Shiva

by Simon Sloane

  Alexander shrugged. “Maybe Jyran doesn’t know how to reconfigure the displays.” His expression was such that Hugo had no idea whether the Russian was joking. “I’m just glad they’re not playing Akasha’s Bollywood movies all day long.”

  “Akasha?” Hugo asked, not wanting to give away how much he had read about the Singh family ahead of their arrival.

  “Sorokan’s wife,” Alexander said. “He even rebranded his company after her when they got married. She was fifty years his junior, but she passed away two days before him.” Alexander looked down, and Hugo sensed his former colleague’s sadness.

  “What happened?” Hugo asked. “Was it—” He stopped when he heard someone talking in the distance over the piano sounds of Claude Debussy’s “Dialogue du vent et la mer.” The classical piece was beloved by mathematicians because of its musical application of the golden ratio.

  “Who’s with Jyran?” Hugo asked.

  Alexander shook his head. “That’s just an audiobook. Jyran listens to them all day.”

  Hugo followed the narrator’s account of the human race evolving into a godlike species. “After more than a thousand years of transcendental focus, humanity banished the divine. God was replaced as the ultimate arbiter by human feelings. Humanistic principles were developed by the likes of Locke, Voltaire and Nietzsche. Gott is tot, the German philosopher had written in eighteen eighty-two. God is dead. Science superseded scripture in its understanding of creation. Parliaments replaced priests as rule makers. The more mankind shaped its environment through technology, the more confident it became. The gods faded as the machines rose. And now, some of those human artifacts stand on the verge of ascending to divinity.”

  “We should be careful then,” Hugo whispered to Alexander, “that it’s not our turn to fade into oblivion.”

  Alexander smiled. “I’m sure you’ll have a lot to talk about with Jyran.”

  When they stepped across the lounge, Hugo admired the domed ceiling. It rose at least thirty yards. Then he saw the hologram that conjured the illusion of the night sky above them. The star sign of Taurus glimmered in the night.

  Hugo’s attention was drawn to the far end of the elliptic hall. A life-size Shiva statue sat close to the wall. It was made of pure gold. His gaze wandered from the Hindu god of destruction to the symbol that was hewn into the concrete above the deity’s head.

  A swastika.

  Chapter 39

  Bamboozle

  Friday, 8:00pm CET (7:00pm UK time)

  “Cheers, Christopher!” Sarah raised her glass of lager with the stout man who stood next to her at the bar. She didn’t like what she was doing, but it was the only way to help Hugo to stop the world from starving.

  “There aren’t many girls like you ‘round here, Sarah,” the bespectacled civil servant shouted over the cheers of pub dwellers watching a Premier League game. The thin cord of his plastic ID card hung out of his jacket pocket. “Are you coming here often?” He asked, gesturing at the faux-rustic furniture. His gaze jumped between her miniskirt and the Thames, glistening in the evening sun.

  “I might,” Sarah said, giving him a wink and a smile as her mobile glided into his jacket pocket. “I only moved here last week.” Her native Shropshire accent made her sound credible as she swallowed her disgust at being chatted up by the moron.

  “Oh, a graduate then?” the man in the dark suit asked when Sarah excused herself to the restroom. With a twist on her plateau heels, she withdrew her phone from his pocket while his gaze was glued to her bottom.

  With quick steps, she turned toward the rear exit. Once outside, she rushed back to the building, which hulked like a starship in the evening sun. The bore had emerged from the glass-and-steel edifice an hour earlier. The analytical part of his brain had been switched off after a few drinks and even more flirtatious glances.

  Sarah passed the heavy gates by placing her phone on the electromagnetic reader. It had taken her only a few seconds to suck her suitor’s virtual ID into the device. The doorman failed to notice that she didn’t look like Christopher Jones, too preoccupied with watching Chelsea face off against Arsenal on the screen of his mobile phone.

