by Mark Lingane
“We fulfill the plan. It will work. But we’ll have to split up,” he said.
The phone rang. It eventually stopped. One minute later it rang again. Joshua knew it was going to ring until he picked up. Looking around the room revealed no one else who would do the job so he answered it.
“Mr. Richards?”
“Yeah.” He was glum and felt like being terse.
“It’s Alan Raphael here. You said I was to call you today to see if you could fit me in.”
“All right. What kind of case is it? Bribery, threats, what?”
“Nothing to do with people. This is important stuff here. Information. It’s being stolen.”
“Information,” Joshua said. He had never really thought of information as being more important than people. “And it’s being stolen.”
“Look, man, I know it might not sound like much considering where it’s being stolen from but—”
“Where?”
“The Department of Information.”
It’s statements like this that deserve a musical score, Joshua thought. There was a pause as the words sank in while the orchestra was stabbing away.
“Did I hear you right? You said the Department of Information. The Department of Information?”
“You know another?”
“The government department that links all the databases around the country? Military. Science. Health.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Raphael, “that’s us with our unofficial motto: ‘You got it, we control it.’ Of course we deny everything.”
“Hang on. This is big.” Suspicion reared its fashionable head. “Why me? There are plenty of investigators out there. What about your own security?”
“Put it this way, man. I’m head of information security. This is an internal job covered up so well that the security here can’t pick it up. The wood for the trees, kind of stuff. It needs someone external to the organization to see if they can spot the problem. And you, well, because I’ve rung lots of private investigators and they all seem to recommend you.”
“I’m sorry, but my heart wouldn’t really be in it. Things have been complex lately.”
“Please. I need help. I really need your help.”
After much internal struggling, Joshua relented. “All right. We’ll have to meet.”
“As you can guess, we don’t have a physical address, only a logistical one. And we don’t really exist.” Raphael read out a series of instructions that owed more to a treasure map than to an actual street directory then put down the receiver.
Harman was in shock. He looked around the devastated room.
“What the hell happened here?”
“No one knows, inspector. I had a word with Swan, who brought Na’hash’s body in as per your instructions, and all he says is that Clipper looked really worried when he said who it was from. Swan left and that was the last anyone heard.”
“When will Clipper be able to talk?”
“The medics don’t know. They have to wait until he comes out of the coma. Then, if the shock wasn’t too great, he might be able to remember what went on.”
They looked around the room. Nothing was left undamaged. Blood covered everything and odd bits of metal lay scattered about.
“My guess would be he’s not going to remember anything, ever,” Harman said. “This is really, really odd. Let me get this straight. All this carnage only happened in here.” He pointed down, signifying the room they were in.
“Yes, Inspector.”
“All the blood’s in here, and none of it belongs to Clipper.”
“Yes, Inspector,” said the sergeant patiently. “Well, very little of it.”
“So whatever bled this much stayed in the room because there’s no blood outside in the corridor? Right?”
“It would appear so, sir.”
“Do you think whatever did this is still in here?” Harman saw the panicked expression on Swan’s face. “Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s not like Aliens.” He paused for a moment. He started to make a clicking with his tongue. “What’s going on? We bring a body in here. It explodes or does something and then what? But how, why, what, who tried to strangle Clipper?”
“Don’t know, sir.”
“Tell me, sergeant, is it possible for, say, a dead body to come back to life, try to strangle someone, then explode into thin air?”
“Not that I’ve encountered, sir.”
“That means there must’ve been a third person. A third person came in here, strangled Clipper to within an inch of his life, went around and broke everything, sliced the body open and sprayed the blood everywhere, then took the body out of here without anyone noticing. How probable is that?”
Both men stood in silence for a while.
“I don’t know, sir,” said the sergeant, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“Which, I wonder, is more improbable?”
The front gates of the DoI were not impressive. Neither were they big. They weren’t, in fact, gates. There was a doorway housing a green door partially concealed by a tree. There was a buzzer and intercom next to it. Joshua pressed the button. An automated voice with a minimal amount of intonation answered.
“Name, contact and business,” it dispassionately intoned.
“Joshua Richards, Alan Raphael, security.”
“Access permitted. Push door and have a nice day,” came back the response.
The door swung back and revealed a dim anteroom. Joshua noticed the door was about two feet of solid steel. It was designed to keep many things out.
Inside it was quite different. There was still no one to be seen but Joshua had a feeling there were people around. They would become visible when they wanted to be seen. The reception was a largish room with a high ceiling. About five yards in front of the far wall there was a glass wall with a glass door set into it. To Joshua the glass looked bombproof. In front of the wall was a podium with a monitor standing on top of it.
Joshua walked directly to the monitor and saw a voice menu system. Flashing on the screen was the word Contact.
