Qubit, page 19
Her elbows were beginning to bleed when she found three trees close together and intertwined to form a modest enclosure. She’d be hidden here…and there’d be shade. She looked up. The moon was gone, but the sky was not yet changing color. She could continue…but she was tired. Her ankle hurt. Her elbows hurt. Her bones ached. She could feel her lips cracking. And she might not find a better hiding place than this by dawn. She slid forward into the cradle formed by the three trees and shifted around until she found a comfortable position.
Resting her head against one of the trunks, she felt the cool bark on her skin and closed her eyes. All her aches and pains began to ebb. Her clothes were drying out—her fever had broken. Her stomach cramps were gone.
She reminded herself to wake up in a few hours to make sure she wasn’t exposed to direct sunlight. She’d still need to find a source of fresh water soon. She hadn’t put enough distance between herself and her kidnappers. She still had no idea even where she was or where she might flee.
But, as she drifted off to sleep, a strange yet familiar feeling draped over her like a soft blanket.
She was hopeful.
Part 4
That's All I Got
21
* * *
Shangri-La Hotel, Singapore
Sunday, May 6th
6:00 a.m. SGT (Singapore Time)
Lock gazed out the window of his hotel room. For most of the past twenty-four hours, he’d been forty-thousand feet above the ground. Now, he was perhaps a mere hundred. Spread out before him in the blue-gray light of dawn were swimming pools, the silhouettes of luxuriant verdure, and various other hints of paradise. After all, he reflected, the name of the hotel was Shangri-La. Farther on, he could make out the hulking outlines of business and industry, and beyond that, a dark-blue horizon.
So this is Singapore, he thought.
He turned away from the vista and sat down on an inviting king-sized bed. Sleep beckoned. But so did the nightmares. He’d fallen asleep on the plane only to see Sophie, the Sophie from the video chat, not the one he’d known all her life. He’d expected her to be scared. He’d expected her to be emotional. But whatever that was he’d seen on the video, it was neither of those things. Or it was those things, only they had turned out to be worse beyond his imagining.
Everyone here is very nice. They’d simply given her a script and made her memorize it. They’d probably threatened to hurt her if she didn’t recite it exactly. Or maybe they’d already hurt her? He hadn’t seen any visible cuts or bruises, but perhaps they’d been concealed, or were internal. And, of course, there were other ways to hurt someone.
I get three meals a day, and I have a comfortable bed to sleep in. He had to stop thinking about it somehow. He had to keep it together until he could…do what? He had no plan. He didn’t even know where she was. Having suddenly found himself in Singapore, the idea Sophie might not be in southeastern Michigan suddenly felt a whole lot more credible. Kirin, or whomever he really worked for, had won. Lock was a mere marionette. He was no one’s hero.
He looked at the digital clock by the bed. Six thirteen. He had three hours to kill before someone named Anand was coming to pick him up. He was going to set up a new lab, apparently, so he could continue with the Wall Street edition of the running of the bulls. He picked up the phone and ordered a pot of coffee from room service.
He got up and began to unpack his bag. They’d taken his wallet and his passport without a word. They even had one of the keycards to his room.
The coffee arrived, and the bellhop handed Lock the bill to sign. He signed it and was about to hand it over when he stopped. He quickly added an extra twenty dollars to the tip, charged to the room.
“Thank you, sir,” said the bellhop without smiling.
“Don’t thank me,” said Lock.
Shangri-La Hotel, Singapore
Sunday, May 6th
9:00 a.m. SGT (Singapore Time)
Katya looked up at the giant chandelier-like lights hanging from the thirty-foot ceilings and wondered how heavy they were. She leaned back in her chair and tried to pretend she was a businesswoman reading the paper before an important meeting. She wore a white blazer with an onyx broach, a black blouse, and a skirt with black-and-white checkers. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, something that had required abundant use of relaxer and thirty minutes with a flatiron. She took a sip from her thermos of green tea and looked around—the lobby was full of family vacationers, not business-types. She could have come wearing safari shorts and boat shoes. Then again, she was obviously alone, not with family, so perhaps the effort that had gone into looking corporate was worth it.
Vipul wasn’t cutting any corners, she thought. Whoever the American was, he was worth putting up at a luxury hotel. Perhaps they were making so much money it didn’t matter.
A tall, slow-moving figure in a black jacket caught her eye. Was that Anand? She opened up her newspaper to reveal a small stack of printed photos. She flipped to the second one in the pile. It was the best still of Anand she had in her ever-growing collection. She looked back at the man she thought might be him. She looked again at the photo. She was certain it was Anand. He was at the elevator now. Picking up the American no doubt.
When she’d first seen the transcripts of the cell-phone conversation the day before, she’d been concerned that perhaps the American was simply code. Li Mun’s crew would never have been so explicit. But here was Anand, just as she’d hoped.
She rearranged her paper again to hide the photos and pretended to read. She took another sip from the thermos, then fiddled with her broach to make sure she was ready to turn on the camera hidden within it. She tried to look bored.
