Qubit, page 7
Her gaze wandered further over to the telescopic camera, which was recording video of everyone who came in and out of the building or the attached parking lot. The angle wasn’t perfect, but with the cooperation of Ong Goh, it would allow her to identify members of the Rathod organization and then correlate those with cell phone conversations. That would help provide context. With any luck, in a few months she’d be able to understand some crucial fraction of what they were saying to each other at any given time.
In addition to remote cameras set up outside Vipul’s apartment and near buildings in Little India—which, she’d noted, were frequented by known members of the Rathod organization—she had covered all the basics. Renting this office was probably pushing her luck, especially given the rent she was paying. Or, rather, that the Agency was paying. But without it, she’d have no coverage of their cell phones—this was the only place she could pick out the radio signals clearly enough. There were no buildings close enough to Vipul’s apartment building, and setting up in Little India would have required the cooperation of a local business. She’d work on developing a reliable source there, but for now this would have to do.
Quartan would probably gripe about her expense reports. He always did. Well, he didn’t gripe about them, exactly. He just asked questions. Sometimes just one question. But he had an uncanny ability to find the one mistake she’d made. Which was why it had gotten to the point where she was hearing his voice in her head all the time.
Her smile faded. What was she doing here? It had been hard enough getting noticed for her work on the Triad case. Now Haruo had her watching someone who wasn’t even a secondary subject of any investigation. She’d checked. And these things dragged on. She’d been on Li Mun for two years. How long would she be running on Vipul Rathod? Her plan had always been to move to analysis after she had some experience in the field. She hadn’t wanted to just be some poli-sci geek with lots of vague theories about the way the world worked. But that was ten years and six investigations ago. She had learned plenty. It was time to go home, sit behind a desk, and start a normal life. Get a townhouse in DC, a dog, maybe even start dating.
Enough whining, Katya. They still hadn’t turned the minister. And she could still learn plenty from Haruo. And if he thought watching Vipul would yield results, there was surely a good reason for it. Something to do with Li Mun. Unless—
She stood up and walked to the window. Haruo did have some background on Vipul—the background she’d given him, that she’d gotten from the SPF. Was there something revealing enough in that to justify setting up on him? She reviewed the salient facts in her head. Younger son. Sent off to Oxford and Harvard. Father sets him up running a finance company of some kind. Probably handles the money-laundering, but it’s definitely removed from the day-to-day of the family business. Father dies. Younger son forges an alliance with the Triad and has his older brother killed, a move that, on the face of it, could only serve to weaken the family, especially given Vipul’s lack of experience in its principal operations.
She began to see what Haruo was seeing. Maybe it wasn’t just a power play. Maybe Vipul had seen some larger opportunity, an opportunity big enough to justify some short-term losses. The kind of opportunity he’d notice as the head of the family’s money-laundering operation, the South China Finance Corporation, with his blue-blood education in finance. An endeavor that he was actually more qualified to lead than his brother, who’d spent his entire adult life learning the ins and outs of organized crime. What if…?
She turned away from the window and leaned against the sill. She felt her heart pounding in her chest. Had she spent so much time apprenticed to Haruo that she was beginning to think like him, to put herself in the shoes of the people she was observing? Vipul was either crazy or he’d had found an opportunity that was bigger than whatever slice of the organized-crime pie his family presently controlled.
Either way, he was likely to become a factor in the Li Triad’s plans, for better or worse.
Nariman Point, Mumbai • Kapoor Financial Planning Ltd
Monday, January 29th
7:00 p.m. IST (India Standard Time)
Swaran Kapoor rubbed his sweaty palms together as awaited his guests. His eyes scanned the room. There was the decanter full of his best scotch, four glasses, the soda gun, and the ice box. The fan was blowing from the back of the room, next to the open window. All his papers were filed, the room had been swept and dusted—
“Good evening, Swaran,” said the young man striding confidently into his office. He was younger looking than Swaran had expected. And smaller. Swaran found himself suddenly aware that his white Oxford button-down was a size too small and that he was sweating inappropriately. A second older, larger man followed the younger one into the room. Swaran felt confident that the older man was capable of killing him effortlessly and without a second thought.
