The information started to flow the next day. Kobayashi had dressed in one of the suits and gone into his office at Uedo. As soon as he accessed his office terminal (a Chinese clone that used hacked Shunyata code, making it vulnerable) the probe detected an internal wifi signal and in a fraction of second bypassed the firewall and inserted a RAT designed to establish an untraceable link with Shunyata’s cyber security system. The rest was easy.
Aviva flicked through the summary report. They had collected a great deal of data, most of it ordinary business emails and financial transactions. She requested a narrower search to try and reveal any unusual international activity. Her guess was that they had intentionally cluttered the network with trivial transactions and false data to frustrate the limited intelligence gathering capacity of the various national tax authorities. Of course Shunyata had vastly superior search algorithms but these still depended on asking just the right questions. On the seventh day she uncovered a clue that filled her with dread. Uedo had sent a large payment to a Hong Kong logistics company. On the surface it seemed like perfectly legitimate payment for shipping and storage, but when she ordered a thorough search of the company history they discovered that it was part of the Fu Cheng Group, a multi-billion dollar conglomerate with links to a faction within the Communist Party connected to the PLAAF. Whilst they still needed to confirm the exact nature of the connection, her gut was screaming that the Chinese airforce were leveraging Uedo through a series of front companies with triad and yakuza connections. If Uedo succeeded in realising Watanabe’s wormhole theory then it was highly likely the Chinese would attempt to seize control and set up militarised colonies. This suggested a number of very unpleasant scenarios. Should they succeed in gaining exclusive control of other planets, China would become so resource rich it would quickly dominate the Terran economy, a situation no other power could tolerate, leading to all out war. But the scenario she feared the most was that they might somehow locate Eden and commandeer it. This meant they would have to find a way to defend it, yet the very act of sending an armed force would change the nature of Eden altogether.
When she had gamed a number of scenarios she contacted Akash. Every scenario pointed to rapid full exposure, either forced or voluntary. This meant it was now even more critical for them to establish powerful state allies and try and control the process as best they could.
Akash seemed strangely calm, as if he had been expecting the news. After a long conversation she arranged a meeting with the people Eli had dismissively called the Illuminati. In reality they had no name, no HQ and held no formal meetings. They were a loose coalition of powerful people running the deep government of Europe and they only met as circumstances demanded. They agreed to gather in a month at a country estate somewhere in Luxembourg; at least there were some perks to the job.
She tried to sleep but her mind kept playing the conversation with Akash over and over. He had seemed too calm, as if he knew something she didn’t. Paranoia began to cloud her thinking. There was every chance she was being sidelined. It wasn’t unexpected. There were other players now. Perhaps he had been made an offer that necessitated her exclusion. She could feel an anxiety attack setting in. She usually kept them at bay by keeping things firmly under her control, but things were getting too big, too out of control, too fast. She wondered if she should dare to set up a counter surveillance operation and get someone close to either Akash or Tshering, some other source of intel. It would be an act of betrayal but she had to protect her own interests. She knew too much and because of that she could be a threat.
She slipped into a state of half sleep, her dreams a mixture of her overactive imagination and confused rationalisation. Deep in the recesses of her mind a small voice reminded her that she had allowed herself to become emotionally stressed.
She woke to the faint hint of morning light. “Salome, time,” she mumbled.
“Seven fifteen,” the AI announced softly from a handset on her side table.
“Weather?”
“Overcast, currently five degrees, top of twelve, light wind from the east.”
“Fuck.” She lifted herself onto her elbows. She knew she needed to run the stress out of her system, to push herself into the zone, to collect her thoughts. A part of her wanted to sink back into the bed and wallow, but she had only ever survived the pull of depression through discipline and exercise.
She hauled herself out of bed. “I’m going for a run.”
The AI responded by switching on the bathroom light and starting the shower. When she finished she dressed in her winter running gear and attached her personal monitor to her wrist and inserted a small, individually fitted earpiece with eye level micro-camera. She shuddered in the cold of the morning and headed out, choosing a different route than the one the day before - in part so as not to establish a routine, but also as an excuse to explore the area, always keeping in mind short cuts and escape routes. She decided on a long run, through the side streets to the Parc de Cinquantenaire and further on to the Parc de Woluwe, a round trip of around eight klicks, depending on her route.
