The Deadly Lies

by David C. Dawson

  Sinon started to massage Steve’s thigh. “The uptight lawyer and the loopy opera singer?” he asked.

  Steve nodded. “Well, Dominic’s the lawyer. He had an old lover in Berlin who’s involved in some weird internet shit.”

  Sinon sat up, his hand still resting on Steve’s thigh.

  “A few days ago,” continued Steve, “Dominic got a strange text from this guy. It’s a set of GPS coordinates, some code, and the date June 1. Then Dominic found his ex-lover had been trying to give him some bespoke computer chip that’s linked to the message.”

  Sinon took the laptop from Steve and looked at the screen. “So you checked out the coordinates, and they land you at WRI’s DarkStone data center?”

  “What’s DarkStone?” asked Steve. “I’ve heard of WRI, World Resources Inc. The guys who do all the banking data.” He pointed at the screen. “But where’s the data center? All I can see is fields and a few barns.”

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of DarkStone,” said Sinon, typing into the browser on Steve’s laptop. “A security expert like you?”

  “Well, I know the computer game,” replied Steve. “Sure. It was okay, but I reckon the mediocre metacritic score for it was about right.”

  Sinon stopped typing. “You’re kidding me,” he said and gave Steve a withering look. He turned back to the laptop and resumed typing. “WRI set up DarkStone back in the late ’80s. It’s an asset management company, and it’s the world’s biggest investor. Here we are.” Sinon began to read from the screen.

  DarkStone was founded in 1988 and manages over four trillion dollars of assets for its clients. It is the biggest shareholder in half of the world’s thirty largest companies. It single-handedly manages almost as much money as all of the world’s private equity and hedge funds put together. That makes it bigger than any bank, insurance company, or government fund.

  Sinon stopped reading and grinned at Steve. “One of my clients,” Sinon boasted. “I’ve had the best, me.”

  “Oh yeah,” said Steve. “I remember now. There was that shithead fund manager who lost everything in the late ’80s. He swore it would never happen again. So he built a giant computer to forecast how world events would affect the markets. Shit, I’d forgotten about that.” He took the laptop back from Sinon and flicked through the information about DarkStone. “It’s the single most powerful computer in the world, monitoring global changes from climate to wars. Investors flock to DarkStone because it can forecast the future.”

  Steve eyed Sinon. “Did you work on this up at Plainfield, then?”

  Sinon stood up and pulled his shirt back on. “I need to get back to the hackfest before they send out a search party and find you lying there.” He squatted down beside Steve’s chair and placed his hand on Steve’s thigh.

  “Looks like your friend’s computer chip needs to get up to DarkStone in Plainfield by June 1,” said Sinon. “The question you need to answer is… why?”

  THE CREATIVE Cavern, on the ground floor of 101 Grain Street, was buzzing with activity when Nick arrived. Just under fifty people, from a range of creative backgrounds, were at the hackfest. There were computer coders, designers, artists, sociologists, and writers. Some were seated at the dozen or so large round tables scattered throughout the carpeted space, talking to each other or typing on their laptop computers. Others gathered around whiteboards and flipcharts, slices of pizza in their hands, deep in animated conversation.

  Nick made his way to the suspended mobile home. He paused to chat to some of the programmers he recognized from previous hackfests and was introduced to a few new faces. As he reached the first step of the iron spiral staircase that led up to the control room, Fortran appeared at the top and headed down.

  “Hey, how’s it going, Nick?” said Fortran. He stopped at the foot of the staircase. “Great crowd this year. Some really cool stuff happening.” He gestured to a table at the far end of the Creative Cavern. “You should check out those guys at table alpha. They’ve, like, totally got the whole digital storytelling thing, you know? They’ve only been going a couple of hours, but, like, they’ve already built this fictional character. And he’s got, like, a Social Security number, a credit rating, and a college record. He’s, like, totally fake, yet he exists.”

  “They should call him Donald,” replied Nick with a wry grin. “Nothing much new in what they’re doing. I was faking credit ratings in seventh grade to order stuff from Amazon.”

