But that would change before too long. Hank Cohen would be at the helm and Altschuler would be the executive in charge of special projects, which meant having nearly unlimited toys and the resources to play in the sandbox however he chose. Nirvana. Now this would truly be paradise. No need of money, a woman he loved, and the freedom to pursue his intellectual passions.
As he thought of Heather he consulted the clock in his head. She would probably be out another hour or so.
She was with a girlfriend scouting wedding venues, although they were leaning more and more toward getting married out of the public eye. To not announcing it until it was over. They could afford a royal wedding. The Taj Mahal could be their venue, and they could make their entrance in a golden chariot pulled by Clydesdales. But despite the pressure from the public who wanted to see a spectacle, they were all but certain to have a small wedding, attended by only their immediate families and a few close friends.
And the big question was, would Nick and Megan be among them? Were they even alive? And if they were found, would Nick be able to attend, even wearing a disguise? And how could they invite a mind reader? How ethical was it to expose friends and family to a man who could lay bare their souls without any warning?
Altschuler gasped.
The Internet was down. He hadn’t been aware he was even using it, but it’s absence made itself felt like a blow to the head.
It couldn’t be. He knew too much about the workings of the network. There was so much redundancy built into the system, especially in Northern California, that nothing short of an EMP blast could have killed it.
Or a dampening field.
And this wasn’t something one could just buy at the local electronics store. Which meant he was in trouble.
Altschuler rose up and threw a robe around his dripping frame. He continued dripping as he walked into his bedroom. “Rory,” he said to the house PDA, “are we getting a network signal in the house?”
“None at all.”
He picked up a landline phone on his end table and couldn’t get a dial tone.
“Initiate total lockdown!” he shouted. “Contact Ladarious on the in-house com system and tell him cells and landlines are both down, which can’t be accidental, and to be on the lookout for a possible breach.”
“Done,” said the PDA seconds later.
“Tile the views from all surveillance cameras evenly across the television in the master bedroom.”
The 90-inch monitor designed to blend in perfectly with his wall came to life, showing numerous views of both his home’s perimeter and a number of locations inside.
Altschuler blew out a sigh of relief. Everything looked normal. It was a false alarm.
But even so, something made him uncomfortable, something in the movements of the guards. He had a genius for many things, including a pattern-recognition ability to rival a chess grandmaster, and something wasn’t right. He couldn’t put his finger on what, but it didn’t matter.
“Rory, emergency reboot of surveillance system,” he ordered.
The images on his screen blinked out and the monitor remained blank for almost thirty second before the tiles returned.
But this time they told a very different tale.
The bodies of four bodyguards were spread out on the grounds in various poses, hit before they had the chance to take a shot or shout a warning.
Eight black-clad men wearing ski masks were approaching doors on each side of the home’s perimeter, while inside the two remaining bodyguards were checking locations within the house that didn’t show up on cameras. They must have checked the monitors before his reboot and been fooled into thinking there was no threat outside.
Things were scary, but there was nothing to worry about. Altschuler had initiated lockdown mode, so these eight intruders, professional and imposing as they were, would be no more successful getting through the doors than a wolf trying to blow down a little piggy’s brick house.
Altschuler’s heart leaped into his throat as the monitors showed the exact opposite. The men were entering effortlessly, from all four sides at once. Impossible!
His mind accelerated to yet another gear. He knew the two bodyguards remaining would try to be heroes and hold the fort, but they were outmanned and outgunned. He couldn’t let them sacrifice their lives for nothing. And Girdler had agreed to let Altschuler override any orders given to the security detail in case of an emergency.
Altschuler was about to contact his head bodyguard, Ladarious Thomas, through the intercom system, when Thomas beat him to the punch. “Sir, you were right,” he began, with military formality. “We have a breach at four locations. I don’t know where they came from. All outside monitors and sensors were negative.”
“Meet me at the panic room!” barked Altschuler. He reflexively tried to get his implants to call up the proper military language for what he wanted to communicate, and he was jarred once again by the absence of the Web. He shook this off and managed to drag the right words from his memory instead. “Do not engage. I repeat, do not engage.”
“Sir, I think we can—”
“Panic room!” interrupted Altschuler. “Now!”
“Roger that,” said Thomas. “Adams and I are on our way.”
Altschuler paused for just a moment to check the monitors. The assault force was closing in on the two remaining bodyguards, but they were already moving toward a stairway and should be able to make it to the second floor without a problem.
Altschuler, still in his robe, although finally not leaving puddles behind him, rushed through several wide hallways until he came to his destination. “Rory, open the panic room door,” he ordered. “Authorization code: my ass must really be in trouble.”
Access still showed red, and he didn’t hear the telltale sound of locks being released.
“Rory, I repeat,” he said in strained tones, “authorization code: my ass must really be in trouble.”
Several seconds passed. “Why isn’t the door unlocking?” he demanded, as Thomas and Adams finally joined him.
“I’m not sure,” replied his PDA. “Running a diagnostic now.”
