DOMINIC LOOKED at his watch and turned to Jonathan.
“Quarter to three, bang on time.” He looked out the window at the clear blue California sky. The plane stopped taxiing, and the captain shut down the engines.
Dominic and Jonathan were not used to flying first class. None of the passengers around them seemed to be making the usual frantic scramble for jackets and hand luggage that happened in economy. Instead, the cabin crew calmly brought coats and bags to people’s seats.
“This has been rather wonderful,” said Dominic. He kissed Jonathan on the lips. “But I do feel something of a fraud. What if they were to find out now we’d only paid for an economy ticket?”
“Sh,” said Jonathan, kissing Dominic back. “Steve is a very clever man and has only done what other people would give their eyeteeth to do. After all, it’s just another of those convenient lies.” He took hold of Dominic’s hand and squeezed it tight. “You worry far too much, my dear. How often do you tick the box on the internet saying ‘I have read the terms and conditions’? It’s just another of modern life’s little fibs.”
Jonathan took in the expression on Dominic’s face. “Oh my God, I shouldn’t have asked a lawyer that, should I? Don’t tell me you do read the terms and conditions?”
Dominic laughed and leaned in toward Jonathan. “No, I don’t. But I hardly think it compares with the fraud we’ve just committed on this airline.”
A handsome young flight attendant with short, curly black hair and dark brown eyes arrived with their jackets and carry-on cases.
“Mr. Delingpole? Mr. McFadden?” he asked. “Can you get ready to deplane, please?”
Jonathan rolled his eyes at Dominic and turned to the young flight attendant.
“Dear boy,” said Jonathan, “I thought this was a British airline. And for that reason, I thought I would never hear such a ghastly expression as ‘deplane.’” He eyed the flight attendant up and down. “You only get away with it because you are young and remarkably cute.”
The flight attendant blushed. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said with a bow of his head. “It won’t happen again. Would you get ready to leave the aircraft, please? You’re booked through VIP immigration, and we’d like you to leave first, if you don’t mind.”
Jonathan winked at Dominic. “I imagine young Steve has worked his magic once more.”
The two men stood and stepped out into the aisle. Jonathan stretched his arms up and sighed contentedly. He dropped them and rested his hands on Dominic’s shoulders.
“Do you have that chip thingy for him?” asked Jonathan.
Dominic nodded. “I’ve got it in my jacket pocket. Maybe we can finally find out what Bernhardt was up to. I just wish he hadn’t involved me. Especially on our honeymoon.”
Jonathan leaned forward and kissed Dominic. “Lover, life is never dull with you.”
“Are you ready, gentlemen?” asked the cabin attendant. “If so, would you follow me? We’ll have you and your luggage out of the airport in fifteen minutes. VIP immigration is very efficient here.”
Chapter 28
STEVE LOOKED around at the other people waiting by the greetings barrier in the crowded San Francisco arrivals hall. Several carried boards or pieces of card bearing the name of the person they were waiting for. In different circumstances, Steve would have done the same for Dominic and Jonathan. Except the board would have featured a photograph of two cute naked guys, with Dominic and Jonathan’s names in large letters emblazoned across the image.
But the last thing Steve wanted today was to draw attention to his friends. He had to get them out of the airport and into Sinon’s Range Rover as quickly and as safely as possible.
He turned as Sinon walked over from the newsstand, a bag of cashew nuts in his hand. Sinon looked from side to side as he walked, scanning the crowd.
“Any sign of them yet?” asked Sinon.
“It’s a bit soon, mate,” replied Steve. “They only landed about twenty minutes ago. You know how long us Brits have to wait in the American immigration line to enter this lousy country.”
“Yeah,” replied Sinon. “Well, you know better than most about that. Have you texted them?”
“Yeah. I sent Dominic a text as soon as we got here. No reply yet.”
Sinon looked around again, scanning the faces in the crowd.
Steve watched him with curiosity. “What are you hoping to see, somebody in a black suit wearing sunglasses, a piece bulging on his hip?”
