Authors: David Wingrove
‘Animal foodstuffs. Media. Industrials. Consumer goods…’
‘Random stuff, then?’
‘Looks that way…’
‘So who’s dealing?’
‘Small traders mostly… maybe they’ve heard something…’
‘Heard what? It doesn’t work that way.’
‘It isn’t
supposed
to. But what if they’ve been talking outside the loop? Anyway, nothing’s happening. There’s no reason anyone should be selling.’
‘Right,’ George said. ‘Only they are. And you know what it’s like… unless we put a damper on this and quick…’
‘How are we going to do that, George?’
‘Government intervention.’
‘The UK couldn’t afford it…’
‘I don’t just mean us. I mean internationally. Like in 2008. Get the central banks to calm things down.’
‘Is that what you discussed the other day?’
‘One of the things.’
‘So you anticipated this?’
George turned to face him, conscious that they could be overheard, if someone really wanted to overhear them.
‘We discussed a lot of options. But we were agreed on one thing. The attacks were a prelude. To what we don’t know. But something’s happening, and we’ve got to be ready
to respond to it.’
Flexibility, Jake thought. That’s the key. That’s what will see us through.
Only what if their rival’s game plan included that?
Jake sat in George Hinton’s office, a big bulb glass of brandy in one hand, listening in as George reported back to his uncle, Harry, who was Head of Strategic
Planning.
The wind had blown all morning, strong and cold, like a hand pushing against their backs, though never hard enough to warrant action. No. Because for all George’s talk of intervention,
action at this point would merely have fed the fires. Would have paradoxically confirmed that there was a problem.
No. They had to keep their nerve and only act when things got bad. That was the way with the Market. It had always been the way.
Confidence. That was the secret. Confidence.
‘… true, true…’ George was saying, ‘only I don’t see how. The brokers we’ve spoken with confirm what MAT discovered. It’s customer-led.
They’ve had specific instructions to sell. And when you’re told to sell by your clients, you sell. It’s a free market…’
Yes, Jake thought. But is it? Or does someone stand to make a lot of money?
And that was where he ran up against a wall, every time. Because what other motive could there be? Speculation. It was the blood and sinew of the system. And there
had
to be a profit to
be made, even if he couldn’t see how.
And if
he
could make a profit?
Jake considered it a moment. Would it be so wrong to capitalize on this? To make money out of this misery? Wasn’t that what his instincts cried out to do? In normal circumstances he
wouldn’t have hesitated. He’d have been in there, sniffing out the bargains. Only this wasn’t a normal situation. Instinct told him there was no profit to be made from this. After
all, 5 per cent of nothing was still nothing.
No. For once he had to fight this, not embrace it.
George ended his call. He turned and looked to Jake.
‘You want to go home, Jake, or do you want to stay on?’
‘I have an option?’
‘Just that if this carries on the way it’s been, we may need you in there for quite some time. I’m thinking twelve-hour shifts…’
‘You think it’s going to get worse.’
George nodded. ‘Whoever’s driving this… whoever’s feeding false information to the Market, or whatever it is they’re doing, they’re doing it for a reason,
and that reason will come clear after a time. I’d like you to be in there when that happens, Jake. I want you to evaluate just who and what it is and tell us how you think we ought to
act.’
Jake let out a breath. ‘You discussed this at the board meeting, too, I take it?’
‘We did.’ George paused. ‘You’re our best, Jake. Maybe
the
best. If anyone can work out what’s going on, then you can. Only…’
‘You don’t think the crisis point has come just yet.’
‘No. Which is why I’d recommend getting some rest. Maybe take a shot. The next session might be rough.’
Jake considered, then gave a nod. ‘Okay. I’ll do what you suggest. But George?’
‘Yes?’
‘I think you should ask a few of those clients just why they’ve given their instructions. I think you need to confirm that this is rumour-led.’
George’s face had been deadly serious throughout. Now he gave the faintest smile. ‘We’re doing it already.’
‘Good.’ Jake stood and put the untouched brandy on the table next to him. ‘Then call me when you need me.’
‘Oh, I will, Jake… I most certainly will.’
He’d hoped to find Kate there when he got back, but she was out having lunch with Jenny. He left a message, then, knowing he’d not sleep without it, took a shot of
KalmEaze and went to bed, giving Trish instructions to wake him in six hours.