She was running under the triumphal arch at the Parc de Cinquantenaire when she saw the girl. She had seen her before. There were always other runners out exercising, even on cold mornings. Some were friendly and nodded or waved as they passed; others were absorbed in listening to music on headphones or lost in their thoughts, oblivious to their surrounds. This was the third time she had seen this particular girl. The last time had been a week ago. She had nodded to her as she approached and the girl had responded by breaking into a big, friendly smile and giving a small wave of acknowledgement. She had stopped after the girl had passed just to watch her run. She was cute: small, athletic with a smooth and efficient running style, a tomboy with short black hair shaved on one side with a shock of red to provide contrast. She felt an instant twinge a desire. She had been too busy to explore the pick up scene in Brussels and hadn’t had sex since her holiday with Ai. The girl had turned and looked back to see her staring after her. She had smiled and waved again, but had continued running, clearly wanting to maintain her rhythm.
This time the girl saw her first and ran up to her, her face breaking into a friendly smile. She spoke in heavy East European accented French. “Excuse moi, I have seen you running before. My name is Bojana – Bo. I am new to Brussels…”
At that moment she chose lust over caution. “I’m new too, Aviva.”
The girl reached out to shake her hand. Aviva thought she looked stunning: heavy dark eyebrows, big brown eyes, flawless olive skin, sensuous lips, a simple gold ring through her septum, pierced ears: a cocky, almost arrogant attitude. “Do you have a regular routine?” the girl asked. “Perhaps it is a crazy idea, presumptuous, but maybe we can team up, running buddies, help push each other? You look fit, like you can handle yourself.”
She was taken aback by the suggestion. It seemed perfectly innocent and yet it could also be a honey-trap. She stared at the girl to try and detect any micro expressions that might reveal a hidden agenda. The girl merely smiled with curiosity, suggesting a complete lack of guile. “Perhaps, but tell me first why you run. You look fit too.”
The girl put her hands on her hips and Aviva’s attention was immediately drawn down to a narrow waist and muscular legs dressed in black, compression running tights. “I play football. I’m on a scholarship to Frie Universitat where I study civil engineering. I play for Anderlecht. The grounds are close by.” She pulled at her jacket to indicate she was wearing the club colours – black with two vertical purple stripes. “I’m from Montenegro originally. I’m a striker.”
Aviva smiled. The girl was clearly gushing because of nerves. “And tell me Bo, do you usually hit on older women?” The girl was shocked by Aviva’s bluntness and blushed. Aviva turned and started to run off. “Keep up with me if you want to fuck me.” After a half a minute she heard the girl behind her. She picked up speed but the girl quickly caught up.
“You don’t mess
about,” the girl gasped as she came up beside her. “And the answer is no. I usually use hook-up apps.”
“There are rules,” Aviva said as she took deep breaths. “We fuck. We exercise. That’s it. You don’t ask what I do. There are times…when I am away…on business…and times when I need to be on my own. No emotional games. No commitment. If it becomes inconvenient…it’s over. Understood?”
She turned to look at the girl and she returned a look of defiance, her steady breathing indicating a high level of cardio fitness. “Cool, and there are times when I have to be away too, for matches, times when I need to study. And I fuck other people also, boys, girls, okay? I do not like to be told what to do. Besides, you assume there will be a next time.”
“Fair point, glad we understand each other then.”
The door was already unlocked when they arrived. The AI had been monitoring Aviva’s return and their conversation via her wristband. The girl stood in the middle of the living room, stunned by the luxurious furnishings and fixtures, including original Viennese Secessionist objet d’art and a pair of Egon Schiele erotic prints, hand-picked by a top designer under Aviva’s instruction, a reminder of her family’s Jewish-Austrian heritage.
