I wish I knew myself. ‘Just have my back. Okay?’
‘Of course.’
‘Are you armed?’
He stared at her for a moment, then patted his side.
Louisa nodded. ‘Okay, let’s go.’
Simon flicked across his ID and the doors slid apart.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
At first Louisa thought they had somehow entered a cinema by mistake. All she could see in the darkened room was a massive screen. Thousands of feeds fell like rain from the top of the screen and the audio merged to form a cacophony of garbled white noise. They weren’t just Portal feeds, either. Louisa spotted global web articles, foreign TV shows and news bulletins strewn amongst the media. As the feeds descended they funnelled apart into two distinct groups. Then Louisa managed to discern a common theme—the Portal expansion. The extension running on the screen was collating anything, both on the global web and within Portal, that was covering Portal’s imminent expansion plans.
‘It’s a marketing tool,’ Simon whispered. ‘It scans for media matching a predefined designation and groups the results according to certain criteria. This one looks to be distinguishing between positive and negative views of the Portal expansion.’
The majority of the feeds had flowed to the right-hand side of the screen. Portal newscasts were included in the mass. Portal must be winning the PR war. There’s no way the Portal newscasts would be broadcasting anything other than pro-expansion spin.
A flicker of movement caught Louisa’s attention and she tensed. There was someone silhouetted against the screen’s fluorescence. A tiny figure before the huge screen.
Benoit stood with his arms folded. Motionless, apart from his head, which jerked insect-like as he focussed in on different parts of the screen.
Simon coughed loudly, announcing their presence.
The screen noise lowered in volume to a faint buzzing. ‘What do you want, Carlyle?’ Benoit said, without turning. His voice echoed loudly in the room. ‘I’m busy.’
‘I’ve brought someone to see you,’ Simon replied.
Benoit spun around to stare at them. Abruptly the screen shut off. Louisa shielded her eyes as light streamed into the room. The walls and ceiling grew transparent. The overcast sky was now visible through the ceiling far above. It was like being in a vast greenhouse.
Louisa’s attention returned to Benoit who was weaving his way towards them through a sea of furniture, statues, and paintings strewn throughout the basketball court sized office. Decorating an office with pieces of art was one thing, but the lack of a consistent theme to the chairs, sofas, lamps, and tables struck Louisa as odd until she recognised a tan leather Eames Lounger in one corner and a Barcelona sofa nearby. Benoit had filled the space with design classics from all over the world. Maybe the expensive furnishing was supposed to impress visitors but Louisa thought it was crass, like the decorator was trying to appear cultured by flinging around pots of cash.
Louisa’s eyes darted around the room as Benoit approached. She’d hoped against the odds he’d be using his terminal when she met him, but there was no sign of it. Would he even keep a terminal here in the office now he was using his implant? She had to hope that he did. White Hat was convinced he’d have one nearby. She’d harboured notions of tackling Benoit as soon as she saw him, cuffing him, then ransacking his office for the terminal. He was a slight, sickly looking character. She couldn’t imagine he’d put up much of a fight, even if Simon didn’t help her. Looking around the room she had to reject that plan, appealing as it might have been. There’s no chance of finding it quickly in this museum.
‘Why isn’t she integrated with the building’s subnet?’ Benoit snapped. He’d sat behind an oversized desk that still managed to look big despite the office’s spacious environs.
Simon ignored the question. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Louisa Bennett of the Metropolitan Police. An old colleague of mine. She wanted to speak with you.’
Benoit didn’t quite manage to hide his shock at the mention of Louisa’s name. He knows who I am.
Benoit showed his teeth in the greasy approximation of a smile he always flashed on the newscasts when he was attempting to be charming. It was even more unpleasant in person. ‘Well don’t just stand there, Carlyle, show the detective in.’ Benoit motioned towards two chairs in front of his desk, ‘Please, take a seat.’
Benoit stood as they approached. ‘A pleasure.’ Louisa shook his proffered hand with only a slight delay, swallowing the revulsion at having to physically touch him—the man responsible for all the pain and suffering Claire Harris had to endure before her death. It was only her years of experience in dealing with scum like Benoit every day that allowed her to keep her expression neutral.