Anand reappeared, exiting one of the elevators. For a moment, Katya thought she must have made a mistake because he appeared to be alone. But the American was just trailing behind. He wasn’t quite as tall as Anand, nor as bulky. He had round, curious blue eyes that took in everything as he walked. His hair was long enough (and straight enough) for him to sweep his bangs behind his ears. He wore an Atari T-shirt, torn blue jeans, and skater shoes.
The American was a geek.
He seemed completely oblivious to Anand, who had by now stopped to wait for him to catch up. Kata was electrified. She knew he was their man. He and Vipul were partners. Vipul handled the finance. The American handled the technology. Perhaps they’d met at Harvard. Maybe the American was from MIT. They’d have met at some interdisciplinary seminar, on chaos theory or the Singularity.
She nearly forgot about the camera. She fumbled with her broach and turned it on, then realized she wasn’t going to get a good view of the American’s face from that angle. She hurriedly got up and began walking toward them. Reaching the front of the lobby, she then turned around as though she’d forgotten something. She kept her head down as she passed him but looked up at the last second.
The American was looking right at her. Right into her eyes.
She cursed her carelessness. Why had she looked up? For nearly two years she’d watched the criminal underworld of Singapore unseen. She cringed at the thought of having to tell Haruo that she’d been made. She’d probably have to hand over the case to someone else. Just when it was getting interesting.
She returned to her chair in the lobby and discretely turned off the camera. At least she’d got a clear shot of him. If he’d been looking right at her, he’d been looking right at the camera, too.
Singapore Financial District • The (New) Lab
Sunday, May 6th
9:15 a.m. SGT (Singapore Time)
Lock followed Anand into the new lab. It was nothing like the old one. They were on the seventh floor of a downtown office building in a large, open area ringed with small offices, with a couple work tables and numerous crates and boxes. There was a false ceiling with fluorescent lights. It was exactly the kind of place Lock had always hoped to avoid.
“I’m very sorry,” Raj told him, walking to greet him. “I’m not sure I was able to properly disassemble everything before we left. We were in a great hurry.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” said Lock absently as he began exploring the office.
“Regardless,” said Anand, who still stood at the entrance next to what must have been intended as a reception desk, “everything must be ready for Monday.”
Lock was startled. Anand had barely spoken since arriving at his hotel room earlier. He thought back to Kirin’s warnings. These people, the people I work for, are dangerous. Anand certainly fit the description. Lock’s eyes met his, and Anand simply glared at him until Lock looked away.
“Be ready by Monday,” repeated Anand. “Sanjay will take you back to the hotel.”
“Is my daughter here?” Lock heard himself blurting out as Anand turned to leave. “Here, in Singapore?”
Anand looked back over his shoulder, glared at Lock again, and continued on.
Lock watched as the door closed, frowning at Anand’s stone-like indifference. He faced Raj and Sanjay, who seemed to be watching him. “Well, here we are again.” Starting toward one of the boxes, he asked, “Do we have box cutters or something?” As he looked around him, he was relieved to have an immediate problem to solve, something he could do something about. His cooperation, so far, had at least kept Sophie alive.
And getting the Wave Nine back online in less than a day was no slam dunk. The equipment was extremely sensitive, to say the least. In fact, it was entirely possible that something had been damaged during shipping. “Let’s start with the ion traps and make sure none of them were damaged. From there, we can re-assemble the housing and re-calibrate the temperature controls—”
“They have your daughter,” stated Raj.
Lock looked up at him. Raj was expressionless. “Yes.”
“I have a wife and son.”
Lock wasn’t sure how to respond. He’d never been one to bond with other parents, chatting about their kids, showing off pictures of them. And, given the circumstances, he was hardly in the mood to appreciate someone else’s family.
“Good for you,” he said, regretting it immediately. Feeling awkward, he returned his attention to looking for box cutters.
Raj continued: “Sanjay has brothers and sisters. And his parents.”
Lock looked up a Raj. And then at Sanjay, who was looking at him with the same vacant expression. He had a vague sense of recognition.
“We fear every day for their lives,” said Sanjay.
“This is what they do,” explained Raj.
“We didn’t realize that you…” continued Sanjay, his voice trailing off.
Raj elaborated. “We thought it was only in India that they could do these things. We thought you…”
“We thought you were in it for the money,” added Sanjay.
I was, thought Lock.
“But you are just like us, Mr. Cairnes,” said Sanjay with a tentative smile.
“In that case,” said Lock, “I guess we’d better make damn sure this thing is working again by Monday.”
Naubatpur (Bihar, India)
Sunday, May 6th
7:30 a.m. IST (India Standard Time)
Sophie opened her eyes, wide awake and alert. It was daylight. She was in the shade. Careful to stay still and not move her ankle until she was ready, she exhaled heavily.
And then she heard the crunching sound.
She sat up, getting to one knee as adrenalin began pumping into her veins. The shouts of pain from her ankle were momentarily muffled. She looked around but saw nothing but trees and the brook. But there was a pathway she hadn’t seen in the darkness that passed no more than two strides from where she hid.