But it was far too late for that. Altschuler knew it, even before he saw the canisters rolling toward the three of them, undoubtedly releasing a cloud of invisible gas as they did.
“Rory, tell Heather I love her more than she can imag—”
But his last word remained unspoken as the gas took effect and he, along with his two remaining bodyguards, crashed to the ground, inches from the doorway to a panic room that was supposed to have been their salvation.
PART 4
Duplicity
“A man without ethics is a wild beast loosed upon this world.
—Albert Camus
29
“Today’s your big day, Nick,” said the disembodied voice of the man calling himself Frank Earnest. “How are you feeling?”
“Bored,” said Hall, “but mentally and physically well-rested. I can promise my abilities will be strong and precise for fifteen to twenty minutes. More than enough time.”
“Good,” said Marc Fisher. “I got you a room at the Hay-Adams hotel. Kent Lombardo and a man named Gary Hogan will be escorting you. He and Hogan will become permanent fixtures in your life.”
“Why two?” asked Hall. “You know I won’t try anything while you have Megan.”
He had spoken with her every day, as his captor had promised, and she confirmed she was being treated well. So he had decided to appear as cooperative as possible, and to gradually even pretend to be coming around to Frank Earnest’s point of view.
The more belligerent Hall was, the more he seemed to resist, the more Earnest’s guard would be up. But the more he cooperated, the more likely Earnest would make a mistake. At least this was his hope.
And he had to admit that if everything Earnest said was true, his point of view did have some merit. Hall hadn’t followed politics for many years, but there was a time that he had. Closely. And afte
r doing so for only a year the amount of corruption and double-dealing became sickening. By both parties. By politicians who could look into the camera and say things they knew to be absolute lies with charm and conviction, even when there was video evidence of them saying precisely the opposite only months earlier.
What was startling to Hall was how easily they got away with it. Over and over again. It was one thing to lie when there was no record. Another to lie with total ease, not only knowing you were lying but that a record existed.
So he had stopped paying attention. What was the point? A pox on both their houses. He hadn’t checked recently, but he was pretty sure the approval rating of Congress was below the approval rating of the Ebola virus.
“Nick, you’ve got this all wrong. Don’t think of your two escorts as men whose job is to prevent you from escaping. I know you won’t try to escape. Think of them more as bodyguards. There to protect you. Like you’re a delicate crystal vase.”
“Now how about the truth.”
“That is part of the truth,” said Fisher. “The rest of the truth is that I’m very careful. And one never knows. And by using two men, I can ensure there are eyes on you at all times—even if one of them needs to use the bathroom. And just so you won’t be surprised, Mr. Lombardo will also be bringing two bracelets for you to wear, designed just for you, one on each wrist.”
“How thoughtful,” said Hall wryly. “But he doesn’t need to buy me jewelry to get me to go to the hotel with him. A nice dinner and flowers would be plenty.”
“Very amusing.”
“Okay. I’ll bite. What horrible thing do the bracelets do?”
“Not horrible. They have sophisticated electronics built in. Each creating a wireless-free zone around your body. One would do, but I’m careful, so they are redundant.”
“I’ve already told you. You don’t need to restrict the Internet. I won’t use my connection to escape or get help. Not while you have Megan. You know that.”
“Your arguments didn’t sway me before, so why do you think they will now?”
Hall remained silent.
“Each bracelet has a tiny light indicating it’s working. No way you could break both of them without Lombardo or Hogan noticing what you were trying to do. But even so, if one stops working, it will sound an alarm. And since your two . . . escorts, will always be within range of you, they’ve been ordered to shoot you with a tranquilizer dart the instant they hear this.”
“Good to know,” said Hall, unconcerned. “Next question. You’re aware I can only do this for fifteen minutes—not the entire day. So why the hotel room? Parking a car nearby would work.”
“I appreciate that you’re trying to save me money. The Hay-Adams is a pricey hotel,” he said, and although Hall couldn’t see him, he said it in such a way that Hall knew he was smiling. “But I want you to be as comfortable as possible. I’ll make sure you have a full-sized keyboard along with a laptop. You’ll be much more productive typing in a record of the dirt you dredge up at a hotel desk rather than inside a car.”
Hall nodded. Voice recognition had become nearly perfect and future generations would grow up becoming comfortable dictating their writings to a computer. But Hall still preferred to compose with a keyboard. He could touch-type very fast, and for some reason he was better able to organize his thoughts this way. He had been doing some writing to ease the long stretches of boredom and they must have observed how quickly his fingers flew over the keys.
If Earnest would let him use the Internet, he could record everything he learned instantly in the cloud, which would be a hundred times more efficient than typing notes. But the man was smart. If Hall was able to use his implants, he would send all the information he had to General Girdler, who could activate enormous resources to find and free Megan no matter how long it took.
His cold turkey withdrawal from the Internet had been nearly unbearable for days, but like anyone who had had one of his senses impaired, he was learning to adjust to the new reality. He still subconsciously tried to call up information several times an hour, and it was always jarring when this request returned nothing, but he was coping with this better each day.