Joshua said “Alan Raphael” into the microphone. The screen prompt changed to name. Joshua said his own name. The screen displayed: Your contact has been summoned. Wait near the entrance until your contact arrives. Do not make any quick movements. This is a smoke-free environment.
Joshua took a step back. So this is what the world had come to. Even receptionists were redundant now. Reflecting on recent events, this could be an improvement. Everywhere he looked there were machines and no people. If he were in charge things would be different.
He turned around when he heard the glass door behind him open. Standing there was a short, middle-aged man.
Joshua held out his hand. “Alan Raphael?”
The short man took Joshua’s hand and nodded.
Joshua felt he needed to say more. “I’m Joshua Richards.”
The short man stopped shaking his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Richards. I’ve heard many good things about you. Please follow me.”
He turned and strode into the main complex, with Joshua following.
The security guard was adamant. “This is most unusual.” He folded his arms. “I mean, he’s an outsider. It’s more than my job’s worth to let him in.”
Raphael stood in front of him, hands on his hips, looking impatient. “I’m head of security. Let him through.”
“You’re not head of my security. I’m not sacrificing my pension for the likes of him. Just look at him.”
“Hey, what’s wrong with the way I look?” Joshua said.
“What’s all this sudden interest in job security?” said Raphael. “You’ve never cared before.”
“It’s the wife. She wants a trip around the world when I retire.”
“The coat could do with a wash, I admit, but …” Joshua muttered
“Your wife? You’re disobeying a direct order from a superior because of your wife?”
“Normally I wouldn’t bothe
r, but she has a temper when she gets going. So everything has to be done by the book from now on.”
“My boots are quite good,” Joshua mumbled, “but no one seems to notice them.”
“This is ridiculous. Give me the phone. I’ll sort this out.” Raphael lunged across the counter.
“Not so fast. I have to get authorization to let you use the phone.”
“You have to get authorization for me to use the phone?”
“And this shirt is clean and ironed,” Joshua protested mildly. “Well, it was yesterday.”
“Would you quit with the wardrobe description, man?” Raphael said. “All right,” he said to the guard, “call and get authorization. See if I care.”
The guard picked up the phone with much indignation and dialed. After a while he said, “There seems to be no answer.”
“Who are you calling?”
“It says here: For phone authorization call head of security.”
“That’s me, you idiot. I’m not answering the phone because I’m standing in front of you.”
“That makes things a bit easier.”
“Why?” Raphael said a shade suspiciously.
“Because I can get your authorization here,” said the guard.
Raphael put his head in his hands. “Let me get this right,” he said slowly. “You want to ask me if I can give you the authority to let me use the phone? This phone here.”
“Er, yes,” said the guard, an element of doubt slipping into his mind. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Do you give me the authorization?”
“What authorization?”
“Authorization to let you use the phone.”
“What? Of course I bloody do,” Raphael exploded. “Idiot. Give me the phone.” He snatched the phone out of the guard’s hand.
“There’s no need to be ungrateful about it.”
Glaring at the guard, Raphael held his extended finger above the digits. Then he replaced the receiver and put the phone down. “I can’t remember who I was calling!”
There was a knock on Harman’s office door. Light filtered in through the venetian blinds and mingled with the haze and smoke that filled the little cubicle. Harman didn’t look up.
“Come in, sergeant.”
“Sir, you wanted to see me about the Miriam girl case?” Swan stood at attention.
“Did you do a sweep of the surrounding buildings?”
“Yes, sir. We checked the apartments and hotels, like you said, and watched and walked the streets.”
“And?”
“No witnesses.”
“None?”
“None surviving, sir.” The sergeant shifted his weight to his right leg and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
Harman tapped his fingers on the table until he seemed to come to a decision. “Keep men out there. I want everything watched until something breaks.”
He didn’t know why he bothered sometimes. He knew it was just a waiting game and in the meantime they were just wasting valuable time. They could be out booking jaywalkers or rollerbladers without helmets. People were being slaughtered, almost in ritual style, and the body count was getting insane. The only similarities were the kind of kill. No, not even that any more. The type of person, if that’s what they could be called. And that Joshua Richards was always nearby.
“Whoever’s out there killing people has to make a mistake,” he said to the sergeant. “They can’t just disappear into thin air all the time. There has to be a living witness somewhere. For God’s sake, in a city full of nosey people, someone must have seen something. We’re not dealing with ghosts or demons.”
21
JOSHUA WAS EXAMINING HIS badge as he was walking through the offices. The badge was a thin strip of wire clipped onto his coat lapel. Considering they were in a hill, underground, it was remarkably scenic. All the offices were glass. The view extended for quite a distance. Between the offices and the walkways there were gardens full of lush bushes and shrubs. In some cases there were small ponds and trees. “Natural” fluorescent lights lit the entire complex, giving everything a hard and bright edge. The plants didn’t look healthy. Neither did the people working in the offices. They quickly scurried from view whenever he looked at them.