If George was right, and this was some speculatory gambit – some rich man’s ploy to get even richer at the Market’s expense – then that would surely become clear before
much longer. To give the Market time to defend itself made no strategic sense. If it were he, he’d strike fast and hard. That was, once the tipping point was reached. Once confidence had been
sufficiently eroded and the circumstances were ripe.
Because that was his guess right now. That this was a process of slow erosion. A softening-up before the onslaught.
There had been a similar incident in the early days of the datscape. Back then – and he was talking twelve, fifteen years ago – the datscape had been in its infancy. It had been
incomplete.
Flawed
. And someone had taken advantage of its flaws to propagate a massive fraud. Things had tightened up since then. The datscape was a perfect model now, matched one-to-one to
the outside. Not only that, but its defences had grown sophisticated. But so too, it seemed, had those who sought to penetrate those defences.
He kept thinking of the strange perfection of those four attack programmes. If he’d been a ‘scrip’ – a writer of programmes for the datscape – he’d have been
immensely proud. There was a real art to seeming so effortless.
Jake yawned. The KalmEaze was taking effect. He would be out of it in five.
‘Trish,’ he said lazily, almost slurred. ‘Doh wake me less you muss…’
He woke to find Kate beside him. No alarms, no urgent voices, just Kate, laying there, reading a book. Seeing he was awake, she set it aside, then rolled into him, letting him
cuddle her.
‘Hi, sleepy head… You snore, you know that?’
‘Do I?’ He breathed in the scent of her. On the datscape she would be a high-value bond with a smell like that. A solid investment.
‘I was surprised you were home. What with all the stuff that’s been going on…’
‘Yeah? Like what?’
‘It was on the news…’
Jake looked past her at the screen on the wall. ‘Trish…?’
‘Not yet,’ Kate said, placing her hand on his chin and turning his face so that he was looking at her again. ‘I thought we might… you know?’
‘Mister Reed?’ Trish asked.
‘Nothing, Trish… just dim the lights.’
Only now he was wondering what it was that had been on the news and how it was connected to the Market.
After a minute or two, Kate sat up. ‘Your mind’s not on this, is it?’
‘I’m sorry… creature of habit and all that. Just let me see what it is, then you’ll have my full attention.’
Kate huffed, then, ‘Trish. Show him.’
The screen lit. There were fires and gunshots and…
‘Where is that?’ he asked, only vaguely recognizing it through the swirling smoke and the gun flashes.
Trish answered instantly. ‘It’s P’ei Ching. Tiananmen Square. It seems that a number of members of the State Council have been killed… assassinated. Hence the unrest.
There’s talk of a coup of some kind, but everything’s vague right now…’
‘And the Market?’
‘There’s renewed pressure…’
He looked to Kate. ‘I ought to go in. I’m surprised they didn’t…’
She pushed him down onto his back, even as Trish cut the feed and the room fell silent.
‘If they need you, you can go. Until then you’re mine.’
The hopper set down on the roof of Hinton Industries. As its engines growled to a halt, Jake looked towards the pilot, meeting his eyes in the mirror.
‘Sam?’
‘Yes, Mister Reed?’
‘What do you think about what’s happening in China?’
‘I think it’s worrying.’
‘Worrying? You think it will affect us, then?’
‘Everything affects us. It’s that kind of world these days.’
That was true. Jake nodded. ‘Thanks…’
‘That’s okay. They called you back then?’
‘Yes… looks like we’re in for a bumpy ride.’
Sam smiled stoically. ‘Looks like it.’
Joel met him in reception. He was only in his thirties, yet he seemed to have aged ten years since Jake had last seen him.
‘I know,’ Joel said. ‘I need some sleep. But come through. I have to show you something.’
Looking past him, Jake noticed that they had doubled the usual number of guards. Tonight, eight of the hugely-muscled ‘firewalls’ were making sure that no one got in from the
outside. It made him wonder why.
He followed Joel through reception. Only this once they didn’t turn right towards the Wiring Room, but to the left, following the corridor along to the Dealing Room.