‘It’s good to finally meet you,’ Louisa managed to say. Her voice sounded hollow in her head but she was relieved to hear how steady it was. She sat in one of the chairs.
‘Is there anything else I can help you with, Carlyle?’ Benoit asked.
Simon folded his arms. ‘I’ll stick around if that’s all right, Benoit.’
‘Well,’ Benoit said in an odd tone, ‘how unfortunate. But hardly surprising.’
Simon opened his mouth to say something, but then a startled look crossed his face. His eyes widened and he gasped as if in pain, his hand shooting out to grip the back of Louisa’s chair. Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed to the floor.
Louisa sprang to Simon’s side. His arms and legs were twitching feebly. Benoit was on his feet, peering over the desk at Simon with a look of undisguised glee on his face. Louisa stared up at him incredulously. ‘Call an ambulance!’
‘Fabulous, isn’t it?’ Benoit said. ‘One of the lab guys dreamed it up. I gave him a year’s salary as a bonus when he finally got it to work.’
Simon’s tremors were subsiding. Louisa felt for a pulse on his neck. She found one, but it was faint.
‘So far it’s proven to be fatal in around sixty percent of human trials,’ Benoit said. ‘Is he still alive?’
‘Yes, barely.’
‘Oh.’ Benoit sounded almost disappointed.
‘What did you do to him?’ Louisa opened Simon’s jacket and loosened his tie. He was making an alarming wheezing sound.
‘It’s quite simple, really. Most of the time your terminal is able to harvest much more power from its immediate environment than it consumes. With a small nanoware update the excess can be stored within the device.’
Louisa fiddled with the top button of Simon’s shirt, trying to get it open. It was then she noticed the gun holster peeking out from under his jacket. She slowly moved a hand towards it.
‘I released the energy through the casing in one massive discharge,’ Benoit continued. ‘It’s specifically calibrated to interrupt the electrical signals which travel along neural axons. As you can see—it’s quite effective.’
Louisa froze as the import of what Benoit said hit her. He was electrocuted by his terminal! She retrieved her own and flung it across the room like it was a grenade about to go off.
‘Don’t look so worried,’ Benoit laughed. ‘Yours hasn’t been altered. I wanted to talk with you in private, that’s all. Besides, I have this.’ He reached under the desk and withdrew a handgun.
Louisa glanced down at Simon’s holster.
‘Now, now, Detective.’ Benoit waved her away from Simon’s body with his gun. ‘We don’t want things to turn vulgar, do we?’
Benoit held the weapon loosely, waving it around as if he hadn’t a clue how to use it. But he was so close he could hardly miss if he fired.
‘Oh, my office is fully soundproofed,’ Benoit said. ‘Just in case you were wondering whether I’d fire this in here. Please, sit back down.’
Clenching her jaw in frustration, Louisa returned to the seat.
‘Kane Shepherd gave me this.’ Benoit turned the weapon to inspect it. ‘For my protection, he said. A blunt tool, really, lacking finesse, but then Kane was somewhat of a
blunt tool himself. Killing you was his idea, by the way. He considered you a threat. I wasn’t overly sad to hear of his death. It cleared up the question over where Carlyle’s loyalties lay for one thing. And now I get to talk to you.’
‘What do you want, Benoit?’
Benoit’s eyes narrowed. ‘I want to know who’s been helping you.’
‘What do you mean?’
Benoit smiled coldly. ‘Don’t play the fool, Detective. Someone’s out to try and ruin me. Is it Dietrich? Or maybe Kenneth—has he finally crawled out of the crumbling edifice he calls a home?’
Louisa shrugged. ‘Who said I had any help? I’m a detective, remember? Tracking down low-life scum like you is what I do for a living.’
Benoit grinned, but his smile was forced. He tightened his grip on the gun. You don’t like being made fun of, do you?