“Good evening, Mr. Rathod,” said Swaran, hoping his accent wasn’t too pronounced. He didn’t get the chance to speak English very often in Mumbai.
“Please,” said his guest, with a wave of his hand. “Call me Vipul. This is my colleague, Anand Vaidyanathan.”
Swaran smiled and nodded. Colleague. That was a nice word for it. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Please. May I get you a drink?” He made his way around from behind the desk toward the scotch.
“If you insist,” said Vipul.
He fixed them all drinks, taking a long draw on his while he was still behind them. He handed them out and returned to his desk. Leaning forward, he smiled expectantly.
“Excellent scotch,” offered Vipul. Swaran smiled wider and nodded. So far, the meeting was going well. He felt sure he was making a good impression.
“Let’s get down to business,” said Vipul, and Swaran was again relieved. He was terrible with small talk. “I have some money that I want you to take care of for me. Any and all transactions will be in the name of a partnership that you will establish and, initially, be the sole partner in. The amount is modest—ten thousand dollars—but I expect it to grow quickly based on investments you will make. You will issue me a convertible note in exchange for the ten thousand dollars. This note is a little unusual—are you following me so far?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Excellent. This note is a little unusual in that it has an interesting conversion option. A second partnership, through which I will be loaning you the money, has the option to convert it into shares of the first partnership, the one that you will establish using the ten thousand dollars. This partnership, as I said, will make investments. I will be providing you with, shall we say, guidance, as to your investment strategy, which will help you ensure good results. In fact, I expect that your results will outperform the nominal rate of the note quite easily. You yourself will retain ten percent ownership of the corporation, after conversion. This, in effect, represents your commission. Understand?”
Swaran swallowed hard. He was suddenly quite lost. He looked over at Anand, who was certainly considering different ways to kill him right then and there. It sounded like he was being asked to borrow money. Except he wasn’t being asked at all. Borrowing money at “nominal” interest from a family like the Rathods was something you did only when you were desperate. Swaran wasn’t desperate. He was eager to curry favor with the Rathods, but he hadn’t expected that borrowing money from them would be the way to do it.
“I can see you’re confused,” observed Vipul. Swaran was paralyzed. He couldn’t read Vipul’s expression at all. And Anand simply looked like an angry stone. “Let me try to clarify,” continued Vipul.
Swaran took another swig of his scotch, no longer bothering to hide his anxiety.
“This is a very good opportunity for you,” Vipul went on amiably. “The guidance I will give you ensures you will be able to generate a substantial return. I have chosen you because you have an excellent reputation here in Mumbai. This is why you get this opportunity instead of someone else. Now—” Vipul paused to take a sip of his scotch, “—you might reasonably wonder, if I am so certain of making money, why am I so eager to take on a partner, even one as respected as yourself? The reason is that I expect the sums of money involved to become too large and too conspicuous for our family to manage. Plainly speaking, it would attract too much attention. Instead, we will divide it up among partners like yourself. Partners with impeccable reputations. Partners we can trust. Now do you understand?”
Swaran could see the outlines of Vipul’s plan forming in his mind, but he was stuck on the simple fact that he was being asked to borrow and, possibly even launder, money from gangsters. Gangsters from Bihar, no less. “I-I think so,” he heard himself stutter.
“Relax,” said Vipul. “Pour yourself some more scotch. Anand? No? I wouldn’t mind another glass, thank you.”
“Certainly, certainly,” said Swaran, moving quickly to pour them both another glass. He nearly dropped Vipul’s. He could feel the warm moisture under his arms. By the time he’d returned to his desk, Vipul had produced a contract and set it in front of him.
