Catch and Kill

by J D Lasica

  Volkov took in the intense scent of a nearby bougainvillea vine. “An Israeli scholar, Yuval Noah Harari, argues in his book Sapiens that the ability to create binding fictions is what enabled humans to become the most dominant species on the planet. And what are stories if not simulations of reality? Religions, money, language, social norms are all subjective realities—human fictions that have enabled societies to flourish. They lose their power the moment people no longer believe in them.”

  “I’m no scholar, but that sounds reasonable,” Kasparian offered.

  “We’ve already begun experimenting with this. We’ve found that the longer the girls spend in AR and VR, the harder it is for them to readjust to the real world. It’s amazing how plastic the brain is at that age. As we develop, we edit, we distort, we censor, we select, we discard, we reshape our reality to suit our self-identity, the myth of ourselves. People resist the idea that we’re just bags of chemicals. But science says you can change someone’s behavior in major ways by altering brain chemistry. AR and VR can get you there.”

  “I don’t see the girls wearing headsets.”

  “The technology isn’t apparent to the eye. It blends in with their daily routines. And we’re finding that the longer you keep the girls in an alternate reality, the easier it is for them to not just adapt but to internalize this new world. This construct. This new story we’re telling.”

  Kasparian’s voice got excited. “So you can massage the behaviors and social norms to whatever suits your purpose.” He saw where this was going.

  Volkov nodded toward the leaderboard displaying the Top 20 list of the girls with the most points. “Here, the social capital—the literal currency—is all about points.”

  “And Fantasy Live?”

  “Fantasy Live is a living laboratory. How would our deepest desires play out if left to our own devices? Fantasy Live removes the filters of culture, religion, law, civil society. Our goal is to get you out of your comfort zone, your safe space of routine and conformity, and to reimagine feelings, urges—instincts and impulses that have been buried for decades. We’re modeling the future. Our researchers are already collecting a fabulous amount of data about people’s behaviors when stripped to the essence.”

  “Are you saying, Incognito, that each of the Seven Spheres will impose this same version of the Reset?”

  “Each of the Seven Spheres will be free to experiment as you see fit. Immersion Bay is my experiment.”

  He would entertain other approaches after a period of experimentation. But ultimately it would be his call. He saw the Seven Spheres as seven divisions of the same global corporation, eventually replacing nation-states. Was this not a superior model for the future? Putting aside clueless biblical scholars, after the rise of the Holy Roman Empire, the British empire, and the American empire, was this not foretold in the Book of Daniel?

  The fourth kingdom upon earth shall be diverse from all the kingdoms, and it shall devour the whole earth, and trample it down, and break it in pieces.

  Kasparian jolted him out of his reverie. “Will we be happier?”

  Volkov had always found happiness an odd concept. Arbitrary. Elusive. “In the long arc of history, we’ve been heading in the wrong direction, to a future of dislocation, distrust, and disintegration of the social compact. To a planet that will soon be unlivable. The rate of technological change is accelerating at a breakneck pace. People know in their bones the current trends are unsustainable. So millions will flock to a governing authority that brings order out of the chaos.”

  He mused on Kasparian’s question. “Will people be happier? That hasn’t been on our roadmap.”

  A crashing sound assaulted the peaceful calm of the Commons. Someone hurled a chair through the window of a second-story apartment unit, sending it skittering across the landing. Three guards hustled up the stairway to put down the disturbance. But not before Bo Finnerty climbed through the broken shards and yelled down to the crowd of strangers.

  “They’ve got my daughters! Both of them!”

  Seconds later, two guards grabbed Finnerty by the upper arms and dragged him away to a more secure location.

  Finnerty misjudged this particular audience.

  “Apologies for the drama.” Volkov shot up, signaling the tour was over.

  “And we must take our leave.” Kasparian stood and gave a half-bow. “Thank you again for your hospitality.”

  “Safe flight.” Volkov shook hands. “I have business to attend to.”