  “Sure,” said Fortran earnestly. “But it’s, like, got a whole artificial intelligence attached to it and shit. So they can, like, write a whole life history for some dude. Then, like, his history just appears on all the computer systems across the world. The system creates a consistent history, like when he bought stuff, when he traveled, doctor’s visits. And all they do is write in the key events and shit for his life. The system fills in the rest. They’ve, like, even worked out how to create entries on CCTV trackers. Everything’s linked. Everything’s consistent.”

  Nick was impressed. “Yeah, that sounds cool. I’ll take a look.” He gestured to the control room. “Is Jeff up there?”

  Fortran nodded. “Jeff’s real excited about table alpha,” he added. “There’s, like, some science fiction writer from Washington State and a sixteen-year-old superfast coder, who seems to be from Russia. And they’ve, like, totally hijacked everything. It’s awesome.”

  Nick climbed the stairs two at a time and stepped into the darkness of the mobile home. Inside, Jeff sat alone at the control console. He listened to the conversations at table alpha, his face lit by the bank of video screens. He turned as Nick entered.

  “You calmed down yet?” Jeff asked. “One thing’s for sure, that British guy is smart. We need to recruit him.”

  Nick sat down in a black leather swivel chair and put his feet up on the control console. “You want that piece of shit in Charter Ninety-Nine?” he asked, throwing the keys for the Dodge van over to Jeff.

  “He’s really got to you, kid, hasn’t he?” said Jeff, standing up and walking over to Nick. He rested his hands on Nick’s shoulders and started to massage his neck. “Which one of your buttons did he push? Was it because he figured out how to send you on a wild goose chase? Or are you pissed because you didn’t get to fuck him?”

  Nick leaned back into Jeff’s hands. He flexed his shoulders as the massage began to ease the tension accumulated during his abortive drive to Oakland.

  “Yeah, maybe both.” Nick sighed. “Sure, he’s smart. And he’s done all that neat work on remote device control, which I guess is why we’re recruiting him. The question is, can we trust him? I mean, the Originator suspected one traitor in the organization. What if we bring this guy in and he turns against us?”

  Jeff stopped kneading and inspected the back of Nick’s T-shirt. “It’s a risk we’re always going to face,” he replied. “There are powerful forces who’d like us to stop what we’re doing. Even though we can create a better world.”

  He straightened up and turned the chair around so Nick faced him. “Looks like you’ve been leaning against some shit today. Take your shirt off.”

  Nick smirked and obediently pulled the T-shirt over his head to reveal his taut torso. He turned the shirt over and inspected the wad of chewing gum stuck on its back.

  “Shit, that’s disgusting,” he said, pulling at the gum. “I’ll never get it off.” He was about to throw the T-shirt on the floor when he stopped.

  “Hey, check this out, Jeff.” He pulled at a black lump in the middle of the gum.

  “What is it?” asked Jeff.

  “I thought it was a stone or something,” said Nick, peeling the black lump clear of the gum. He held it up to one of the spotlights set into the ceiling of the control room and peered at it.

  “I’ve been bugged,” Nick snapped. He glared at Jeff. “You still think the Brit’s worth recruiting? When he does shit like this?”

  “But did he do this?” asked Jeff. “You didn’t see him, did you? W
hat if someone else wants to listen in to Charter Ninety-Nine? What if there’s another infiltrator?”

  Nick picked up a pair of pliers from the control desk and crushed the black lump between the jaws. Then he threw the T-shirt to the floor and sat back in the swivel chair heavily.

  “We need the DG chip,” said Nick. “And we’re running out of time to get it. It’s close to the deadline for the opportunity at Plainfield. If we miss that, the assault could be set back months.” He frowned. “Maybe it will all be pointless by then.”

  Chapter 24

  IT WAS a quarter to five in the morning. Gabriel helped Dominic and Jonathan load their suitcases into his black Range Rover. As Dominic carried the last of the bags from the elevator to the car, he looked around the underground parking garage. He counted at least three Ferraris and four Aston Martins, as well as several Range Rovers and a beautiful red Bugatti. The sight of so many expensive cars made him think his own Mercedes SLK back in England was far too ordinary.