The noise hit him as he stepped through. Every seat at the great curving board was filled. Sixty or more ‘boardmen’ were plugged in and dealing, the delicate looped cables like a
cat’s cradle between men and machine.
He looked to Joel. ‘Looks like a full complement.’
Joel nodded. ‘We’ve got every spare boardman in and working, and we still can’t cope. The volume is abnormal. I’ve never known anything like it.’
‘When did this start?’
‘It’s been like it the past two hours… since events broke in China.’
Jake nodded. It was the kind of thing that could affect a jittery market. But was that part of it, too? Those killings were deliberate, sure, but were they linked to
this
?
‘Anything strange going on in there?’
‘We’ve a full team inside, Jake. I’ve left one suit free, naturally…’
‘Then fill me in as I’m getting ready.’
Jake made to turn away, expecting Joel to follow him through to the Wiring Room, but Joel reached out, pulling him back.
‘It’s like I said, Jake… I have to show you something.’
‘But I thought…’
Jake had thought he’d meant the Dealing Room. The abnormal volume of work.
He looked at Joel properly this time, saw that he was keeping something back.
‘Come,’ Joel said. ‘You’ve got to see this.’
He followed, through the long curve of the Dealing Room to the door at the far end, beyond which was the Overseer’s Office.
Jake normally had little to do with Walter Ascher, the Overseer. The only time they ever came into contact was at strategy meetings, and then they barely ever spoke. Ascher was a
number-cruncher. His job was to make sure Hinton Industrial was solvent; that its profits exceeded its losses, and that it was taking its due cut from clients. He was old-fashioned in that regard.
He would have preferred if their business had been wholly client-driven, as some were. He didn’t trust ‘web-dancers’ like Jake. He thought it all too cavalier.
Or had. For it didn’t matter now what Walter Ascher thought, because Ascher was dead.
Jake went across. Ascher was slumped in his chair. His face was ashen and his hair was standing on end, like it had been weirdly styled with gel. Someone – Joel? – had removed his
plug-ins, disconnecting him from the board, but you could see from the scorch marks around the tiny input holes at his temples and at his neck, that he had suffered a fatal overload. A
surge
.
Jake turned and looked to Joel. ‘What happened?’
‘I’m not sure. I found him like this twenty minutes back. Security are on their way.’
Jake studied Ascher a moment longer. ‘
Was
there a surge?’
Joel shrugged. ‘If there was, it was highly specific. No one else was affected. Inside… well, it’s not good, but there’ve been no power surges.’
Then it was likely Ascher had been targeted. But how? And why him?
‘I don’t want to pre-empt things, Joel, but I think we should contact some of our competitors. Find out whether they’ve had similar problems.’
‘That’s George’s call, surely?’
‘Where
is
George, by the way?’
‘Inside…’
Which was where
he
ought to be. Security could deal with this. Maybe it
was
faulty wiring. Maybe something
had
gone wrong with the machine. Only these systems were supposed
to be safe. 100 per cent safe. They only went wrong when someone deliberately tampered with them.
‘Joel… get me inside. I think it’s time we took back the initiative.’
Two hours in and Jake had to rest.
Thus far they had done well, fighting fires and damping down activity like they were old hands. For the last hour they had focused on locating and isolating those places where the wind blew
strongest and capping them, like you’d cap a gush of oil. Nor was it just Hinton. All of the ‘big eight’ now had bodies out there in the datscape, firefighting.
Outside, too, they were finally taking action. The eight had met and decided there was only one solution, to
freeze
the Market. Only not just yet. First they would try to calm things
down, to persuade the smaller brokers and their clients not to sell, even to
lean
on them if necessary.
For Jake it had been an eye-opener. The unhealthy smell had hit him instantly. It was like sour sweat and rotting cabbage. An awful smell for one who loved the Market. And the wind…
The wind was gusting now, little tornadoes scurrying across the floor of the datscape. It was a phenomenon he had never seen before, and he wondered what it meant. Normally he was able to read
every twist and turn of this virtual environment, but not tonight.
Tonight it was different.
As a landscape it seemed suddenly to have aged; to have shrivelled and lost its bloom. Here and there the great geometric shapes had been eaten away as if by acid, while elsewhere there were
signs of atrophy, and of a strange blight that left sickly grey-green patches on whatever it affected.