  50

  Samana Cay

  As Evelyn and Nico walked the public promenade along the southern bluff, she peppered Nico with questions. How did he know Andrew Bayless? What was Red Team Zero? How did they get involved with the owner of Axom? How did any of this connect to the strange events in the U.S. she was seeing in the news? It took a while to unspool the story, but he was straight with her.

  “Those are serious charges you’re making,” she said at last.

  “Every word is true,” Nico said. “And every second matters. Will you help?”

  “There’s not much I can do. But maybe my ambassador can.” She pulled out her phone and texted someone.

  “Ambassador? So they’re on staff? Can they be trusted?”

  “We’ll see, won’t we?”

  So far, Nico was running low on trust in this place. “I’ll lie low thirty yards ahead. Signal me when it’s safe.”

  Evelyn nodded and Nico headed for a bench down the promenade.

  It wasn’t long before a dark-haired woman in sunglasses emerged from the back gate of the resort. She and Evelyn had an animated back and forth, and he couldn’t tell if it was going well or he’d have to bolt. He checked the Scorpion in his pocket and kept an eye out for military guards.

  The brunette woman looked distraught at what Evelyn was telling her, and Evelyn grasped her arm in support. After several minutes, they both approached.

  “Hello, Nico.” The woman’s voice quavered. “My name is Rachel Torres. Let’s go to my house. We can talk in private there.”

  Nico wasn’t ready to trust her, but he followed Evelyn’s lead. They followed Rachel to her car, a Hummer H3, and headed east along Columbus Highway. After five minutes, they turned off and took a winding road up the spine of the island’s tallest mountain. Rachel pulled into the driveway of a sleek cliffside home with a splashy view of an aquamarine cove on the north shore.

  For a while, Rachel seemed conflicted, gravitating between playing gracious host and cross-examining district attorney. She served them bottles of Pirate Republic ale from the Bahamas as they sat on two chairs facing her on the white leather sofa. The place looked more like a Manhattan penthouse than a tropical bungalow, with modular furniture and artsy wall hangings. Evelyn did most of the talking, bringing Rachel up to speed on what Nico had passed along.

  “How did you wind up working for these people?” Evelyn asked.

  Rachel clasped her hands and began her story. “I was a broke psychotherapist in Mallorca and needed the money. A year ago I saw this ad for ambassadors for a new luxury resort and applied. I’ll admit it was an odd interview. They asked me to imagine myself as an old-fashioned Playboy centerfold—but a playmate with superpowers who can confidently step out of the centerfold and wield my powers to bend any man to my will. ‘What would you say to him? How would you treat him?’ Honestly, they made it sound cool. And as an expert in the male psyche, I was fascinated by the promise of Fantasy Live, with being able to help people fulfill their deepest desires.”

  “Maybe those desires should stay deep,” Nico suggested. “Can I stream my phone to your TV?”

  “Sure. This is a smart house. Latest everything.”

  “How can you afford this?” Evelyn looked around at the upscale furnishings. “You said you were broke.”

  “They’re very generous with their compensation packages. Free housing, free health care, you name it.”

  “And I’m sure the mob has a great dental plan,” Nico said
.

  “Don’t judge me.” Rachel picked up an orchid-watercolor throw pillow and straightened it on the sofa. “I’m not sure what you think is happening here.”

  “Let me show you.” Nico found the wireless signal and streamed the Zug video. He followed that with news footage of the infectious outbreak along the East Coast with symptoms ranging from hallucinations and memory loss to extreme paranoia. As the videos played, Rachel’s expression changed from skepticism to concern and anguish. At the end, she wiped away a tear.

  Evelyn leaned forward to show support. “Your boss, Incognito, is responsible for this. Rachel, you said Fantasy Live was an open, transparent, welcoming place. That’s a lie. We need to do something. You’re saying you didn’t know about any of this?”

  “No, of course not. All the girls I worked with said they were Opt-Ins.”

  Nico didn’t ask about Opt-Ins but he didn’t need to. “We think a lot of these ‘girls’ were kidnapped during the Disappearance.”

  Rachel’s mouth dropped open. “Like from the news?”

  “Yes, Rachel, exactly,” Evelyn said.