  Dominic placed his bag into the back of the Range Rover and walked around to open the passenger door. He looked up as a fire door clanged open on the other side of the garage. Alfonso emerged, dressed in full police uniform. He came over to the car, his tall boots squeaking on the smooth, polished floor.

  “Goodness, Alfonso,” said Dominic. “You look very—” He searched for a word. “—very authoritative this morning. It’s good to know you’re driving us to the airport dressed like that.”

  “I’m not driving you,” said Alfonso, nodding to Gabriel, who climbed into the driver’s seat. “Gabriel will drive us and drop us outside the terminal. I’ll come in with you to make sure nothing happens.” He patted a holster strapped to his thigh. “I’m licensed to carry a gun around the airport.” He smiled at Dominic. “Just in case.”

  Dominic looked apprehensively at the weapon resting on Alfonso’s leg. He did not feel reassured. Dominic climbed into the back seat alongside Jonathan and closed the door.

  “All set for our next big adventure?” asked Jonathan with a broad grin. He leaned over and kissed Dominic on the lips. Jonathan had cheered up significantly from the night before. Dominic hoped his mood would continue for the rest of the long day ahead of them. After a short stop in London to change planes, they were due to arrive in San Francisco just before three in the afternoon, US time.

  “I’m ready,” replied Dominic, fastening his seat belt. He peered at his husband and rested a hand on his thigh. “Are you okay this morning?”

  Jonathan placed his hand on top of Dominic’s and intertwined their fingers. “Not much sleep last night, I must admit, lover. But I was doing a lot of thinking.” He squeezed Dominic’s hand.

  “I trust you completely about your friend, the late Bernhardt Freude,” Jonathan continued. “And I’m sorry for acting so jealously. The whole matter’s made me think about how you must have felt after I blundered about in XXL and knocked myself out.”

  Alfonso had climbed into the passenger seat in front of Jonathan and fastened his seat belt. He turned to gaze at Jonathan.

  “¡Gracias a Dios!” he said and winked at Dominic. “The boy is becoming a man.”

  “That’s not to say I want a marriage of perpetual monogamy,” continued Jonathan, not meeting Alfonso’s eyes. “But from now on, we must discuss everything first.”

  Dominic smiled and kissed Jonathan on the cheek.

  “Well, it’s progress, of a sort,” said Dominic. “Let’s hope our love remains strong enough to cope with your need for ‘open monogamy,’ as you call it.”

  Gabriel started the engine and drove toward the exit.

  “I believe that the love you have for each other is strong,” said Gabriel as he negotiated the exit ramp and drove the car out into the still darkness of the morning. “Despite what Alfonso and I have witnessed in the last twenty-four hours.” He looked at his husband. “What do you think, Alfonso?”

  Alfonso turned to his husband and rested his hand on Gabriel’s knee.

  “Yes, I think it’s strong,” he replied. “But for your love to continue, you must be completely honest with each other, do lots of talking, lots of understanding, and lots of sex.”

  Gabriel laughed. “Is that the secret of our eleven-year marriage, mi amor?”

  “Oh, but you know it is,” replied Alfonso. “Now, pay attention to the road. We have a precious cargo on board this morning.”

  KRASOV LOOKED through the windshield of the car. Four or five policemen, armed with assault weapons, were positioned by the entrance designated Departures at Barcelona Airport’s Terminal One.

  “Now do you see why we must wait until San Francisco?” he asked. “It will be impossible to remove the DG chip from Delingpole with so many police here.” He turned to look at Janet Downpatrick in the back of the car. “The security is at full alert. And if we fail, there’s no second chance.”

  Downpatrick looked through the side window of the car at the police activity. She hated to admit it, but Krasov was right.

  “It’s true,” she said at length. “If we fail here, we not only risk being caught, but I’d have no choice but to trust our agent in San Francisco to recover and destroy the DG chip.” She pulled a lipstick and compact from her bag and studied her face in the small mirror.

  “What agent in San Francisco?” asked Krasov.