  Sarah remembered how Dr Albert Gothendorff had grumbled before granting her access to the floorplans of ATF headquarters. Geek-o-matixx had received them from an anonymous tipster as part of a broader data dump on UK government buildings. Albert hadn’t been happy about Sarah’s inconclusive analysis on the looming food shortage. But then he had agreed to support her approach to quench his thirst for data—as well as her own. If she succeeded, she could tell Hugo with certainty where to find the artificial intelligence that was disrupting the climate.

  Tracking her location on her phone, Sarah rode the elevator to the top floor. She walked through busy corridors, ready to bamboozle anyone who came up to her with IT geek speak. For a moment, she wondered if the stressed-out analysts hammering on their keyboards were working on the chain of disasters that Hugo had identified. They might have appreciated the irony that Sarah was about to use ATF resources to aid their prime suspect.

  The farther she advanced within the building, the more unoccupied desks she found. Moving from the secret agency’s buzzing core to its neglected periphery, Sarah found that its structure mirrored the realm it was meant to defend.

  She consulted her phone again when she arrived at a U-shaped arrangement of computer monitors with a view of the river. Could this be the command console of the ATF quantum computer that Diana had mentioned? It looked like one, but the absence of IT geeks implied the secret service had lost interest in whatever the machine was doing. She felt slightly irritated when she didn’t see a quantum cube nearby. Maybe the ATF had done the same as Hugo and stored the core of the artificial intelligence in an underground vault.

  Sarah took a deep breath before she pulled back the leather chair. A message from Khaled was on her phone. He was asking her about the manuscript of Christian Casimir-Perier final speech. As if that mattered now!

  A rustling sound made Sarah turn.

  “Who are you?” an older woman demanded, her grey hair bound into a knot.

  Chapter 40

  Qubits

  Friday, 8:15pm CET (11:45pm Indian time)

  Hugo accepted another glass of water from Jyran Singh. “In summary,” Hugo recapped the business proposal he had invented with Diana, “Akasha Ltd could genetically engineer much more efficient crops through the use of our AI.”

  The heir sat on a U-shaped sofa covered by purple satin pillows. He readjusted his beige Hindu gown, letting his bare feet rest on the mahogany coffee table. “Your proposal sounds compelling,” Jyran said with a nod of appreciation. “Let’s explore it in more detail tomorrow morning with my experts. But then,” he added with a sheepish scratch of the stubble on his chin, “you’re Hugo Hyde. You invented this stuff. I can only say that I feel honoured that you chose our modest venture for your first business meeting since announcing your return.”

  “I’ve always felt great respect for the achievements of Akasha Limited,” Hugo said, feeling both relieved and disappointed. Jyran’s low-key demeanor and open-minded approach didn’t suggest that the billionaire was involved in a scheme to starve the world. His refined English accent added credibility. But where else to look for the AI that plotted humanity’s demise? Sarah had been unequivocal when she sent them to northern India. “In any case,” Hugo added, “Miss Holborn should attend tomorrow’s meeting as well. Any news from her?” He hoped he didn’t look worried.

  Behind him, Alexander cleared his throat. It was the first sound that Hugo had heard from the Russian since he had introduced him to Jyran. “She’ll join us shortly,” the security director said, glancing at his mobile.

  Hugo felt relieved. He drank more water and squeezed the muscles on his neck. Despite the massage he had enjoyed at Jyran’s spa, they still felt rigid.

  “While we’re among us,” Jyran said, “I must confess that I’ve never understood how a q
uantum computer works. It’s the basis of the latest artificial intelligence, isn’t it?”

  “That’s correct,” Hugo said. “It’s all down to the amazing properties of quantum bits—or qubits for short.” While he tried to sound calm, Hugo was alarmed by Jyran’s question. If the heir really knew as little about quantum computing as he claimed, then Hugo and Diana had risked their lives for nothing. On the other hand, someone else at Akasha Ltd might be the technological mastermind behind the mushrooming disasters.

  “Supposedly, a qubit can be in a state of ‘zero’ and ‘one’ at the same time,” Jyran said, “although I can’t imagine how such a thing might be possible. They told me it’s just like this cat, which they say can be dead and alive at the same time.”