  “Is that even your real name?” Nico set his ale on the crystal table’s drink pad. He had some cross-examining of his own to do.

  “It’s Rosalia Torres. Our clients are overwhelmingly from the U.S., so we Americanize things to make our clients feel at home.”

  Evelyn said, “Hell, Rosalia works just fine for me.”

  “Tell us more about the island,” Nico said. “Layout, logistics, military presence.”

  She hesitated, perhaps pausing to consider how her life and career had just taken a hundred eighty degree turn.

  Evelyn clasped the woman’s bare knee. “Are you going to help us?”

  Rachel-Rosalia closed her eyes and regained her composure. “Let me tell you what I know.”

  Nico and Evelyn sat back as Rachel—he’d stick with the name Rachel—proceeded to sketch out the contours of the island. Samana Village, Fantasy Live, War Games Valley, the Lab on the southeast shore, and Immersion Bay to the east.

  When she finished, Nico asked, “Where is Alex Wyatt being held?”

  “I—I don’t know. They took him away in a National Guard jeep.”

  Nico felt his phone buzz. An alert. “Viper” Matthews was approaching the island in a large Boston Whaler fishing boat with a trove of weapons below deck. His message asked, Where should I dock?

  “Do you have a wharf near here?” Nico wanted to see if she was really on board.

  “Sure. There’s a small wharf for this development a hundred yards away, just down the pathway.”

  “Room for one more visitor?”

  “Whatever you need.”

  His phone pinged again. A text from Annika about Lucid, the guy they’d been tracking on Samana Cay. They’d not only hacked his location but cracked the signal from a video he just began to live-stream. A video from his phone? Nico wondered.

  “I want to throw this up on your screen,” he said. “It’s coming from Lucid. He’s in some kind of small room with … that’s the guy from Wildspitz who was shooting at us on the slopes!”

  “What?” Rachel turned to watch the video feed.

  Nico started providing color commentary. “It looks like they have a prisoner. Wait, he’s giving us a better angle now, getting closer to the captive. It’s a woman. Look at how they tied her up.”

  “See!” Evelyn said. “This is who you’re working for!”

  “Wait.” Nico peered at the large color screen. “That’s Kaden!”

  Rachel looked aghast at the spectacle playing out on her TV.

  “Kaden came with the others looking for Alex,” Evelyn said.

  Nico shot to his feet. “She’s bleeding! Look at that closeup! She looks like the patients we just saw on the news heading into the E.R.”

  “You don’t think—” Evelyn began.

  “She’s been infected,” Nico said. “And she’s gonna die if we don’t do something.”

  51

  Samana Cay

  Volkov switched on his visor’s comms and saw that Lucid had joined Savić in interrogating Kaden Baker. He sent an alert notifying Lucid to pick up.

  Now that Kasparian was gone, he could get back to executing Project Ezekiel. I don’t have time for these inconsequential interlopers. Need to get to the Lab and talk with Bashir about the final countdown to unleash the Fantasy Strain.

  “Yes, Chairman?”

  “I’m at Immersion Bay.”

  Volkov watched the two mini-screens in front of him. One showing Lucid in an interrogation room, the other showing Lucid’s Eyecam feed.

  “You’re here?” Lucid stammered.

  “I want Bailey Finnerty interrogated next to Kaden Baker.”

  “But I don’t see what they have to do with each—”

  “Do it! I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “Yes, Chairman.”

  Nico met Viper at the wharf at the base of the mountain. Nico had only met him in passing at that Greenwich Village nightclub the night before they flew to Zurich. Now, in the morning light, he got a better look at him. Viper was maybe six-foot-two, nearly as tall as Nico but built like a tank. Late thirties with a cueball head. He carried a hard look that said he’d seen it all and didn’t want to talk about it.

  They greeted each other as they tied the Boston Whaler to the pier.

  “No problem with the security patrols out there?” Nico asked.

  “The fishing gear helped.” He nodded toward the deep sea fishing rods at the boat’s aft. “Hundreds of pleasure boats out there today.”