“Since you can only read one person at a time,” continued Fisher, “the man you’ll be searching for, or feeling for—or whatever it is you do—is named Guy Shaw. Have you heard of him?”
Hall shook his head.
“No reason you should have. He’s the president of the labor union SEIU, which stands for Service Employees International Union. He’s arguably the biggest fish there is in Democratic Party politics. SEIU is sometimes referred to as the ‘purple ocean’ at political events, because members all wear lavender shirts. Anyway, this union represents more than two million workers in over a hundred jobs, mostly focusing on health care, government, and property services.”
“Property services?”
“Janitors, security officers, food service workers, that sort of thing.” He paused. “The Democratic Party is composed of very defined constituencies, representing large and important blocs of voters. Blacks, labor, women, gays, Hispanics, and so on. Labor is one of the most important of these, and SEIU is arguably the most important union. In fact, this organization was instrumental in helping to get both Barack Obama and Timothy Cochran elected, donating and spending more than any other organization during their campaigns. Their support for a candidate doesn’t ensure he becomes the Democratic Party nominee, but let’s just say it goes a long way.”
Fisher paused for a moment to let Hall consider what he had said. “So find me dirt and vulnerabilities I can use. And remember, I need dirt that you can find evidence for outside of Guy Shaw’s mind. Knowing there once was a body doesn’t help much. I need to actually be able to find the body. Understand?”
“Yes,” said Hall simply.
“Good. The faster we get my candidate set up for success, the faster you and Megan can get on with your lives.”
Hall resisted an overwhelming urge to shake his head and frown. But he had to maintain a poker face. To try to lull Earnest to sleep.
While Hall’s strategy was to stall for time, he had a feeling this wasn’t really necessary. Earnest would be a fool to kill him too early, even after Hall had supplied him with enough compromising information to ensure his candidate’s nomination. He would wait until the Republican nominee was coronated and let Hall continue to work his magic. Then, just weeks before the election, when it was too late to do any damage control, he would come out with a devastating blow aimed at the Republican, culled from the results of Hall’s probing.
Earnest’s candidate would sail into the White House in a landslide.
“But let me caution you,” said Fisher. “Guy Shaw didn’t get to the top of SEIU by being a Boy Scout. So you’d better not play any games with me and pretend you couldn’t find anything useful. And what you find had better check out. I know we both want Megan Emerson to continue to get VIP treatment.”
Hall’s eyes burned with white-hot rage but he managed to keep this from his voice. “You’ll be very satisfied with my results,” he replied. “You can count on it.”
30
Hall’s stay at the Hay-Adams lasted a little more than an hour. He made sure his two guards knew that most of this time was necessary for him to type up the information before he forgot.
By now Hall was used to the underbelly of humanity. Everyone hid ugly secrets and he had been exposed to them all.
But most in this group of power brokers took the concept of ugly secrets to another level entirely. They had the usual sexual perversions and idiosyncrasies that all humans had, but the corruption was off the scale. This wasn’t surprising to Hall. Some who rose to positions of power did so because they were supremely gifted, but many climbed the ladder because they were ruthless and possessed very loose ethics.
And there was also the age-old problem of who watched the watchers. Guy Shaw, head of possibly the most powerful labor union in the country, had very few
checks on his power. He was the fox guarding the henhouse. So corruption became irresistible, because there was little chance of getting caught. And it was easy for those in power to find crimes they could convince themselves didn’t really hurt anyone.
Beating a man to death was one thing. This was something most people would never do, even knowing they couldn’t be caught.
But what about insider trading? Buying shares you knew were going to rise on a big announcement. Who was this hurting? Those selling the shares prior to the announcement were glad you bought them. If you had not, someone else would have. After the news was out and the stock rose, those who bought your shares wanted to buy them, and would have bought them from someone else if not from you. So who was hurt?
This was the type of crime that only a veritable saint, the most ethical of men, could resist if they were sure they wouldn’t be caught.
It was also true that a few of these power brokers were compassionate and well-meaning. Even among the most powerful, Hall continued to find good, talented people, who rose to the top but still maintained the strictest of ethical standards. People who restored Hall’s faith in humanity, or at least ensured he didn’t lose it entirely.
But Guy Shaw wasn’t one of these. In fact, he was about as far from this characterization as it was possible to get.
***
Marc Fisher was positively giddy when Hall returned from the Hay-Adams hotel. Just securing the complete support of Guy Shaw, alone, would make him the odds-on favorite to win the primary. And he never doubted for a moment that Hall would return with more than enough leverage for him to put Shaw in his pocket a dozen times over.
“What did you find, Nick?” asked Fisher when Hall was back in his room.
“I’ve taken lots of notes and I’ll write these up into a full report. But I can give you the gist of it now. And I can lead you to the bodies in every case. I know where his secret computer files are hidden and the passwords to get into them, so you can get all the evidence you need.”
BrainWeb Page 19