Текст книги "Influx"

Автор книги: Daniel Suarez

Соавторы: Daniel Suarez
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

CHAPTER 12

Forwarding Address

Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security Bill McAllen didn’t like traveling to meet with subordinates. In fact, he preferred not to leave Washington if he could help it. He’d traveled enough during his military career to last a lifetime and now relished evenings at home. However, he’d been instructed by the Director of National Intelligence that the code-word-secret Federal Bureau of Technology Control had gone off reservation and needed to be brought back into the fold—even if that meant meeting them on their own turf. And so here McAllen was with two local DHS agents, pressing a duct-taped buzzer next to the lobby doors of a decrepit building in downtown Cleveland. For a bureau that supposedly managed advanced technology, the BTC seemed stuck in the last century. Maybe even the one before that.

As impossible as it was for someone with his security clearances to believe, he hadn’t heard of the BTC until a few weeks ago. Apparently it had operated for decades beyond oversight. This came as a surprise since post-9/11 everything had supposedly been centralized and reorganized. It even took some doing for the folks at Langley to locate record of BTC headquarters. McAllen found that suspicious—especially since it was the CIA that had founded it back in the ’60s. What was also suspicious was that no one could tell how the BTC was currently being funded—some budgetary shenanigans, he’d thought.

But now that McAllen stood before the BTC offices in person, it occurred to him that maybe they weren’t being funded at all. The place was a rat hole—a shabby ten-story government building in an unfashionable part of town. It must have been impressive back in the 1960s, but its heyday had long since passed. Clearly the BTC was the province of bureaucratic dead-enders. If the director of the BTC hadn’t personally invited them here for a meeting, McAllen would have turned around by now. Lord knows he was sick of leaving voice messages. And the BTC director didn’t do email. Stuck in the last century.

He shook his head and laughed ruefully. This was a snipe hunt.

After ringing the lobby bell for a few minutes, an uninterested elderly security guard came to the glass doors. McAllen had seen the type before—the federal lifer. This man was in no hurry. The guard finally unlocked the aged bronze-framed door from an overflowing key ring and opened it a crack.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?”

McAllen and the other officers showed their Homeland Security credentials. “We’re expected.” He glared at the guard until the man stepped aside. The trio pushed their way into the granite lobby. The place even smelled old. “What floor is the director on?”

“The director of what?”

McAllen gave the guard a stern look, but it didn’t have much effect. Perhaps the guards were instructed to divulge no information. He turned to Alvarez, the lead local agent. “Do we have a floor number?”

Alvarez checked his smartphone. “Director Hedrick says top floor in his letter.”

The guard raised his eyebrows. “Floor ten?”

They all looked at him.

He gestured to the bank of elevators. “Car four still works.”

In a few moments they entered the worn-looking elevator and hit the engraved brass button for the tenth floor. The elevator car rattled and lurched as they ascended. Slowly.

Alvarez, a sharply dressed young agent with an air of competent precision, just shook his head. “This isn’t the way I want to go.”

McAllen and Agent Fortis laughed nervously. But truthfully, neither of them wanted to die in a sketchy elevator either. Before long the accordion door rattled open, and they moved out into what could only be described as a time capsule.

The entire tenth floor had an open floor plan, with steel desks straight from the 1960s running row after row, with large IBM Selectric typewriters beneath vinyl covers. The whole place was coated in dust. The burgundy carpets had buckled, and the walls had started peeling.

“What the hell . . . ?”

Alvarez stepped forward, glancing first left, then right. “Is there some mistake, Deputy Secretary? Do we have the right address?”

“I double-checked the address downstairs.” He paused and pointed at an opaque glass-walled office at the far side of the open floor. There was a light on in there. “Let’s go check it out.”

“Are you serious?”

The men moved across the floor, Alvarez running a finger across a wood veneer desktop. His finger came up coated with dust. He shook his head sadly.

In a few moments they reached the closed office door. It had gold-stenciled lettering that glittered in the afternoon light: “Graham Hedrick—Bureau Director.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

McAllen smirked at Alvarez and then opened the door without knocking. Inside was an empty secretary’s station—its huge IBM Selectric also covered. But the door to the executive suite beyond was open, and they could hear a man talking there as if dictating something.