Sinon laughed and nonchalantly leaned against the arrivals barrier. “Nah, mate,” he replied. “Just wondered how we’re going to get them out safely. That’s all.”
Steve pointed in the distance behind them. “Through the exit doors, like everyone else. We’ve got no choice.”
Steve put his boot on the lower rail of the arrivals barrier alongside Sinon. “By the way, mate,” he continued. “Tell me more about the time you were working at WRI. What were you doing there?”
Sinon took a handful of cashews and shoved them in his mouth.
“Oh, nothing much,” he replied, looking away from Steve to scan the arrivals hall. “It was some database project. I was running the trials for them.”
“But you went to Plainfield,” said Steve. “So it was something to do with DarkStone. Financial stuff, yeah?”
“Oh yeah. But like I said, nothing special.”
Steve was about to ask more, but his phone vibrated as a new text message arrived.
“This’ll be Dominic, I guess,” he said. He pulled out his phone and read the message.
Thanks for VIP immigration! We’re about to get picked up now. See you at the Marriott? Dominic x
“Shit!” exclaimed Steve. “I didn’t do any fucking VIP immigration. Someone’s got them.”
DOMINIC AND Jonathan pushed their trolley, laden with bags, toward the small exit door. There had only been a dozen other passengers at San Francisco’s VIP immigration, and they waited barely fifteen minutes. By the time they completed the formalities and the chatty immigration official stamped their passports, the airline had brought them their luggage. They were waved through customs and on to a long narrow corridor leading to the exit.
“I wish I could do it this way every time I come to America,” said Dominic. “How the other half lives, eh, Jonathan?” he continued. “Maybe when you’re a rich and famous opera singer—”
“Don’t hold your breath, lover.” Jonathan laughed. “It’s been a while since I trod the boards. Now, when I’m a rich and famous landscape gardener—”
“Hey, Dominic.”
A tall shaven-headed man stepped forward. He wore a maroon polo shirt, straight-leg jeans, and leather rigger boots. The man extended his hand in greeting.
“My name’s Jeff,” he said. “I hope you enjoyed the VIP treatment. We thought you’d want to get away from here as quickly as possible.”
Dominic shook Jeff’s hand. He glanced at Jonathan and then back at Jeff.
“Hello, yes, I’m Dominic,” he replied. “This is my husband, Jonathan. Thanks for the VIP treatment. Are you going to take us to the Marriott now? I’ve told Steve we’ll meet him there.”
Jeff took hold of the handle of the trolley. “Let me take that. You’ve had a long journey. The Dodge is just outside.”
Jeff pushed the trolley through the automatic doors and out into the afternoon sunshine. Dominic and Jonathan looked at each other, then followed him. The noise of the airport hit them immediately. Jet engines screamed overhead, and the rumble of traffic was constant.
Jeff stopped by a large black American van. A man jumped down from the driver’s seat and walked around to the back.
“This is Nick,” said Jeff. “He’s been talking to Steve more than I have. He’ll be able to fill you in on the details once we get on the road to Sacramento.”
Nick nodded at Dominic and Jonathan and began loading their luggage into the back of the van.
“Sacramento?” shouted Dominic above the noise of
the airport. “I don’t understand.”
“We’re going to meet Steve there,” replied Jeff as he opened the side door of the van. “You’ve got the chip with you, haven’t you?”
Dominic held on to the handle of a brown holdall Nick was about to load into the car and looked back at Jeff.
“Just a minute,” he said. “Who exactly are you two? We were supposed to meet Steve here. He didn’t mention anything about VIP treatment. Or you.”
Jeff smiled. “I’m sorry. I should have explained. I run the hackfest here in San Francisco. Steve told you about it, I guess?”
Dominic nodded.
“Well, he told us you guys were in a bit of trouble. We just wanted to help. I pulled some strings at the airport to get you through immigration quickly.”
Nick gently tugged the brown holdall away from Dominic’s hand and put the bag in the back of the van.
“Steve’s gone on to Plainfield,” Jeff continued. “He mentioned that too?”
Dominic nodded again. “We spoke to Steve while we were waiting at Heathrow. He said we had to go to Plainfield, near Sacramento, because that’s where the coordinates in the message were for. What do you know about all this?”
