by Adam Hamdy
“I’ll be as quick as I can,” she assured Wallace. She hovered at the door, surprised to find herself reluctant to leave. She’d noticed how he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her during dinner, and his gaze had electrified her. She hadn’t laughed so freely for longer than she could remember. She’d always pushed people away, but it was getting harder for her to ignore the feelings she was developing for Wallace. Were her emotions real? Did he feel the same way? Ash didn’t handle uncertainty well. She had to be sure.
She approached Wallace, who was standing by the television, trying to figure out the remote. He turned, surprised to see her drawing close. They stood facing each other, and Ash felt a force more powerful than gravity pull her toward him. The world around her shrank into insignificance as she wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him. There was no doubting his feelings for her. He pulled her close and held her tight. Ash felt a wave of excitement and longed to stay in Wallace’s arms, but this was new territory for her and she needed to move slowly. Besides, she had work to do.
“I need to go,” she said awkwardly as she retreated from him.
He looked at her with a stunned smile on his face. “Sure,” he responded, even more awkwardly.
“You going to be OK?” she asked.
“Yes,” he assured her. He shook himself from his daze, grabbed the remote and sat on the bed.
“Stay put, and don’t open the door,” Ash cautioned as she left the room.
“Be careful,” Wallace returned. He switched on the TV and the room filled with the sound of a crowd cheering: The Price is Right.
She climbed into the Blazer, which was parked outside, and reversed away from the green and white building before turning left on to Highway 41 and heading south. The quiet road wound through green countryside and mature woodland, and as Ash followed its lazy turns she found herself contemplating the kiss. There was no doubting how she felt about him, and he seemed equally drawn to her. She’d never been in this situation before and even in the first bloom of romantic excitement, Ash found herself worrying about how this would complicate their relationship. She should be focused on the Pendulum case, not daydreaming about a kiss, no matter how wonderful it had been. And how could she consider bringing another person into her life until she’d found a way to exorcise Nicholas from her dreams? she thought darkly. She and Wallace were going to have to talk when she returned to the motel.
Ash stayed on 41 for a couple of miles, passing only a handful of vehicles headed in the other direction. As she neared the center of town, she saw Walker Avenue. She made a right and kept her eyes open for number 324. The unmarked road curled round manicured lawns, past houses that sat on expansive plots of land. Each of the homes was different, from small bungalows that seemed to shrink in the space around them, to huge two-story redbricks that dominated their plots.
About a quarter of a mile from the intersection, Ash spotted “324” stamped on a battered mailbox that stood beside a potholed driveway on her left. She swung the Chevy into the drive and followed it past a short run of trees to find a dilapidated Arts and Crafts-style home. There were gaping holes in the red-tiled roof and white paint was flaking off the wooden walls. An old silver Ford pick-up was parked next to an even older navy blue Buick Skylark. Both vehicles were losing the battle against the rust that was spreading from their wheel arches.
Ash pulled to a halt beside the Ford, climbed out, and started across the rutted drive. She saw movement in the house, and an old lady with full, drooping cheeks came to one of the upstairs windows and peered down at her. Her eyes were magnified by thick glasses, the edges of which were lost beneath scraggly curls of gray hair.
“Whatever you’re selling, we don’t want it.”
Ash looked toward the hoarse voice and saw an elderly man standing on the porch. He was so thin that he was almost lost inside his red-and-white checked shirt and frayed blue jeans. His swollen, red feet were wrapped inside a pair of orthopedic sandals, and he tottered so unsteadily that Ash thought a harsh word might knock him down. The man’s narrow eyes tracked her as she approached, his brow furrowed beneath his bald pate.
“I’m tellin’ you, you’re not welcome,” he said weakly.
“Mr. Rosen?” Ash asked as she reached the foot of the stairs.
“I ain’t givin’ you my name, lady,” he replied. “An’ I don’t wanna know yours either.”
“My name’s Chris Alton, Mr. Rosen. I’m with the West Virginia Veterans’ Benevolent Fund. I’m sorry to trouble you during this difficult time—”
“Difficult time? What difficult time?” the old man interrupted. “What the heck are you talkin’ about?”
“He’s dead, ain’t he?” the old lady observed, her voice devoid of emotion. She looked like a wraith, standing behind an ancient screen door.
The old man glanced at her and then turned to face Ash, his mouth hanging open as though someone had just punched him in the gut.
“Well? I’m right, ain’t I?” the old lady challenged Ash, stepping on to the porch.
Ash thought about the Interpol notice. It never mentioned Mike Rosen, it just said Wallace was wanted in connection with a terrorist attack. She only knew about Rosen from Wallace. His identity wasn’t public. She’d screwed up. These people didn’t know their son was dead.
“Well?” the old lady pressed, her tone hardening.
“I’m afraid so,” Ash replied.
“No!” the old man exclaimed, clutching his chest and steadying himself against the porch rail.
“Edward, you need to sit down,” the old lady observed, taking the man by the arm and leading him inside. “You’d better come in, too,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Ash, who was suddenly weighed down by crushing guilt at the thought she’d inadvertently broken such terrible news.