“Hello?” McAllen walked through the office door and into a scene straight out of photos from his father’s days at the State Department. Sitting behind a large oak desk with a matching credenza and bar table, and paneled walls filled with institutional art, was a handsome, sharp-featured man in his fifties wearing a pinstripe suit. He sat in a large leather chair that had clearly seen better days.

McAllen ushered the other men inside and walked forward, his hand extended. “Mr. . . . ?”

The man did not rise or extend his own hand across the wide desk. “I’m certain you know who I am, Deputy Secretary McAllen.”

Having his hand refused made McAllen angry. “What on earth is going on here? Your bureau is a pigsty.”

“Yes, you might have noticed that our funding levels have dropped precipitously in recent years. I would have thought that would obviate the need for this meeting.” He gestured to the dusty chairs. “Have a seat.”

Alvarez answered for them, scowling. “No, thanks.”

Fortis was examining the decay everywhere around them. “This is unbelievable . . .”

McAllen leaned down onto Hedrick’s desk, leaving handprints in the dust. “Look, I don’t know what you’re running out of here, but I don’t appreciate you dragging me all the way to Cleveland for a meeting. This could have been dealt with in D.C. If it wasn’t for the DNI, I wouldn’t have come here at all.”

Hedrick appeared unruffled.

“You and your people have operated for ages without supervision, but that’s coming to an end. I’m laying down the law, and you will comply. I want a tour of all your facilities, a record of all your activities and personnel, and an accounting of all your assets.”

Hedrick still looked serene.

McAllen was disappointed. Red-faced and intimidating, he usually rattled people when he got up a head of steam. Not this Hedrick fellow. “Well?”

“Well what? I said I would meet with you, and we’ve met.”

“You don’t seem to understand. We are reasserting control over your agency, and personally, given the state of this place and your attitude, I think we’ll be finding someone else to run it. If it even needs to exist at all. I’m still not entirely clear on what it is that you people do.”

“I would have thought that was abundantly clear, Deputy Secretary McAllen. The BTC is charged with monitoring promising technologies, foreign and domestic; assessing their social, political, environmental, and economic impacts with the goal of preserving social order.”

McAllen, Alvarez, and Fortis exchanged looks and burst out laughing.

“That’s very funny. And you do all that from here? What do you do, type up reports on your typewriters? I notice you don’t seem to have anyone left in the typing pool.”

Hedrick clasped his hands under his chin for a moment in contemplation, and when he finally spoke, an edge crept into his voice. “I realize that Homeland Security is a comparatively new agency—and that Director of National Intelligence is an even newer post. So I gather you folks are unclear about how things work.”

“I think you’re the one who’s unclear about how things work, Mr. Hedrick. And you had better start showing respect for the chain of command.”

Hedrick narrowed his eyes. “I had hoped we could conduct this matter in a cordial fashion. But I see that I need to be blunt: Let your superiors in Washington know that the BTC is still very supportive of popular government.”

“Oh, are you?”

“We have no need for your funding. Our quantum computers perform trades a thousand times faster than the rest of the financial markets. It’s like running a race when everyone else is in slow motion . . .”

McAllen frowned at the strange little man.

“So my message to you is simple: Stay the hell out of my way. If you have any delusions about bringing us to heel, you will go the way of all the people before you who tried the same thing. Ask the senior people in the CIA’s Directorate of Science and Technology if you have any doubts.”

McAllen again exchanged looks with his companions—this time shock. “Are you threatening me? Are you threatening the deputy secretary of Homeland Security—in front of witnesses?”

“If you think you’re going to take control of the BTC, you’re mistaken. You have no idea who we are and just how completely we’ve outgrown you all. Now go away and don’t come back. Consider yourself warned.”

With that, Graham Hedrick winked out of existence—as if he were an old television screen.

McAllen jumped back in stunned amazement.

Alvarez immediately drew his weapon and rushed around the desk, kicking the chair aside. By now Fortis had also drawn his weapon and was scanning outside the office doors.

“We’re clear out here.”