Jeff indicated the open door of the van. “It’s too noisy out here,” he said. “Get in the Dodge. I’ll explain everything on the way.”
Nick put the last of the bags into the van and closed the back. He walked round to the driver’s door, opened it, and jumped in.
Dominic pulled out his mobile phone and leaned toward Jonathan to talk in his ear. “I’ll call Steve.”
“They’ve got our bags, lover,” replied Jonathan. “I don’t think we’ve got much choice.”
“FUCK, FUCK, fuck, fuck, fuck,” said Steve, frantically typing on his laptop keyboard. Beside him, Sinon drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of the Range Rover as they lined up to leave the car park.
“How could I have been so fucking stupid?” Steve said. “I’m an amateur.”
Sinon pulled up to the exit barrier, wound down his window, and shoved the parking ticket into the slot. After a few moments, the barrier lifted, and the Range Rover shot forward.
“Is the tracker doing anything?” asked Sinon as he swerved in front of a taxi. He began to weave through the traffic, headed for Route 101.
“It’s moving,” Steve replied, gripping his laptop as the car swayed violently from side to side. “If it’s still in the Dodge, where Anders dropped it, then they’re headed south on 101.” He looked up. “That doesn’t make sense. Sacramento is north.”
“I guess they’re going to avoid the city and cross the bay past San Mateo,” replied Sinon. “How far ahead are they?”
Steve looked at the map on the screen. “Only a couple of miles. But they’re moving fucking fast.”
“Don’t worry,” said Sinon, slamming on the brakes to avoid crashing into a line of traffic ahead of them. “Once we get past this shit, so will we.”
THE DODGE van screeched across to the exit lane and headed for Route 92 to cross the bay. Dominic was terrified. He looked at Jeff, who sat opposite him.
“Does he have to drive so fast?” he asked. “What’s the hurry?”
Jeff ignored his question. “I presume that was Steve Brown you just called?”
Dominic said nothing.
“It’s okay,” continued Jeff. “Presumably he told you that Nick and I were dangerous, and he’s going to come rescue you?”
It was true. Steve had told him to pick a moment when he and Jonathan could escape from the van. Dominic looked out the window at the scenery flashing past. If they continued at this speed, he could see no possibility of getting away.
Jeff smiled. “We’re not dangerous,” he said. “Just determined. We could have removed the DG chip from you at the airport. But we need the access codes, and I thought you might be more amenable to handing them over, once we’re a little more isolated from the city.”
Dominic looked at him coldly. “So you kidnapped us instead. I can’t believe you ever had anything to do with Bernhardt. He was a very gentle man.”
Jeff nodded. “Bernhardt was also brilliant,” he said. “And he’s created a marvelous plan for us to set the world right once more. I don’t want it sabotaged at this late stage.”
“Bernhardt? What plan has he created?”
Jeff smiled again. “I thought it would be useful to bring you along for the ride, and perhaps by the end of it, you’ll understand why it’s so important.” He leaned toward Dominic. “What do you know of Bernhardt’s Charter Ninety-Nine?”
Dominic shook his head. “He never mentioned it to me.”
Jeff looked surprised. “Bernhardt never said anything? I thought you were close friends and business colleagues?”
Dominic glanced at Jonathan, who was sitting beside him. But Jonathan had his eyes shut and was clinging tightly to the armrests on either side as the car rocketed down the freeway.
“Bernhardt and I collaborated on matters of European law,” replied Dominic. “Plus, I have specialized knowledge in Anglo-American trade law, which I advised him on. But that was it.”
“Then what do you know of the concept of the 99 percent?” asked Jeff.
“Is that something to do with Stiglitz’s famous article in Vanity Fair?” asked Dominic. “I remember Bernhardt getting very excited when it came out back in 2011.”
Jeff nodded. “Yup. So you know about our American economist, Joseph Stiglitz. Basically, he said that one percent of America’s population takes a quarter of the country’s income. One percent controls 40 percent of the nation’s wealth—”
“And one day, the other 99 percent will rise up,” added Dominic. “I remember the article. So what’s Charter Ninety-Nine? Some kind of revolution in the planning?”