“Just take a look. I think you’ll find that everything is just as I’ve told you. Not only that, but you have an out. From the time of the initial trigger, which is the deposit of funds in the partnership’s account, and thereafter, you can convert the note at any time, provided you can buy us out within three business days from the conversion, and our partnership will be concluded. I’m so confident you will be making money from the partnership, that you will want to stay in and remain a partner. Sound good?”
Swaran nodded reflexively, smiling nervously while flipping through the contract. He was looking for the interest rate. Not that a contract was particularly enforceable when dealing with a partner like this one. Nonetheless, the only interest rate he could find was perfectly reasonable. He set the contract down and cleared this throat. “What sort of, uh, return are you expecting?”
Vipul laughed. “You won’t believe it.”
Swaran tried to laugh, but it emerged as more of a wheeze. Here we go, he thought. “I mean, fifteen percent annually? Twenty?”
“One thousand-fold over the first week,” said Vipul matter-of-factly.
Swaran stared at Vipul, who still had that same impenetrable expression on his face. Was he joking? Swaran instinctively went for his glass and downed the rest of his scotch. He looked back at Vipul. “So the ten thousand dollars that you give me to start would become…”
“Ten million dollars.”
“After the first week?”
“Yes. Precisely.”
Swaran eyed his empty scotch glass.
“Oh, don’t look so frightened, Swaran. It’s called insider trading. The big players do this all the time. We’re just going to join the fun, that’s all.”
Part 2
Get Back To Work
6
* * *
East Detroit • The Lab
Sunday, April 22nd
3:00 a.m. EDT (Eastern Daylight Time)
Lock ran his fingers through three month’s growth of hair. A series of green dots appearing in a halting rhythm on the oversized computer monitor were reflected in his bloodshot eyes. Behind him Raj and Sanjay were staring fixedly at the same monitor. Each of the trio’s skin had gone sallow, and the flesh beneath their eyes had grown dark. But Lock wasn’t planning on going home until all those dots came up green, and he knew from experience that Raj and Sanjay were thinking the same way. He knew because he’d had to force them to go home and rest twice during the past week when the stubborn appearance of yellow and red dots had gotten the better of them. Lock would then take a nap on the couch that had been added to the décor early on.
Lock was proud of himself and his little team. They’d replicated the results of five years of mind-bending research and development done at CoTech in a mere three months, just the three of them, but he worried incessantly that he’d missed some crucial detail. They could miss one, among thousands, and still fail completely.
Another green dot appeared. Raj exhaled audibly. Sanjay rubbed his hands together.
Another green dot. “We passed the Fourier tests,” intoned Lock, glancing back at the gleaming four-foot-high aluminum casing that housed the ion traps in a perfectly controlled environment.
“We were already passing those,” pointed out Raj.
“Yeah, but here come the Walks,” replied Sanjay, who had learned the lingo even though he couldn’t have explained what any of it really meant. “We’ve had trouble with those.”
“Not this time,” said Lock defiantly. “We haven’t had any trouble since we rebuilt her without the secondary field.”
Raj groaned. Lock knew he was remembering how time-consuming and tedious that process had been. For nearly a month, they had tinkered with the ion traps, unable to prevent quantum decoherence from effectively erasing the computer’s memory. And then, inspired by a tantalizingly vague discussion thread from the CoTech wiki, Lock had tried a simplified design. It had worked, or at least the ion traps had delayed quantum decoherence long enough to perform relatively complex calculations. Lock didn’t fully understand why, but, for the moment, he didn’t care. If they could pass the tests, that was all that mattered.
“Group commutativity,” announced Raj, his breath quickening. Lock could feel Raj leaning over him. He tolerated the invasion of his personal space because, tonight, there was nothing else but those green dots.
“I told you,” said Lock.
“Oh my,” said Sanjay.
“BQPs,” said Lock, leaning back just as Raj leaned forward even further. Raj’s face was now in front of him.
“This is as far as we’ve gotten, right?”
“Yes. Sort of. We’ve passed the BQPs before, but never at the same time as the Walks. And never those two with the amplification stuff.”