Touched by their unexpected sorrow, Ash moved slowly up the stairs toward the tattered screen door.
42
Wallace flicked through the channels like a hunter stalking elusive prey. He couldn’t settle. The kiss filled his mind, making it impossible for him to concentrate. He replayed the moment again and again, wondering what had prompted Ash, worrying about what it would do to their relationship, imagining falling into bed with her and spending the day in each other’s arms. He felt guilt at the thought he had betrayed Connie’s memory, but he needed to believe that love wasn’t finite, that his feelings for Ash didn’t diminish the way he felt about Connie. He wished he’d never let Ash go, and his mind suddenly filled with the multitude of horrors she could face when she arrived at the address in Rosen’s file. Hostile parents? An angry sibling? An FBI trap? An armed gang in Pendulum masks? The rapid succession of flickering images did nothing to allay his fears, which only grew into a hungry feeling of regret: he should have gone with her.
He was surprised by how much he missed her already. The kiss had only cemented the feelings that had developed over the past few days. He longed to simply be around her, to hear her talk, saying anything just so that his ears would be filled by the sound of her voice.
Steven Byrne.
He registered the name, but, lost in his thoughts, kept clicking before he realized he’d just seen the face of Max’s father. Wallace tapped his way back to the correct channel: C-SPAN. On screen, surrounded by a gaggle of camera-toting journalists who yelled a steady stream of questions, and a handful of imposing bodyguards, Steven Byrne was climbing the steps of an imposing building. A lower third title read “Senate Commerce Subcommittee Hearings.”
Wallace was unnerved by the sight of the man who’d lost so much because of him. His body crackled with nervous energy and he could feel his heart start to race as his emotions surged. Shame, fear, remorse, guilt, anger washed over him in successive waves, but all were nothing compared to the tsunami of regret. If he’d lived a different life Steven Byrne’s children might still be alive. Connie might still be with him.
“Earlier this week, tech billionaire Steven Byrne arrived at t
he Russell Senate Office Building to testify before the Senate Commerce Subcommittee on Communication, Technology, Innovation, and the Internet in relation to hearings it’s been holding on the International Online Security Act, the so-called Blake-Castillo Bill.” The speaker had the deep, modulated tones of a network anchor. “Mr. Byrne’s appearance before the committee has been contentious because many blame his son for sparking the call for internet regulation. The Pendulum murders led to widespread calls for an end to online anonymity.”
The camera cut to Steven Byrne, now seated behind a large table. Next to him sat an older, bald-headed, sharp-faced man in a suit, who was whispering in Steven’s ear.
“Many were expecting the increasingly reclusive Mr. Byrne to refuse to testify, but he attended the proceedings in Room S-R-two-five-three with no sign of reluctance,” the voiceover continued.
A wide shot of the fifty-feet-square, wood-paneled room showed that it was divided into two halves. The first half, nearest the camera, was the auditorium, where press, politicians, lobbyists, and members of the public sat and watched proceedings. The second half was effectively the performers’ stage. Testifying witnesses sat at a baize-covered long table that stood between the auditorium and the dais. Ahead of it, raised above all else in the room, was a long concave bench where the twenty-two members of the committee were seated. Wallace saw Steven’s companion whisper something in his ear and wished the television microphones could pick up what was being said.
“Mr. Byrne’s testimony did not go the way many had predicted, and some commentators say that it has transformed the bill’s chances of being passed,” the voiceover explained.
A chubby middle-aged blonde in a smart navy blue suit stepped through the large door behind the ranking senator’s seat. She was followed by a furtive aide, who whispered some hurried words before scurrying away. The camera cut to a close-up as the woman took her seat, and a lower third title appeared on screen: “Barbara Manchin—R, Nebraska.”
“Mr. Byrne, I’m pleased to have you before the committee here today,” Manchin began. “What I’m going to do is briefly summarize why you’re here before we move on to your sworn testimony. The International Online Security Act is currently before Congress and proposes changes to the way we regulate the internet. The two most sweeping changes are the introduction of digital passports, which will be issued by the federal government to the citizens of the United States to bring an end to the era of anonymous commerce and activity online. The second proposed change is the creation of a central settlement system, utilizing Blockchain technology to clear all online payments denominated in US dollars through the Federal Reserve. Blockchain is a self-contained digital audit technology that prevents fraud or tampering, creating a totally reliable, bulletproof transaction mechanism. The proponents of this bill, Representatives Blake and Castillo, argue that these two measures will ensure safety and transparency on the internet, and put a stop to the millions of harmful anonymous interactions that take place online every single day.”
Manchin paused, and the coverage shifted to Steven Byrne, who was impassive, but Wallace thought he looked wrung out. His skin seemed grayer than when they’d first met in Jean Mata’s, and his eyes were ringed by dark shadows. He had the troubled air of a man who might be involved in murder. Or someone who’d lost his son and daughter, Wallace caught himself thinking.