‘You will tell me what I want to know, Detective,’ Benoit said. There was a slight tremor in his voice, like he was keeping a lid on something bubbling away within. ‘I can be quite persuasive when the need arises.’
‘I think you’ll find getting what you want from a woman is a little trickier when she isn’t tied down.’
Benoit’s right eyelid twitched. ‘I’d stop there if I was you.’
‘What’s wrong? Do you prefer it when a woman can’t talk back? When she’s drugged into incapacity but still able to feel pain?’
‘Stop it, Detective.’ Benoit’s voice was strained.
‘But you like that, don’t you? You like torturing women and now with your implant you get to feel how much pain you’re causing them. Does it turn you on—you sick fuck? Don’t you realise what a demented psycho you really—’
‘Shut up!’ Spittle flew from Benoit’s mouth. ‘Shut the fuck up!’
Louisa leaned back in her chair, calmly watching Benoit as he sucked in lungfuls of air and tried to bring himself back under control. He turned his back on her. He still held the gun, but his arm hung relaxed at his side. He seemed to have forgotten about it. Louisa’s eyes flicked to Simon and the holster still sticking out of his jacket. Benoit’s buttons were ridiculously easy to push. Maybe if she wound him up some more he’d have a proper meltdown and she’d be able to grab Simon’s gun.
But Benoit recovered quickly and he turned to face Louisa once more. ‘When you were with Dietrich did he tell you what the Portal mantra is, Detective?’
‘For the good of mankind.’
‘Yes. For the good of mankind. For Kenneth and my father the meaning was quite different. Kenneth believed in a hippy-dippy interpretation where Portal could inspire its users to form a synergy of their fellow man through a shared understanding of their thoughts and dreams.’ Benoit laughed. ‘As if it could ever happen. Ninety percent of Portal’s network bandwidth is taken up by smut and self-gratification. My father was more pragmatic with his interpretation. Do you know what he considered his greatest achievement?’
Louisa shook her head.
‘The National Health Service Subnet. The naysayers said it couldn’t be done. Centralising every one of the disparate NHS IT systems used by hospitals, medical centres, clinics and GPs. My father somehow made it all work. Then, just to prove his genius, he took the integration one step further. Thanks to Portal, every new admission has their patient file reviewed by five separate doctors across the country. In the past they’d be lucky to have one overworked junior doctor glancing at their chart once a day. Our case diagnostic algorithms are now running at ninety-seven percent concurrency with physician diagnoses. Soon you won’t even need to see a human doctor when you’re admitted. The standard of health care in London is the envy of the country. The world, even.’
The screen at the end of the room flickered into life. A video feed appeared. It was of a hospital room. A girl lay on a bed in the room. The blood drained from Louisa’s face. It was Jess. She was asleep. Or still unconscious. That’s if what she was seeing was a live feed. There was no way to tell.
Benoit didn’t so much as glance at the screen. He kept his eyes on Louisa. ‘It was to be his legacy. What he wanted to be remembered for. His work has led to countless advances in patient care. For example did you know a patent’s assigned physician doesn’t even need to be in the hospital to alter their prescribed medication?’
The screen split into two. The image of Jess remained on the left. On the right was the medical data that had been displayed on the Portal screen above Jess’ bed.
‘She’s diabetic, you daughter, isn’t she? A condition which needs to be carefully monitored, especially since she’s incapacitated and unable to regulate her own insulin dosages.’
‘If you even think about harming her,’ Louisa’s voice was trembling, not with fear, but with rage, ‘I’ll kill you.’
Benoit’s smile was cruel. ‘What would happen if her carefully measured doses of insulin were to increase, say, by a thousand-fold?’
Louisa knew all about the dangers of Jess taking too much insulin. That size of a dose could kill her.
‘You know,’ Benoit continued, ‘the neural lattice interface can be a bit…jittery. Even in the completely side-effect-free version I have. Initially it’s almost impossible to control. The interface has to learn how to interpret your thoughts as much as you have to learn to control it. For example it’s quite difficult for the interface to distinguish between the times where you actually want something to happen and those where you merely imagine it happening. Take your daughter’s medication, for example. There’s a real danger I could simply daydream a scenario where the drug is administered and—’
‘It was your father.’