“Were you serious about chopping that guard’s pension in half?” Joshua asked conversationally.
“No. I can’t penalize him for doing his job, no matter how blindly he does it.” Raphael sighed. “Man, where do we find them?”
“Could you explain how this badge works?”
“Sure. When you walk through the scanner at the front counter the card is imprinted with the bio-read of your body. If it’s ever more than a foot away from you it sets off the alarm. We then enter your destination within the building into the personnel unit, and it’s imprinted on the card. If you go somewhere where you’re not authorized,” he said, flinching at the last word, “you set off the alarm. Then lots of security men come along and hit you. Something they’re good at.” He paused. “So I’m told,” he added.
As they walked Raphael supplied what little details he could. “I can’t tell you that much but I’ll do my best to get whatever you need.”
“Is it important stuff that’s gone missing?”
“Don’t know till we’ve found what’s gone missing. But all the information we have here is vitally important in the successful operation of today’s society.”
“So you think it’s important.”
“It is vitally important.”
“But really it’s information. What could anyone benefit by deleting files?”
“Hey, man, do you actually know what we do here?”
“No. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”
“Just come into my office and I’ll show you.”
Raphael had taken him through the glass corridors on the most direct route to his ante-office. A large sign on the wall stated: This is a government building. For the convenience and comfort of others you will not smoke.
He swiped his security card through the locking device, put his face into the retinal scanning unit and spoke his name aloud. He turned to Joshua. “You’ll have to scan as well. This is a super high-security area. You have to be double-checked before you can enter. If two people walk into this office on the strength of one scan then we’ll quickly have the rest of security here with lots of guns asking some scary questions. And neither of us will be allowed to go home.”
“That’s a bit extreme.”
“No, it isn’t. In fact, I want more security, and I’m always pushing it forward. We’ve got the best and no one else is close, not even the bad guys. Mainly because we’ve got them all here.”
Joshua bent over and placed his face on the scan unit. A red line flashed across his eye.
“You’ll have to say your name now, followed by the word ‘guest.’ ”
Joshua did as he was told. There was a beep, and he stood up. “Why all the security?”
“We know how many people are in the building. We also know where they are. If they’re in a high-security area, then it has to be monitored. For the records.”
Raphael sat down at his desk and turned on his system. The monitors in front of him sprang to life as his fingers flicked across the keyboard.
“So where’s all the information stored?” said Joshua, looking around the room.
“It’s not here,” Raphael responded in a surprised tone. “The Bureau is just a terminal hooked onto the information.”
“Where is it, then?”
“We don’t know.”
“What? You must know where it’s kept.”
“We don’t. No one asks. No one’s told, and no one remembers. It’s just somewhere. Maybe the guy who originally put it there knows but he’s most probably dead, and never told anyone.”
“How long’s it been like that?”
“Don’t know. It’s beyond my security level. But it’s most probably somewhere where you woul
dn’t expect it.”
“I’m surprised an institution this large, in charge of so much vital information, doesn’t know where it’s kept. Frankly, I find it quite disturbing.”
“Oh, we’re not in charge of it. Basically, we just keep the people out. Most non-Bureau people like yourself are level zero. And most people here are level zero as well. I’ve been here for about ten years and have moved to level one. That means there are ten of us. Now, the problem is that some level-one and level-two files are gone or have been altered.”
“What kind of information is that?”
“I’ll show you.” He looked up at the screens. “OK, I’ll just type in my name and hit enter.” His fingers flew over the keyboard in a blur. A fraction of a second later the screens were buzzing with information.
“That was quick,” Joshua said.
“No, it wasn’t. Used to be much faster, but we recently doubled the data resolution.”
“Do I want to know what that means?”
“No.” He looked up at Joshua. “You’d be worried.”
He pointed to the left-most screen. “These are my transactions that will automatically happen today. Things like how much power I’ve used, how much water, banking stuff. Remember, this is all level-one stuff. We go all the way up to level nine.”
He indicated the middle screen. “This screen documents any non-automatic transactions. Anything that has to be authorized by me the individual—not the head of security—will appear here. Bill paying, smartcard usage, that kind of thing. This fourth monitor has the things I do wrong. If I’m caught speeding or exceed my bank account limit, that kind of thing, it’s shown here.”
“This is all pretty impressive stuff.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet, man.”
“What’s this colorful squiggly line on this one?” Joshua pointed to the right-most monitor.
“OK, this is where you might get worried. Monitor three, there, and that line, represents my movements through the day.”
“What? You’re tracked?”
“We all are, friend. What do you think your ID card is for?”
“We’re tracked by that?”
“Mostly, although it really isn’t necessary. Without it we can track everyone to within six inches. It’s just easier with the card.”