a tough guy like you could probably handle that.

  ‘The real problem for you will be your reputation. No longer will you be known as Silicon Valley’s wonder coach. You’ll be just a sad little criminal who ripped off all those young entrepreneurs he was supposed to be helping. It will be humiliating.’

  Sorenson didn’t say anything.

  We were still walking. The corridor seemed to go on for ever.

  ‘But, before we consider what the future holds, why don’t we have a look at the past? Fortunately for you, and unfortunately for me, I was murdered.’ Richard held up his hand. ‘Before you protest, I know it wasn’t you. You were in Chicago giving a speech at the time. We’ll come back to that later.

  ‘I was dead, but there was still that letter. You weren’t safe as long as that letter to the SEC was in existence. But you knew where I kept those sort of papers. In the boathouse. So you burned it down.

  ‘You thought the letter was destroyed. What you didn’t know was that a copy of it was still on the hard disk of my computer which Mark rescued from the fire. That wouldn’t have mattered until Doogie broke into the factory, and looked through my machine, which was now in Rachel’s office. He couldn’t believe his luck! Let’s talk to him about it shall we?’

  Richard turned sharp right through a narrow door. We followed. We were suddenly in Doogie’s flat in Edinburgh. Doogie himself was sitting on the sofa, holding the letter.

  He smiled at us as we came in. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘Who’s been a naughty boy, then?’ It wasn’t actually Doogie; it was Keith trying to sound like Doogie. To my ears that was obvious, but we had hoped it would be less clear to Sorenson who wasn’t very familiar with either voice. The image of Doogie was pretty good, as he had been extensively bod
y-mapped when he had worked at FairSystems.

  ‘Now. Let’s make a deal,’ he said. ‘I destroy this letter and forget I ever saw it. You make sure FairSystems doesn’t last the summer.’ I had no idea if this was the deal Doogie had offered, but it sounded plausible.

  ‘But you didn’t want to make a deal, did you, Walter?’ said Richard.

  We moved nearer to Doogie. His scornful smile disappeared. Two large hands pulled him to his feet, and encircled his neck. Doogie tried to knock the hands loose, but they stayed firmly locked around his throat. He struggled for air. His eyes bulged.

  Everything went black.

  For five seconds there was nothing. Then we were suddenly driving a car in the dark along a narrow lane. Headlights picked out scrappy hedges. As we rounded a bend, we saw the shimmering grey of the sea in the moonlight.

  ‘Look behind you, Walter.’ We turned round. In the back seat sat Richard, with Doogie lying on his lap. His face was pale, and his eyes were staring blankly up to the car ceiling. Sorenson quickly turned towards the road in front. Richard’s voice continued, insistent, from behind our head. ‘Let’s stop here, shall we?’

  We were driving along a rough track. It opened out into a makeshift parking spot, empty at this time of night. The car stopped, and we got out. Richard opened the car door to get out too. Below us we could hear the sea dashing against the rocks. We found our face a foot away from the back of the car, as our virtual hands pushed it towards the edge. With a final heave, it tipped up, and plunged into the dark water twenty feet below. We stared down at the agitated sea, churning against the rocks. There was no sign of the car.

  Sorenson was breathing heavily, I could hear it in my earphones, but he didn’t say anything.

  ‘Very neat, Walter,’ Richard said. ‘Let’s take a look down there, shall we?’

  We ran to the edge of the cliff and dived. As the dark water rushed up to meet us, I involuntarily held my breath. We were underwater. I could just make out the shape of the car, lying on the sea-bed on rocks and sand. Richard took our sleeve and pulled us over to the driver’s seat. There was Doogie, strapped into the front seat, eyes bulging, his white T-shirt flapping in the current.