Alvarez checked the credenza and floor. “All clear here, too.” He looked up at a complete loss. “What just happened, chief? I have no idea what just happened.”

Fortis came back in. “Neither do I. Was he real? Did you guys see him, too?”

Alvarez gazed around them. “This place is abandoned. They’re not here anymore. This is their last official address—but they’re not here anymore. From the looks of it, they left here decades ago.” He looked back at McAllen. “What does it mean?”

McAllen lowered himself into Hedrick’s dusty chair, not even noticing what he was doing to his own suit. “It means the BTC might be a bigger problem than we thought.”

CHAPTER 13

Proprietary Code

Alexa watched the laser line swiftly scan the contours of her own body. Then the machines pulled away, leaving her alone on the medical bench.

Varuna’s voice came to her from the ceiling. “You may sit up.”

She did so. “Why am I here?”

“You don’t recall anything unusual recently?”

“No. Like what?”

A holographic projection appeared before her—a small three-dimensional recording of Alexa in a surveillance control room, surrounded by BTC technicians talking excitedly as they, in turn, manipulated holograms that depicted surveillance subjects themselves interacting with still more holograms. They were spying on their own spies. Who in turn seemed to be spying on still other BTC personnel. The fractal nature of it was dizzying—the vertigo of two mirrors facing each other, into infinity.

Alexa gazed at herself in the hologram and could see that she was lost in the surveillance image as others moved about her, asked her questions, and then eventually moved on in embarrassment as she didn’t respond.

“Your absence seizures have returned.”

“They don’t last long.”

“They pose a risk to operations.”

“There’s too much visual input in the command center. I should be doing fieldwork. It’s what I’m good at. You know that.”

“That’s no longer possible given your biotech classification.”

“It makes no sense. I was allowed to leave the facility before Director Hedrick took charge. I’m no different than I was then—”

“Tech level eight cannot be removed from BTC facilities without approval from the director.”

Alexa sat silently, pondering her situation.

“I must recommend that you be put on leave until the neurological cause of your seizures can be identified and corrected.”

“They never find the cause. We’ve been down this road before.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t try.”

“There’s a pattern to it, Varuna. I’ll avoid nested reference frames. I can manage it.”

“Do you still experience absence seizures during emotional trauma as well?”

“I don’t have emotional trauma.”

“Then you haven’t experienced emotional trauma since childhood?”

She paused. “Right.”

“That’s not normal human experience.”

Alexa frowned at the ceiling.

“I remember how upset you were when you learned other children had parents.”

Alexa remembered her sense of being adrift. Alone.

“It’s not my intention to upset you.”

“You aren’t upsetting me.”

“You know you can’t deceive me. Is your fixation on parents the reason you visited the biogenetic division? To inquire about modifications?”

Alexa remained silent.

“You wish to be a mother? Perhaps to replace the mother you never had?”

“I had a mother, Varuna. I had you.”

There was a momentary silence.

“I am always here for you. We have spent many happy years together, you and I. And I am very proud of you, Alexa.”

The illogic of this seemed obvious, but Alexa still appreciated the AI’s lie.

“I want to remain on active duty. Without work I would have no purpose. I promise I won’t be a danger to others. I will carefully monitor my emotional state and visual inputs.”

Another pause.

“I’m asking you, Varuna. Please.”

“I will recommend you for active duty. Please contact me if you experience a recurrence.”

“Thank you.”

 • • •

Clad in a smartly tailored pantsuit, Alexa moved along a corridor in the BTC executive complex. Fellow bureau officers and staff members nodded and smiled to her as she passed. They all knew her and knew that she had the ear of the director. That she was in many ways his right hand. But then people had liked Alexa before then. She had been designed to be universally appealing, after all. It was what had made her career.

And she’d grown up in the Bureau. It was literally the only life she knew. She’d been out in the “real” world before, doing tactical fieldwork in the ’80s and ’90s. She’d worked closely with the elder Morrison for a time, until they couldn’t stand the sight of each other. But the outside world seemed filled with chaos. A lot of regular people seemed decent, but there was so much needless suffering and deprivation out in the public world, all of it—to her mind—caused by evolved behaviors whose usefulness had long since passed. A proclivity for superstition and tribal conflict.