“Bernhardt set up Charter Ninety-Nine in 2010,” Jeff began. “The year before Stiglitz published his article. Bernhardt was called the Originator. Sure, Charter Ninety-Nine is a revolution. A revolution to overthrow the one percent. The one percent now control politics, commerce, and the media. Bernhardt’s project is based on a series of brilliant computer programs written by Karl Michael and young Nick, our driver up front. Bernhardt called it the History Writer project.”
Jeff turned and looked forward. They had crossed the bay, and the highway began to veer north as it merged into interstate 580. He leaned toward Nick.
“What time will we be there?” he asked.
Nick glanced down at the satnav on the dashboard. “If I can keep up this speed, we’ll be there in ninety minutes.”
“See if you can get us there faster,” said Jeff. He turned back to Dominic.
“Charter Ninety-Nine has coders in five countries,” he continued. “They’re working to rewrite our society’s history. Ever since the 1970s, our world has become a virtual society. It exists on computers, somewhere in the cloud. We’ve now got to the point where that virtual representation of our society is more trusted than reality itself.”
“You mean,” said Dominic, “in the way that you know you’ve got money in your bank account, but the person at the bank tells you, ‘computer says no’?”
“Exactly,” replied Jeff. “It’s true for every aspect of our lives, not just financial matters. Our health, our identity, our employment, all our communications, our social interactions. They’re all virtual. The History Writer project has the power to rewrite that virtual world completely. We have the power to rebalance the world. Make it fair once again.”
Jonathan opened his eyes and stared at Dominic. “Sounds like what young Steve did,” he said, “when he upgraded us to first class. Except on a bigger scale.”
“But surely,” said Dominic, “even if you could hack into the computers, someone would find the changes? They’d be inconsistent with the information somewhere else. Eventually they’d get fixed.”
Jeff shook his head. “Not if you tied up all the loose ends. It’s like telling a story. In a novel, the author makes s
ure everything is consistent. I’ll give you an example.”
Jeff took a notepad out of the seat pocket in front of him and sketched a stick figure of a man.
“One of our coders ran some tests about two years ago,” said Jeff. He wrote the name Peter Brown above the stick figure.
“Using computer programs written for the History Writer project, he hacked the online records of a couple of employees at WRI here in Northern California. He used the programs from the History Writer project and eliminated those people from the virtual world. Any reference to them, whether financial, personal, medical, email, war record—anything. Then he rewrote their virtual life histories to storyboards we’d devised.”
Dominic was momentarily lost for words.
“That’s simply cruel,” he said finally. “What gave you the right to manipulate the lives of those poor people?”
Jeff put the sketchpad on the seat beside him. “We had to use nonentities for the tests,” he said. “We didn’t want the trial to use high-profile people, in case it didn’t work out and the hacks got discovered.”
Dominic closed his eyes for a moment and tried to imagine what it would be like if his world was similarly turned upside down.
He opened his eyes again. “And did it work out?” he asked. “Did you wreck their real lives, the way you destroyed their virtual ones?”
Jeff looked shocked. “Oh, we didn’t wreck their lives. Well, maybe in the case of an early test,” he conceded. “The rest are living very comfortably, with guaranteed incomes.” He looked triumphant. “We proved the virtual world is more credible than the real one. With the History Writer project, we’re now ready to launch our assault on the one percent.”
Chapter 29
STEVE LOOKED out at the farmland stretching to the horizon on either side of Interstate Highway 80. They had been driving for nearly an hour and a half. For the first part of the journey, Sinon had expertly steered the electric-blue Range Rover through the busy afternoon traffic, catching up with the black Dodge van. After twenty minutes of high-speed chase, they left the suburbs of Oakland far behind, and the traffic eased. For the last fifty minutes of the journey, they had maintained a steady ninety miles an hour along the interstate. Steve wished their speed would attract the attention of the police patrols. It was the only way he imagined they could rescue Dominic and Jonathan.
The Deadly Lies Page 20