  To Hugo, Jyran sounded like a clueless undergraduate presenting a wafer-thin essay he had hastily copied from an online encyclopedia. He groaned at the thought of having to debunk the amateur’s misunderstanding of Schrödinger’s cat, the 1930s thought experiment that had found its way into popular culture.

  “Human intuition is no reliable guide to the quantum world,” Hugo said, anxious not to insult his host. “Mathematics, however, proves that a quantum computer doubles its capacity with every qubit added.” With his left hand, he painted an imaginary line that sloped upwards at an ever steeper angle. “A traditional computer, however, only improves incrementally when you add a single bit.” His right hand performed a straight movement. His arms spread wide as a result, illustrating the vast performance gap between the two paradigms. “Maybe you have heard at what point quantum computing starts to outperform the classical kind for good.”

  “When?” Jyran asked, apparently enthralled by Hugo’s mini-tutorial.

  “A quantum computer only needs about fifty error-free qubits to outperform any of its traditional brethren. That’s the threshold of what we call quantum supremacy.”

  Jyran gasped, and Hugo felt deflated by the young man’s lack of knowledge of the subject. How stupid they had been to go after Akasha Ltd! But where else could the “sheik” video have come from? If only Sarah would get in touch soon!

  Looking content and relaxed, Jyran patted Hugo’s shoulder. “Now I have the best teacher in the world.” He bared his white teeth when two barely clad female servants brought in golden trays with Indian delicacies. “I thought that Yogi had gone to bed,” Jyran said with a glance at Alexander.

  The security director shrugged. “When food comes in, Yogi can’t be far behind.”

  Jyran laughed. “Maybe he was woken up by the ruckus outside,” he said, referring to the helicopter crash in the most modest terms imaginable. “But while we wait for him, take your pick!” He pointed at the food and his catering staff in equal measure.

  Still feeling queasy, Hugo couldn’t ingest anything but another glass of water. He noticed how quickly Jyran turned his gaze when a young woman entered the lounge, striding purposefully toward the U-shaped arrangement of sofas.

  “Hugo, let me introduce you to my sister, Maya,” Jyran said in a high-pitched voice. “Maya, I trust you’ve heard of our … our guest of honour!”

  “The famous Hugo Hyde.” Maya greeted him in a sensual drawl. “What a pleasure!” Her dark eyes radiated a mélange of sorrow, wisdom and allure. She didn’t make any reference to the circumstances of his arrival.

  Hugo feigned a kiss of her extended hand. “The pleasure’s mine.”

  “And our patient has recovered!” Jyran exclaimed when Diana approached without a blemish on her ivory skin. She wore a sari that was just a shade darker than Maya’s orange silk. “I trust our doctors treated you well.” He nodded at the white bandage on Diana’s upper left arm.

  “They did,” the ATF agent said, drawing Jyran closer to let him kiss her on both blushing cheeks.

  “Ms. Holborn,” Hugo began, but Diana squinted at him before looking away. Watch and listen, she seemed to tell him.

  Chapter 41

  The House Of Singh

  Friday, 8:30pm CET (12:00am Indian time)

  Diana turned around when Jyran gestured at a heavyset man in a navy suit, an oversized white shirt and a purple tie.

  “And this our business manager, Yogi Kapoor,” Jyran said as the man approached Maya from behind. His narrow eyes zeroed in on her rear.

  “So, the rumours are true!” The obese Indian said in a heavy Gujarati accent, giving Hugo a servile bow. “Dr Hyde—I’ve read so much about you! Sibyl … what an amazing innovation. I can’t wait to hear all about it! And …” he let his gaze glide down the entire length of Diana’s sari, “you’ve arrived in such charming company!”

  “Nothing escapes Yogi,” Jyran joked, jerking his head at the round-faced executive, whose skin was covered in sweat despite the air-conditioning.

  “I’m so glad to meet all of you,” Diana said, trying to seize the initiative, “and I hope we’re not disturbing you at such a late hour. I apologise for not having given you more advance notice, but the media learned of Hugo’s return a little sooner than anticipated. In any case, the purpose of our visit is—”

  “Hugo told me already!” Jyran said, clapping his hands. He looked younger and more masculine than she had imagined from the photos that Hugo had shown her on the satellite phone. “Before we talk shop, we must welcome our guests properly,” he said. “As you might have heard, it’s at night that Mumbai truly comes alive. And so does our humble home here by the beach.”