‘What?’
‘The person who’s been helping me with the investigation. It was Adam Walsh.’
Benoit’s eyes narrowed. ‘If you think for some reason I don’t have it in me to harm—’
‘Yes I know he’s dead. But when I was at the lab I spoke to someone called White Hat who said he was your father. When Adam died there was enough data harvested from his neural lattice to digitally recreate his mind. It could be bullshit for all I know but that’s what he said.’
Benoit stared at her in silence, chewing on his bottom lip. Louisa didn’t care if he believed her or not, just as long as he left Jess alone. She glanced up at the screen. Could he really harm Jess? The NHS Subnet, like all of the subnets, was supposed to be secure, impenetrable to anyone without the proper permissions assigned to their profile. Benoit shouldn’t be able to tap into the hospital’s private sense grid. Not even SIU had that capability. If Benoit had access to the sense grid then what else could he do?
He’s won, Louisa admitted to herself. The thought hit her like a punch in the gut. No matter what, I won’t let any harm come to Jess.
‘Before he died there was an experiment my father was working on,’ Benoit mused. ‘Its aim was to try and recreate the thought processes recorded by the neural lattice. Officially it was regarded as a failure, but…’ Benoit appeared to be mulling over the possibility his father, or some remnant of him, might still exist. Strangely though, he didn’t look too happy about it. ‘What did he say to you then, this shade of my father?’
He wants to stop you mutilating women, you sick bastard. But Louisa didn’t say that. Not when Jess’ life might be hanging in the balance. ‘He doesn’t want you to be CEO any more. He doesn’t believe you’re cut out for the job.’
‘Typical.’ Benoit’s top lip curled into a sneer. ‘Nothing I did was ever good enough for him. So how does he envision this coup taking place? That’s why you are here after all, isn’t it? To take me down?’
‘He wants your terminal. He needs your private encryption key to transfer his mind from the research lab’s subnet.’
‘Ha!’ Benoit sounded uncannily like his father. ‘He’s not as clever as he thinks. I don’t use a terminal any more.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘I control Portal from here now.’
Benoit turned to the screen behind him. Jess and the medical data were replaced
by a black window with a flashing cursor. Instructions flashed up. They were entered and executed slowly at first, then faster and faster—much too quickly for Louisa to follow. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I think it’s time my father was retired. Permanently, this time. I carried out an extensive review of the neural lattice project when he died, including the mind-state reconstruction. It requires a virtual machine to run the simulation. If you kill the machine’s process then the mind becomes little more than a collection of redundant code.’ Benoit smiled. ‘There—it’s done. No more—’
A puzzled look crossed Benoit’s face. ‘Wha—’ He raised both hands to his temples. He gasped, his face twisted in pain. His mouth opened wide, as if he was trying to scream, but no sound escaped. Louisa watched as he swayed from side to side, his eyes bulging. He took a step towards his chair, then another, then his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell to the ground, disappearing from view behind the desk.
Louisa wasted no time wondering what happened. She rushed to Simon and pulled his gun from its holster. She stood up, the gun gripped in both hands, and sidestepped around the desk, keeping the gun pointed in the direction where Benoit had fallen.
Benoit lay on the floor behind the desk, unmoving, his eyes closed. Louisa approached warily and gave him a tap with her foot. No response. He could be faking it, but Louisa couldn’t think of a possible reason why. She set the gun on the desk and took out her cuffs. She rolled Benoit onto his front and cuffed his wrists behind his back. Is he dead? To be honest, she didn’t care. But Simon was another story. She needed to get an ambulance for him.
She picked up the gun and retrieved her terminal. She tapped the screen. Nothing—there was no response. She needed to get out of the office but the door and the lift were secured by an authorisation token and without an active terminal she couldn’t even call for help.
‘Hello, Detective.’
Louisa’s head snapped around to the screen, and found White Hat staring down at her.
The London Project (Portal Book 1) Page 32