  “You remember,” replied Downpatrick, continuing to examine her face. “That queer programmer we hired last winter. He’s done well to infiltrate the networks. I’m suspicious of him, of course.” She looked up to see Krasov watching her in his rearview mirror. “After all, he’s a queer. But we pay him handsomely.” She studied Krasov’s bicep, flexing beneath his T-shirt. “Although I can’t believe he’ll have the same persuasive powers as you, Viktor.”

  She took time to touch up the edges of her lips, then snapped shut the compact and put it back in her bag.

  “I don’t want Delingpole to see us,” she said. “Although in the confines of the terminal, it will be difficult to avoid the possibility.”

  She opened her door, stepped out, and then leaned back in through the open doorway to continue talking to Krasov. “Go and get rid of the car, and bring the luggage round to the check-in.” She stood up and looked around. “I doubt Delingpole’s here yet. If we check in now, we can watch for him and keep out of his way. It should be possible, given that we’re booked on the slightly later plane to London.”

  After a moment’s thought, she turned her attention back to Krasov. “And put a hat on or something. That scar on your head is far too recognizable.”

  She slammed the car door, and Krasov drove off.

  THE BLACK Range Rover pulled up to the curb outside Departures at the Barcelona airport. Alfonso opened his door and jumped out of the car. He looked around, standing guard as Gabriel stepped out of the car and opened Dominic’s door for him.

  “A su servicio, señor,” he said, bowing low.

  Dominic laughed as he stepped out and stretched his legs. “You are never my servant, Gabriel,” he said. “Stand up and hug me.”

  Gabriel smiled broadly, wrapped his arms around Dominic, and hugged him tight.

  “You take great care, my handsome Englishman,” he whispered. Then he released an arm and extended it to Jonathan, who had slid out of the car behind Dominic.

  “Come here, Jonathan,” said Gabriel, “so that the three of us can embrace together.” The three men hugged.

  “Now, you two,” said Gabriel, his arms still around Dominic’s and Jonathan’s waists. “Welcome to the marvelous world of marriage. And you”—he turned to Dominic—“take care of this man of yours. Try not to let him out of your sight again. As for the wonderful news of your son,” he added, “I am very envious.”

  “So am I, now,” said Jonathan, smiling at Dominic. “And that is for me to deal with, I know.”

  Dominic leaned forward and kissed Jonathan. “You will, my husband.” Then Dominic addressed Gabriel. “And good luck with your surr
ogacy visit to California. Jonathan and I are certain you’ll make wonderful parents. You have a very strong marriage that can only benefit your children.”

  Alfonso nudged the back of Gabriel’s legs with an airport trolley he had piled with Dominic and Jonathan’s luggage.

  “Are you becoming sentimental, Gabriel?” he asked. “Because we don’t have time. I want to get our friends into the safety of the building.” He glanced around. “If someone is out to get them, they are very vulnerable out here. Venga.”

  Gabriel hugged Dominic and Jonathan one last time and got back into the Range Rover.

  DESPITE BEING early morning, the departures hall was crowded with passengers. The three men took a moment to scan the indicator board to find the number of the check-in desk they needed.

  “It’s down the other end,” said Dominic, pointing to the left. “Past the queue for security.”

  Dominic and Jonathan walked on either side of Alfonso as he negotiated the trolley through the lines of people. After less than a minute, Jonathan pulled hard on the trolley to stop it. He slid behind Alfonso to Dominic’s side and gripped his shoulder.

  “Get down!” he half whispered.

  Dominic crouched alongside Jonathan, hidden behind the trolley.

  “What is it?” Dominic asked.

  “Over in that queue for the other London flight,” Jonathan replied. “I can’t believe it, but it’s that bloody woman who nearly killed you in London. And her thug sidekick.”

  Alfonso stared down at Dominic and Jonathan. “What are you doing?” he asked. “What have you seen?”

  Jonathan looked up at Alfonso imploringly. “Hide us. There are two really very bad people over there. They nearly killed Dominic in London last year, and the big ugly one took a shot at me. We thought they’d been arrested, but obviously not.”

  Dominic’s hands shook as he held on to the trolley loaded with their suitcases.