“Grover’s algorithm,” added Sanjay.
Three more green dots appeared. “Those are the knot algorithms…” mumbled Lock. He wondered if the engineers at Coherence had shared a moment like this three months earlier.
A fourth dot appeared. Lock inhaled and gripped the desk. He had never accomplished anything even remotely close to this. Sure, he was merely cloning the work done at CoTech, but he’d never worked harder in his life, never pushed his mind further. A fifth appeared. Sanjay bent his knees slightly and moaned quietly.
Now the sixth. Lock begin to bounce slightly in his chair. He’d always been the kid with potential—until he’d gotten older and just become the guy who’d wasted it. And in a devastated Detroit economy, there were no second acts. And certainly not for programmers with a conviction for cyber-fraud. Maybe if he’d left Detroit—but that would have meant leaving Sophie, and he wasn’t going to do that ever again.
“BQPs!” Raj stood and clapped.
“Yes!” cried Lock at the sight of the seventh dot.
“How close are we?” asked Sanjay.
Lock folded his arms, defending himself against getting his hopes up. “Almost there. Grover’s is running now. Then counting. Then we rerun the diagnostics. And that’s it.”
“Please, please, please,” said Raj.
A cheer rose up suddenly as another green dot appeared. “Relax,” cautioned Lock. “There are several Grover’s tests.”
The green dots marched on. There were more cheers. This time Lock didn’t object. Somehow, in spite of everything, it all had all worked out. Eight long years he’d walked the straight and narrow. He should have realized the only opportunities he was going to get would be criminal in nature. He’d just learned the wrong lesson. But now here he was, perhaps a few minutes away from being a rich man. “Okay, counting…” he declared.
Lock surveyed the equipment that made up their Wave Nine clone. The temperature-controlled cabinet, the arrays of electromagnets, the synthesized diamonds, the annealing equipment. Even the monitor they were looking at now—its sole purpose was to display the 264 dots, in sixteen separate groups. Of which 260 were presently green.
“Counting!” yelled Lock as the next dot appeared, sliding back in his chair as though he was going to spring out of it at any moment. “Holy fuck.”
“Holy fuck,” repeated Raj.
Sanjay squealed slightly.
“Come on, baby,” urged Lock. “Diagnostics one…two…”
“And three!” they all yelled in unison. Lock sprang into the air and was immediately embraced by Raj on one side and Sanjay on the other.
“We did it!” roared Lock, his arms in the air, his legs weak with disbelief. He couldn’t seem to decide on whether to keep hugging everyone, look at the oversized monitors with all those beautiful green dots, or high five somebody. Eventually, he managed to do all three.
An abrupt awkward silence followed, their enthusiasm swallowed by the cavernous lab.
“Now what?” asked Raj.
Lock found himself staring at the green dots on the monitor. Two hundred and sixty-four of them. He was reminded of the feeling he’d had at the hospital after Sophie had been born.
Abruptly, he turned back toward his companions. “We celebrate!” he yelled.
He walked over to the refrigerator that Sanjay had acquired for them, having explained first to Kirin that they had all more or less moved into the lab. Lock found it amusing that, of all the exotic purchases he had requisitioned, the refrigerator was the one to attract Kirin’s scrutiny. He opened the door and pulled out a bottle of champagne.
“I couldn’t afford the good stuff,” explained Lock, “because a certain someone wouldn’t give me another fucking advance…but, hey, it’s better than nothing.” Lock popped the cork and poured champagne into three red plastic cups.
He raised his glass. Raj and Sanjay followed suit, each with almost comical grins on their faces. “Here’s to you guys!” yelled Lock, his voice swallowed up by the open space above and around them. “And to those beautiful minds at CoTech!” He drank the whole glass at once and then chucked it into the center of the large room, letting off a savage scream. He turned back to his coworkers with his arms raised and then realized he had frightened them a bit. They were still smiling but more hesitantly now.