The camera moved back to Senator Manchin as she continued. “Mr. Byrne, you have been invited here because of your particular technology expertise. After a distinguished career serving our nation in the First Ranger Battalion, you founded Erimax Security, one of the world’s leading providers of digital security software. Your software guards many of the world’s most prestigious institutions, including, I believe, this one, meaning the safety of my inbox is literally in your hands.” Manchin paused for the obligatory chuckle that rolled around the room, before continuing. “A number of your peers have come before this committee and argued that the passage of this bill would stifle innovation in the technology sector. You have been a pioneer and an innovator, and your tragic personal experiences give you a unique perspective on how we might best protect ourselves from the very worst influences of technology.”
Manchin paused, letting her words linger in the air, and the camera returned to Steven.
“I support this legislation,” he said into the microphone, and his response drew a few gasps from the people behind him.
Wallace didn’t completely understand what was happening, but the camera moved to Manchin, whose face expressed surprise as she looked down at her witness. Something important had taken place, and, as the commentator had noted, things hadn’t gone the way people expected.
“The internet has always been a place of experimentation and exploration and we should embrace that, but there is no reason that commerce and communication needs to be carried out under a cloak of anonymity,” Steven added as the camera reverted to him. “Concealing our identities only protects those with something to hide. The Panama Papers showed us what people will do when they are shielded by anonymity. People are simply more likely to break the law if they think they can’t be identified, and my own experience tells me that even the most respectable, civilized people can behave reprehensibly when given anonymity. I lost my family . . .” He trailed off, his voice fading with emotion, and Wallace felt a pang of guilt.
Steven took a sip of water. “But that’s not the only reason I support this bill,” he continued. “The internet should serve society, not the other way round. The concerns of big businesses like mine should not trump the needs of society. Business will always find a way to thrive.”
Manchin’s face filled the screen, her expression one of pleasant surprise. “Your industry colleagues have accused the legislation of being misguided at best, and at worst, downright irresponsible. They say that millions of people who cannot or will not obtain digital passports will effectively be denied access to the Net, because the legislation will forbid ISPs from connecting people who don’t have one. Do you think that this bill will rob people of their freedom?”
“No, I don’t,” Steven replied. “As I understand it, every American will be issued with a digital biometric passport, in the same way we get social security numbers. The only people who would lose out are those who are here illegally, but I think the laws you make have to serve the interests of our citizens.”
“And you’re not worried about the fact that people will be tracked and identified at every site they visit?” Manchin challenged.
“It’s already happening, senator,” Steven responded. “Most people just don’t know about it. Your ISP knows exactly where you go and which sites you visit. All this bill does is make it absolutely clear that our online activity is being monitored, and I believe that awareness will encourage people to take greater responsibility for their actions.”
“I see,” Manchin observed. “And you don’t see any issues over implementation? What about the foreigner question?”
“Technology can do whatever we want it to. If my digital passport is linked to my fingerprint, my identity can be confirmed every time I go online. Whichever way we choose to do it, implementation will not present a problem,” Steven said. “As for the foreigner question, I believe this issue is being debated at the UN Digital Security summit in Geneva, with a view to using the Blake-Castillo Bill as a model around the world. Japan has already signaled its intent to follow our lead. In future, digital passports may just become passports—the way in which we identify people whether they’re online or in the real world.”
Wallace began to think he’d misjudged the man. Steven Byrne was trying to salvage something positive from his personal tragedy. He was supporting an attempt to make the internet a safer environment for everyone. Wallace didn’t understand the logistics of what was being proposed, but he was certain that, no matter how drunk he’d been, he would never have been so cruel if he hadn’t been able to hide behind a shroud of anonymity. Would a man with a mul
ti-billion-dollar business, someone who was involved in a mission to transform the digital world, have the time or inclination to coordinate an assassination attempt?
“And what are your thoughts on the proposed Federal Central Settlement System?” Manchin continued.
“I have to believe that a central, secure ledger maintained by the Federal Reserve would prevent a lot of fraud and corruption,” Steven replied.
Manchin leaned over to confer with her neighbor, and the two of them exchanged whispered words before she returned to her microphone. “Thank you, Mr. Byrne. The committee would like to extend its appreciation of the time you’ve taken from your busy schedule to come here today. We’re going to take a short recess before the next witness,” she said, her voice oozing gratitude.
The camera returned to the wide shot as the room erupted in turmoil. Steered by his older companion and surrounded by bodyguards, Steven tried to push his way to the exit through a throng of journalists who shouted questions, all of which went unanswered.
“Many in the industry were shocked by Steven Byrne’s testimony and wonder whether his personal tragedy has clouded his judgment,” the voiceover continued.
The screen was suddenly filled by the face of a blond-haired man in his early twenties. He was wearing a black T-shirt that bore the legend “Digital Freedom Forever.” A group of young protestors in replica T-shirts stood in the background chanting, “Hands off our Net!”
“Steven Byrne made a fortune from a free internet, and like the worst kind of pioneer, now that he’s got his ranch and homestead, he wants everything regulated so that others can’t follow in his footsteps,” the man said angrily.
The camera cut to a short, red-cheeked woman with russet hair who wore a baseball cap bearing the Texan star. Behind her stood a diverse group of men and women, many of whom were waving the Stars and Stripes.