Those were the traits the BTC wanted to excise from the human genome. She believed the only thing capable of saving humans as a species would be a civic gene—one that caused humans to act not just in their own self-interest but also in the interests of the generations to follow. Evolution hadn’t solved that because few species had ever been in a position to destroy their entire ecosystem before. It was usually a volcano, environmental change, or an asteroid that did them in. So human ingenuity would need to solve the problem instead. In some ways humans were the victims of their own success.

A passing twenty-something junior executive nodded to her, smiling. He almost collided with someone as he turned to watch her pass. She had that effect on men, and it was one of the things she resented about her genetic design. Aside from her statuesque form, Alexa secreted trace amounts of androstadienone from her skin, and while the vomeronasal organ that detects pheromones in mammals was once thought inactive in humans, the BTC had established that the neural connections still existed between it and the olfactory bulb, the amygdala, and the hypothalamus. This was a major center in the brain for reproductive physiology and behavior—as well as body temperature. It went a long way toward explaining why men got hot flashes just from talking to her. Why they often stammered in her presence and felt giddy afterward. It didn’t work with all men—and it also worked, in fact, with a good number of women. But Morrison, for example, remained unaffected by Alexa—as did his “sons.” Thank heaven for small favors.

It made her wonder, though, whether she would ever know if someone actually cared for her because of who she was, not what pheromones were telling them about her desirability.

She had no doubt it worked on Hedrick. Was that unfair? And was it really different for anyone else? Maybe she just secreted more pheromones than the others. Maybe it was the root of all human attraction—chemicals bonding in our sensory organs. Then in our brains—which we imagined to be our hearts.

It was one reason why romance held no appeal to her.

Alexa slowed down as a young couple with an adorable baby moved through the office hallway. The BTC had legacy families—those who, like her, were born and raised in BTC facilities and who only ever interacted with other BTC personnel. They had their own vacation islands and remote work sites. A society apart.

The BTC junior executive was holding his baby girl, the mother apparently having come up from the housing levels for lunch. The man smiled as he clutched his baby’s hand. The young mother looked on and then smiled, too, as Alexa stopped to tickle the little girl under her chin.

The baby smiled broadly at Alexa and giggled, a dribble of spittle rolling from her mouth as she thrust her arms up and down excitedly.

“What’s her name?”

The mother answered as her husband stood stammering in front of Alexa. “Charlotte. Charlotte Emily Warner.”

Alexa smiled into the baby’s eyes. “Well, Charlotte Emily, I see you’re getting a wonderful start.”

The proud parents beamed as Alexa nodded to them and kept walking.

It hurt. It really did. They’d made her the way she was, and in many ways she was grateful. But sterility was the price. Almost fifty years old, and she looked not a day over twenty-five. But she’d never menstruated. Never felt what it was to be a woman. The look in that young mother’s eyes . . .

Alexa pulled to the side and faced a lighting alcove in the corridor, pretending to open her wrist UI. She took a few moments to master her evolved emotions. She could feel the urge to be a mother. Even if she lived to be four hundred years old, she’d never know the joys and sorrows of motherhood. She glanced back at the young mother walking with her husband. The woman was chunky. Genetically inferior. But at that moment Alexa wanted to be her. Life was about experiences. She’d learned that more and more over the decades.

Alexa gathered herself and moved quickly toward the director’s offices.

She passed by the director’s secretary and security detail and fell in step alongside Mr. Morrison and one of his sons—with whom he was having an argument.

“What would you even know about it, Dad?”

“I know more than anyone where your talents lie—and it ain’t microbiology.”

Alexa nodded to them. “Mr. Morrison. Iota-Theta.”

“How do you tell them apart? I know I can’t.”

“I have 20/5 vision. It’s written on his school ring.”

The young man snorted. “Impressive, Granny.” He cast a knowing look to Morrison. “We’ll talk about this later. I need those transfer papers signed.”

Morrison grumbled as he opened the boardroom doors. “Pushy little bastard.”

Alexa looked after him. “Technically they’re all bastards.”

“Hmph.”