  Diana braced for a parade of local folklore as two female servants entered in scarlet-coloured belly-free silk tops and matching miniskirts. Their uniforms were cut just low enough for Diana to infer that they had undergone total depilation. Each one of the girls carried an ornamented wooden box on a satin pillow.

  “For you, Diana,” Maya said as she handed her the larger box, “a gift from the House of Singh.” The young heiress exuded an air of nobility and grace but also solitude—a princess trapped in a golden cage.

  Diana was glad she wasn’t burdened with Maya’s voluptuous curves, which attracted Hugo’s gaze like magnets. They would only be a hindrance during her missions while also making her appear available to the wrong sort of suitors. When she opened the walnut lid, Diana found a golden phone from the world’s most expensive manufacturer. It was accompanied by a selection of the finest perfumes. “Thank you!” she said, giving Maya a sisterly hug. “It’s just what I need after this horrifying trip.”

  “And this is for you, Hugo!” Jyran handed him the smaller one of the boxes.

  Hugo received a silver phone that wasn’t yet publicly available. Diana found it technologically more advanced than her model, although slightly less prestigious.

  “There’s need to thank me,” Jyran said jovially before Hugo could open his mouth. “Your visit—unexpected as it may be—is our reward. I believe I speak for all of us when I say it’s a blessing that Sibyl’s final prediction didn’t come true.”

  Diana nodded, trying to discern a trace of duplicity in the twenty-year-old’s voice. “It was truly miraculous,” she began, but Jyran clapped his hands again.

  A moment later, the servants and caterers vanished. Diana was about to restart the conversation by asking the young Mumbaian about his view on Christian Casimir-Perier’s assassination, but then a piece of sitar music began playing.

  Yogi whooped. To Diana it looked comical when the executive’s shirt wobbled as he rhythmically banged his hand on one of his sofa pillows. At first Diana thought that one of the scenes from the acting career of Jyran’s mother was being reenacted when a troupe of female dancers and musicians walked in. Only then did she notice that they wore nothing but their flutes, drums, sitars and lyres.

  Damn! Diana’s last remaining hopes of talking business vanished in the scent of the musicians’ sandalwood perfume.

  “I thought I’d offer you a little surprise, gentlemen,” Yogi said. He put his arms on Hugo and Jyran’s shoulder while ignoring Diana and Maya. “Take whatever you like, Dr Hyde! The buffet is on!”


  Chapter 42

  Cupboard

  Friday, 8:45pm CET (7:45pm UK time)

  “Can’t talk,” Sarah texted back when she declined another call on the phone of the ATF woman she had knocked out. “In call with DS.” A conversation with the defence secretary should keep the underlings off her back. Now Sarah was glad that Jamie had dragged her along to the self-defence class she had attended with a few others from their support group. As a student, Sarah had seen herself as a pacifist, but she was realistic enough to realise that non-violence couldn’t be a one-way street.

  The grey-haired woman struggled against the ropes around her wrists and ankles and tried to spit out the kerchief that Sarah had shoved into her mouth. Despite her advanced age, she seemed feisty enough to cause problems.

  “Relax,” Sarah told her before she closed the broom cupboard door. “The cleaners will find you before midnight.” Only a year earlier, Sarah might have felt pity for the old woman. But she had hardened in such a manner that even her school friends would be baffled if they met her now.

  Sarah returned to the console on the top floor of ATF headquarters. She answered urgent messages on her captive’s device with non-committal replies. It seemed as if the wiry spinster held a position of importance, and Sarah had to avoid her staff noticing her incapacity.

  She unlocked the screensaver and was asked to insert her credentials. Instead of trying “password123,” Sarah consulted the stolen phone again.

  It didn’t take her many touches or scrolls to find what she was looking for. Like so many computer users above the age of sixty, the ATF officer had written her username and password on an electronic notepad.