“Salome, this is Bojana – a friend…”
The girl looked around the room for signs of cameras or old-fashioned electronic equipment. All she could see was the cinema screen on the wall and a pair of high-end stereo speakers, probably chosen to fit the decor. “A top range, fully integrated AI. Impressive. Any autonomous peripherals, maids, cooks?”
“I haven’t quite got used to the idea of robot maids. I prefer to cook my own meals. You seem up to date…”
“It’s what I’m interested in: digital infrastructure, automated logistics and transport, localised sustainable energy networks, service robots for urban maintenance, the city as one, integrated machine. There’s a lot of potential if the fucking politicians and special interests would just get over their fears of a robot apocalypse.”
Aviva arched her eyebrows, pleasantly surprised by the girl’s intellectual passion. “The Kurzweilian singularity?”
“No, I don’t think there will ever be a singularity. Machines will always be machines. They may become clever but I do not expect them to be truly creative, to be truly human. They will always be servants.”
Aviva nodded; impressed with her answer. “Good, so you’ll appreciate that Salome is also responsible for security. Please tell her your full name, parent’s names and where you graduated school. Think of a phrase in your native tongue to use as a voice recognition password; only then will she let you access the apartment’s facilities. I also demand absolute privacy, so no social media and no recordings of any kind. She will detect any unauthorised devices.”
“So you can also do a security check on me, right? Means you are either high up in government or you are a corp.”
Aviva scowled at her attempt to guess her background. The girl shrugged her shoulders. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. I have nothing to hide. Privacy is important to me too. Scandals are not good for professional sportspeople. So... Bojana Ljubica Nikoliç, father Stojan, mother Luludja, Osnovna skola, um, zhan le Devlasa te sastimasa. It’s a Roma saying, my mother is Roma.”
“Welcome Bo,” the AI replied, thus signalling that the girl had passed the initial security check (and that it was compiling a more comprehensive file for the Shunyata security division).
Satisfied she wasn’t a security threat, Aviva walked up to her and kissed her hard on the mouth. The girl did not resist. Aviva undressed her, a switchblade fell out onto the floor.
“Can’t be too careful…” the girl said unapologetically.
“Nice, Italian stiletto, vintage Latana, honey bone handle,” Aviva said as she picked it up and flicked it open. “I trust you know how to use it?” she asked, tracing the cold blade over the girl’s small, firm breasts and pronounced, dark nipples. The girl took a deep breath and lifted her chest, daring Aviva to draw blood. She become aroused as the girl’s areola formed small Goosebumps and became noticeably more erect.
The girl sneered. “Yes, they’d feel it go in before they even fucking saw it.”
Aviva nodded, retracted the knife and looked directly at the girl. “Bit of a street tough, eh?”
There was not an ounce of fat on her boyish body, making her stomach taught and her abs and inguinal ligaments clearly defined. Her pudenda was waxed smooth and she had a small rose tattoo on her left hipbone. Aviva walked around her to admire her tight gluts, the arch of her spine, her broad shoulders and an elaborate tattoo on the middle of her back: a hand with glyphs at the tip of each finger and an eye in the palm. “You have the physique and posture of a gymnast,” she noted as she stroked her shoulder.
The girl nodded. “Yes, and I was good too, but I liked football better, it’s rougher, more competitive. Suits my temperament.”
“Your upper arms are well developed. This suggests you do weights or some form of MA.”
“Yes, I kick box and I’ve done a bit of mixed.”
“Style?”
“Street and military, a retired Serbian specijalna brigada ran a gym. It was my father’s idea, for self-defence.”
“I see, and the tattoo?”
The girl turned and started to pull at Aviva’s clothes, impatient at her teasing. “Am I a fucking horse bitch, do you want to see my teeth too?”
Aviva laughed. “Let’s just say I like my women to be fit and competent.”