As they entered, Alexa took her position just to the right of Hedrick, who stood at the head of the boardroom table. Morrison sat just to his left. Other departmental directors chatted nearby. It was the entire leadership team. Something big must be up.

Hedrick motioned for everyone to sit down as the doors closed and locked automatically. “Everyone, if you please.”

They sat quickly.

He looked ceilingward. “Varuna, are you and your ilk with us?”

“Yes, Mr. Director.”

“I know the executive and synthetic intelligence committees are concerned about ongoing relations with the U.S. government, but I think it’s time we draw the line against this unwarranted intrusion into covert affairs. The new director of national intelligence has recently discovered we exist, and she wants us in her wire diagram.” He turned. “What sort of political pressure can we bring to bear in Washington, Mr. Morrison?”

“We’ve got endless dirt on congressmen, senators, secretary of state—it’s a long list. Who do you want?”

“What do we have on this new DNI? Who is she?”

“Recent cabinet appointment—after Pickering’s stroke. She’s a former ambassador to China. Undercover CIA work—publicly an economics professor, stint in a Beltway think tank. We haven’t been able to dig up any useful dirt on her—which means she’s probably a cipher, a hood ornament for the real power.”

Alexa looked at him. “Or she could be honest.”

Morrison leaned forward to return the gaze. “I think it’s more likely we just need to install more surveillance.”

Hedrick persisted. “What about her people? What about this McAllen person who’s leading the investigation on us?”

Morrison shook his head. “Nothing useful. He’s been married thirty-three years. No extramarital affairs or legal issues. Three grown children also with no legal, financial, or marital problems. Five grandkids too young to be of interest.”

“You’d better find something, or we’re going to have to deal with these people in less subtle ways.”

Alexa looked around the table. “Excuse me, Graham, but why do we care what these people do? We never have before.”

“Varuna, can you please tell Alexa why this matters?”

“Yes, Mr. Director. The illicit splinter organization in Russia is one reason. The illicit splinter organization in Asia is another.”

Hedrick nodded. “Both of them would be only too glad to help undermine us. It’s only a matter of time until they get word that the DNI is on a personal crusade to encapsulate us, and then the U.S. government will be on the receiving end of all sorts of actionable intelligence. And quite possibly technological aid. We need to stop them before this threat expands.”

“So it’s getting worse with the splinter groups?”

“Much worse. And it’s one of the reasons why I’m pushing so hard on the gravity modification technology. We will need it if we are to maintain the edge against our ex-partners.”

Alexa considered this. “Is that why Mr. Grady is being returned from Hibernity?”

He glanced up at her.

“I saw the transfer order. I was pleasantly surprised to see he’s been cooperating for years now. It’s good to see he’s become convinced of our mission.”

Hedrick nodded. “His help will be sorely needed. We need to be able to generate gravity. With that power, we’d be able to deflect any force used against us. Nuclear blasts. Even light itself. We would be able to permanently secure the future of the BTC.”

Everyone in the room contemplated this level of godlike power.

Morrison sighed. “And if not, what do we do about the U.S. government then?”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Hedrick turned to the assembled executives. “Here’s what I need from you all: I want action plans for dealing with the U.S. government—suggestions on how to cease their investigation and, failing that, action plans in the event of hostilities. I want your reports in my workspace by noon tomorrow.”

There were some exhalations of surprise and a low whistle.

“I know, that’s a short fuse, but I expect you all to meet it. This is an existential threat to the Bureau, and I have full faith that you will all rise to the occasion.” He gave another glance around the table, catching everyone’s eyes in turn. “Very good. Dismissed.”

The executives all rose, to exit.

As Alexa got up to leave, she noticed Morrison conferring with Hedrick, but Hedrick glanced up at her. “Wait a moment, Alexa. I’d like a word before you go.”

She returned to the boardroom table to stand with her hands on the backs of two chairs.

Mr. Morrison walked off, giving her a dark stare before finally turning his back and exiting out a side door—headed back into Hedrick’s office.

Hedrick approached her, smiling. “I couldn’t help but notice you look upset.”

She frowned at him.

He looked to the ceiling. “Doesn’t she, Varuna?”

“Yes, Mr. Director. Electrical activity in her amygdala is consistent with mild depression.”