  Viper disappeared into the hold and emerged with three Heckler & Koch HK416s, a bad-ass piece of firepower, and 100-round drum magazines. They began hiking up the trail to Rachel’s house.

  “Isn’t that the gun—” Nico began.

  “That took out bin Laden? Yeah,” Viper said.

  “You were Special Forces?”

  “Afghanistan. Two tours.” Viper didn’t seem to be the loquacious type, which was fine by Nico.

  They got a fix on Lucid’s location, thanks to Annika. It was smack in the middle of the camp at Immersion Bay. Rachel said the medical center there was dispensing vaccine shots. They decided Evelyn would stay here and sit tight. Rachel couldn’t get them past the military checkpoint, but she could drive them to a point just west of Immersion Bay where they could infiltrate the camp by foot.

  “Does Rachel need to enter the camp with you?” Evelyn asked.

  Rachel looked at the spare semi Viper brought. “Forget it. I’m not going to fire that thing.”

  “You don’t have to,” Nico said. “It’s for Kaden. But you have to come with us. You know where the med center is, we know where Kaden is. Annika texted to say they’re administering the vaccine all over the island.”

  “I’ve seen vials of the vaccine and the cure.” Rachel looked stressed by this whole ordeal. “It may be too late for the vaccine, but I'm not a doctor.”

  Nico clicked the magazine into his HK416. “Then let's find one. Let’s go.”

  Kaden drifted in and out of consciousness. She could no longer feel her hands or feet. Her breathing came in short, labored gasps. Her back had tightened into one giant constrictor knot.

  Her eyelids fluttered open. She saw a figure hover above her in a hazy mist. She recognized who it was. She tried to reach up and touch her face but couldn’t reach her.

  “Mom,” she whispered.

  “Where’s my Kaden?” Her mother was always playing tricks like that.

  “Mom, I’m right here.”

  “Are you under the covers? I can’t find you, you silly bean.”

  “Mom, I missed you.”

  “Missed you too, little love.” Deirdre Blackburn’s face started to fade. “She thinks I’m her mother.”

  “She’s hallucinating.” It was a stranger’s voice. A voice with an Arabic accent. “One of the side effects.”

  “Side effects?” Savić�
�s baritone voice. “What’s she got? Can we catch it?”

  “Don’t worry. You’re safe.”

  Kaden blacked out.

  Alex Wyatt paced across the bamboo floor of the apartment unit at Immersion Bay—their “temporary detainment quarters.” His mind kept going to Valerie, his girlfriend. She must be worried sick by now. He had to get out of here. But how?

  Alice Wong and Charlie Adams sat curled up on opposite ends of the simple slipcovered sofa while Paul Redman occupied a rattan chair, looking pensive as he stared out the window.

  Alex slowed his pace and shook his head. “Something isn’t adding up.”

  “Yeah. Our chances of getting out.” Charlie, his best friend, shot him a look that said, What did you get us into?

  Alex ignored the taunt. “Think about what they’ve done. First, they put me in this room in solitary confinement two days ago.”

  Alice looked up with her always-inquisitive eyes. “And why here? It looks like an apartment for two girls. Brushes, mascara, lipstick in the bathroom.”

  Charlie, with his dark streak, took a stab. “Maybe they knew the previous occupants weren’t coming back.”

  Alice and Charlie glared at each other, then turned to Alex to continue.

  “Then, yesterday when you guys were captured, they separated the captives into two groups. Bo, Tosh, Carlos, Judy—we don’t know where they are. And you three, they brought you here. Why?”

  “Why not?” Alice said. “We’re all Axom.”

  Alex stopped his pacing. “We’re a problem, and they’re trying to decide how to deal with us. We’re being singled out for special treatment.”

  “We are.” Redman spoke up for the first time in an hour. “This is my doing.”

  The three staffers looked his way. “What are you saying?” Alice asked.

  “This is all off the record,” Redman began.

  “Screw off the record!” Charlie’s face started to get red. “This is our lives!”

  Redman nodded. “Sometimes business and editorial interests converge. Last July, Randolph Blackburn—”