The girl grunted, satisfied at her answer. She pulled Aviva’s t-shirt over her head. “The tattoo is a Romani hamsa, to ward off the evil eye, a form of talismanic protection. It protects my back. My grandmother was a shuvani, she taught me some of the old ways. I know how to tell your fortune, but do not worry; I am not some piece of scrappy gypsy rough trade. I’m not going to rob you and I’m not looking for a sugar mommy either. I just want to fuck you,” she said as she bent down and pulled Aviva’s compression tights and knickers down in one smooth movement. “But, I am also my father’s daughter and he was a man of reason, a surgeon. Does that answer your question?” She reached her hand between Aviva’s legs and roughly pushed two fingers in. “See, I turn you on bitch. Did you get wet the first time you saw me in the park? I saw the look in your eye. You like young, fresh pizda, eh?”
“Salome, shower.” Aviva pushed the girl aggressively toward the bathroom, unable to contain her passion. This girl was precocious; an alpha, wild, hungry, and just what she needed.
She woke at two in the afternoon after a deep sleep. She had a vague recollection of the girl leaving, saying she had classes and training in the evening. She had been passionate, demanding and very vocal. She pushed Aviva further than she thought she could go, as if she instinctively knew Aviva had a rage that needed release.
She freshened up and ate. She felt re-energised and ready to start the day. She tidied up her office, put books away into shelves and made a mental note of domestic tasks (buying a mop and bucket and a broom). She realised she was doing it partly for Bo as a form of nest building. She didn’t expect to be in Brussels for that long, but at least she could make it a home.
When she had finished she sat at her desk ready to do her real work. Officially she had resigned during the restructure, taken a generous package and was acting as a freelance consultant. Unofficially she was Akash’s eyes and ears in the deep government, a free agent moving in the shadows, almost beyond the law. But before she get down to her real work she had to make a decision about Bo. She asked the AI to report everything it had found out about her. Her story checked out. She was nineteen, born in Spit to upper middle-class parents, but had spent most of her childhood in Podgorica. She was an only child, a top student and a gifted athlete. Aviva watched old videos of gymnastics tournaments and junior soccer matches collated from social media sites. She had played in state junior championships and received attention as a promising striker; talent scouts had selected her for a European team and sh
e had been listed as one of the top five junior players to watch. She even had a small fan base and a social media presence. She had settled on Belgium because the Brussels campus of Vrije Universiteit offered a combined civil engineering and urban studies course.
The powerful Shunyata search engine used facial recognition to pull up all of her images on the net. It was standard stuff: sports and family photos, selfies, images caught on security cameras. The only exceptions were five shots of a naked and tanned Bo aged around eight or nine, taken with family and friends at a naturist resort on the Dalmatian coast and posted on a legitimate naturist website. All perfectly legal, but nonetheless widely copied and distributed on the more suspect sites. Their existence might cause a controversy in more conservative Anglophone countries like America, but it would hardly raise an eyebrow in Europe. It seemed Bo was a cleanskin. The question was whether or not it would be wise to begin an affair, particularly for Bo’s safety and especially given her public profile. Eli had been an innocent pickup, now she was a spook in Japan on a mission that might cost her her life. She didn’t particularly like the idea that she was some kind of black widow spider catching young women in her web.
She made a purely selfish decision. Bo was simply too cute to give up. She would ensure it was a short affair, maybe just a month or two, before she got attached. She was human; she deserved a sex life like everyone else. She studied the photo of a self-possessed Bo standing perfectly relaxed and unabashedly naked on the beach, smiling cheekily at the camera from under a broad, straw sunhat. She felt a twinge of vicarious jealousy that Bo seemed to have had a rather idyllic, carefree childhood. When she was the same age she was a skinny, shy child bullied for being a Jew, a geek and a redhead. She had grown up on the crowded, dirty and dangerous streets of the Bronx. The first time she went to a beach she burnt, the second time she went she was covered in clothes, a hat and a thick layer of sun cream. It was not fun. She could never have imagined that there were places where people, children, were free and safe to go naked. Bo had been lucky. She was the child of the post gay rights era, unashamedly out and proud, unburdened by the prejudices and sexual inhibitions of the past, supported by progressive parents. She was a natural choice for Eden and she thought she should put her name on the list; just not now, not until things had been made public, and not whilst they were having an affair.
Paradise Reclaimed Page 96