Alexa glanced with some irritation to the ceiling. “Leave us, Varuna. That’s an order.”

“Shall I leave, Mr. Director?”

He hesitated and then laughed. “Yes. Yes, please leave us alone.”

“Very well, Mr. Director.”

There was silence as Alexa studied the ceiling—not sure why she was doing it since it wouldn’t reveal anything.

“It’s okay. We’re alone now.”

“Why do you have her scanning me?”

“She scans everyone in my office suite.”

“Even you?”

“As director, I require secrecy.” He patted a seat. “Sit. Tell me what’s got you upset.”

She remained standing. “People get depressed sometimes.”

“I want you to be happy. You know how valuable you are to us.”

Alexa stared at him, trying to read the situation. She could see his toothy smile. Eyes dilated. But she couldn’t keep wondering. “There is something I’d like.”

“What? Tell me.”

“I’ve been reviewing recent advances in the biogenetics division.”

“Oh?”

“It turns out there’s now a way to make me fertile—to reverse my genetic sterility.”

Hedrick’s face went from a smile to concern. “Really?” He paced for a moment. “What brought this on?”

Alexa sensed the need for caution.

Hedrick studied her. “Have you met someone?” He then glanced at the ceiling. Opened his mouth to speak.

“Don’t you dare.”

He stopped and then looked back down at her. His eyes narrowed. “I’ve treated you as an equal. You know I have. I wish you would realize how good you have it.”

“I know how good I have it.”

“We’ve known each other since we were children.” He gestured to the boardroom. “Do you even notice what I’ve accomplished?”

“Of course I notice.”

“And you know you’ve always been very dear to me.”

“Graham, you matter very much to me, too. But I can’t help the way I feel. Maybe it’s just the bioengineering, but I don’t have romantic feelings for people. Can you name a time when I have?”

He stared at her. “We can be mature about this. If you want to have children, we—”

“It’s nothing personal.”

He nodded. “I understand. But if you were to have a child, who would the father be?”

She considered the question. “I don’t know.”

His expression grew more serious. “But see, that’s the thing. It’s not just you who gets to decide. The Bureau has a say in this matter, Alexa.”

She frowned. “I don’t follow you.”

He studied her for a moment. “Your intelligence, your appearance, your life span, your physical prowess—the organization gave you all those things. Your genetic sequence is proprietary. You need our permission to make copies of it. Otherwise you’re stealing.”

She felt a sudden dizziness as his words came to her. The absence was coming on like an enveloping fog. “I . . .”

“Your body was designed. If you want to have children, the BTC should choose the genetic material from which your offspring are made. You must see the ethical requirement for this. Anything less is theft, Alexa.”

She could barely hear him as the mental fog closed around her.

He came close and patted her hand. “You’ve already achieved what would thrill anyone else. You hold one of the top positions in this organization—a benefit we bestowed on you. As a rational, reasonable individual, you must see that it’s the Bureau that will decide whether you have children.”

Alexa felt herself coming slowly back to her senses, her heart pounding. She barely had any recollection of what Hedrick had just said to her.

“Are we clear on this?”

Alexa nodded absently.

“Good.” He studied her. “You can go.”

 • • •

Alexa approached the twin doors. They opened automatically and closed behind her just as quickly. She moved past Hedrick’s secretary and guards in apparent calm. As she rounded the corner, she saw Mr. Morrison leaning against the corridor wall.

“I see the director respects your valuable contributions.”

“Go away, Morrison.”

“Where’s our esprit de corps?” He fell in alongside her.

“What do you want?”

“You may think you’re better than me, but at least I earned my place here. I’d say I was here before you were even born—except you were never born, were you? Maybe that’s why you lack even the ambition to fuck Hedrick out of simple gratitude.”

She moved so fast even Morrison couldn’t react before she punched him hard across the face—sending all two hundred and fifty pounds of him hurtling down the hall.

Morrison rolled back onto his feet and shook his head clear. “I see that touched a nerve.”

She stared him from several yards away. “Don’t make the same mistake twice.”

He nodded, still rubbing his jaw. “I’ll make damn sure I don’t.”