No sooner had she noticed the path than a hunchbacked old man appeared on it, walking slowly. He looked at her before she could react and she froze, staring back at him. He said something she couldn’t understand and then pointed back the way he’d come. He turned in his tracks and gestured with his hand. Follow me. She pointed at her ankle and shook her head. The man took a step from the path in her direction and looked at her ankle. He shook his head and held up one finger and smiled. He spoke and then turned back the way he’d come.
Sophie leaned back against a tree trunk. He was going to get help. Was that a good thing? What if he was with the men who’d kidnapped her? He’d been traveling in the opposite direction. But that didn’t mean anything. She looked up at a clouded sky, wishing she had done more hiking in her life. The brook could have easily circled around in such a way that the old man had come from the same area she was trying leave. She had no way to know for sure.
On the other hand, she wasn’t going far in her condition anyway. She needed fresh water, her ankle was either broken or badly sprained—and, she realized suddenly, her stomach cramps were back. She was eventually going to have to find help. When she did, she almost certainly wouldn’t be very far from where she was right now.
And so she decided to wait.
22
* * *
Naubatpur (Bihar, India)
Sunday, May 6th
8:30 a.m. IST (India Standard Time)
Arbind followed his elderly uncle down the path that led from their village to the next one. He was surprised when they found the girl; his uncle was prone to forgetting things and remembering things that never happened. When he’d starting talking about a fair-skinned girl in the forest, Arbind was nearly certain he’d gotten confused by some Vedic hymn.
But…there she was. Her uncle had already explained that the girl didn’t speak Hindi. What was a fair-skinned girl who didn’t speak Hindi doing hiding in the woods?
“Hello?” he ventured, in case she spoke English.
“Oh, thank God,” said the girl, her voice scratchy and hoarse. “You speak English.”
“Yes. You’re from America?”
“Yes,” she said. “Detroit.”
“I’m from Rochester. New York. I’m visiting family. What—how did you get here?”
The girl looked lost for a moment. Arbind noticed that she was sunburned on one side of her face, barefoot, and her right ankle was badly discolored and swollen. He began to feel anxious. Something was very wrong here.
Finally, she seemed to gather her wits. “Where am I?” she asked.
Arbind’s brow furrowed. “Well, we’re from Amarpura,” he said, pointing back toward his family’s home. The girl still looked confused. “Patna is to the north, maybe two miles.” That hadn’t clarified anything either. Maybe a different tact would help. “Where did you come from?”
“I don’t know,” said the girl. She seemed to be struggling for words. “I was kidnapped.”
Arbind felt a jolt of fear. “So you have…no idea where you are?”
“India?”
“Yes. Bihar, India.”
The girl looked thoughtful.
“Can you walk?”
“Not really.”
“What if I help you? It’s not far.”
“I can try.”
Arbind walked to her and helped her up, leaning down slightly so she could get her arm around his shoulders for support.
“Sorry about the smell,” she said.
“It’s fine,” said Arbind. “Let’s just get you to my uncle’s house. We’ll get this sorted out.”
“Thank you,” said the girl.
“What’s your name?”
“Sophie. Sophie Cavelle-Cairnes.”
“Nice to meet you, Sophie,” said Arbind as they began to fall into a rhythm behind his uncle down the path back toward his village. “My name is Arbind Thakur. Just call me Arbind.”
Swiss National Bank, Zurich
Sunday, May 6th
10:00 p.m. CEST (Central European Summer Time)
“I think we must take a hard line,” said Kögler. “We cannot allow our financial systems to be hijacked. Where will it end?”
Ryan clasped his hands together tightly and tried to collect his thoughts. The White House had signed off on giving in to the greenmailer’s demands. In fact, the only real question had been whether or not they would go it alone or have the support of the other nations. “It isn’t their stock markets that are being threatened,” Moya had quoted the president as saying. It was probably more accurate that a complete collapse of the NYSE and the NASDAQ would be ultimately blamed on the president, whereas the greenmailer’s demands could be met without the public even being aware of it. That was part of the genius of the entire scheme. Of course, Kögler and others among the G8’s central bankers were well aware of this.
Thus, after almost five days of working nearly around the clock, he’d flown back out to Zurich with the unenviable task of convincing the guardians of the global economy that conceding to the greenmailer’s demands wasn’t merely a question of presidential politics. Ryan could barely keep his eyes open, let alone form coherent, persuasive sentences. Yet he had to persevere or risk creating a deep wedge between the wealthy nations.
“I think we must look past the damage that might be done to the markets themselves—”
“My point exactly,” interrupted Kögler.
“I understand you perfectly, President Kögler,” asserted Ryan.
“Do you?”
“Yes, I believe I do. We have to consider the flow of information. Information that our financial systems are vulnerable is a form of market intelligence. We have to assume that this information will find its way to interested parties. Who, in turn, will redirect their efforts to exploit these vulnerabilities. I appreciate your perspective on this, President Kögler.”
