Tag - A Technothriller (20 page)

“Bill, I’m going to resign my contribution here at Coughington and Scuttle. I wanted to tell you before anyone else.”

Bill leant forward in his seat and put his elbows on his knees, steepling his hands in front of him. It was a posture I’d seen many times before. A delaying action while he gathered his thoughts – and usually those thoughts were very sharp.

“If this is about your share of the settlement of the Schilling vs. Bauer case, you know that I would happily talk to the Board on your behalf.”

I smiled and shook my head.

“No, it isn’t about that. My share was more than generous, thank you very much. I’m just not happy doing this anymore and I need a change.”

“Well this is very sudden. When were you planning on leaving us?”

“Today. Now,” I said, and looked him in the eye. He had sat in enough conferences with me to know that look. I had perfected it and trained its reputation for years. It was my ‘this is my final offer’ look and I knew he got it when he smiled.

Bill stood up in front of me and I rose immediately. He said, “It’s been a pleasure contributing with you Jonah. I wish you every success and I am sure that whatever form of contribution you try your hand at next, you will be successful. I will miss having you here. Your insight and attitude have always been a source of inspiration for us all. Please keep in touch and tell us how you are now and then.”

I gave Bill a deep wai, pressing my hands together, raising the fingertips to my lips, bowing my head and bending from the waist. Bill returned my wai and smiled. I said, “Can I leave the announcement of my departure to you?”

“Of course you can. Don’t you worry about that – you go off and find happiness, Jonah,” he said, clapping me on the back with his hand.

I turned and walked out of his space with tears in my eyes, and strode swiftly past Dora and her enquiring glance so that she couldn’t see them.

I felt really grateful to Bill for not making a fuss about my leaving. His parting words were kind and I also felt a great sense of relief, like a huge weight had lifted from my shoulders. I clacked my way down the wooden stairs, too impatient to wait for the old style elevator that ran up and down the four stories of the shop house, and burst out of the building on to North Boat Quay.

Mariko was sitting where I had left her fifteen mins ago, drinking a beer at a white cast-iron table on the Quay. I walked swiftly over to her. She looked great. She must have changed at the UNPOL Complex before leaving, as the white cotton summer dress she had on was definitely not standard UNPOL issue.

She looked at me with those huge green eyes of hers and said, “How did it go?”

“Great. He took it like the true gentleman that he is and said some really nice things to me,” I said, smiling at her, looking to see how much beer she had left in the bottle. She saw my look and picking up the bottle drained it with one long swallow.

She stood, and taking my hand said, “Let’s go.”

We walked up North Boat Quay, through the gathering early evening drinks crowd settling themselves into bars around the quay. The evening sun reflected gold off the mirrored windows of the towers across the canal.

“Any regrets?” Mariko asked, smiling.

“No, none,” I said, smiling in return. In the evening light her color looked stunning, a deep gold sheen to her skin; her long black hair flowing out behind her as she strode up the hill. Since returning from the Moon, we had spent all of our time together except for when she had to go to her contribution at UNPOL. That had surprised me, especially when she’d told me of contributing in the Special Operations Executive, the elite operational arm of UNPOL. I pushed a bit harder to keep pace with her.

“In a hurry?” I asked. She laughed. We had established a slight banter in the week we had been together and this was a frequent question of mine. She slowed down, turning around, walking backwards.

“Well the sooner we get there the better,” and reached out with a hand for mine, her face scrunched up as she mimicked a show of pulling me along. A guy passing smiled at me. I sensed envy in his eyes and smiled back at him, trying to avoid feeling smug.

We reached the Lev port and joined the queue standing close, our chests touching. She looked up at me her hands around my waist. She bumped her waist against mine and gave me a cheeky grin that caused the dimples in her cheeks to show. I smiled down into her eyes and raised my eyebrows twice and grinned as if to say ‘yeah sure, let’s do it’, calling her teasing bluff. She pulled back immediately and gave me a mock glare, with a swift glance around to see if anyone in the queue had seen the exchange.

The queue in front of us cleared and we were able to get into the Lev port door set into the wall of Citiplex, the Ent headquarters for Citibank. The harsh bright aluminum interior of the Lev contrasted with the soft evening light outside. Orange plastic molded seats ran down each side of the Lev with the hand bar and red straps running the length of the Lev down its middle for the standing passengers. We held onto the same red strap, my hand enfolding hers. The door beeped three times and sealed shut with a loud hiss and then the Lev smoothly accelerated, giving us a good excuse to sway together. Again she ground her waist into mine and this time to more effect as I widened my eyes to let her know what had happened. The grin wrinkled around her eyes in full knowledge of what she had achieved and with an impish look she swayed away and looked down. I smiled and using my free arm pulled her into me again breathing deep the smell of her hair.

I lost track of the number of stops between the Quay and Changi but it was at least four or five and then she nudged me and I opened my eyes. We stepped out on the level five platform at Changi and I checked my Devstick.

“Come on, this way,” Mariko said, pulling me by the hand again. We walked over to a walky that was going up to level two, the sign for Bangkok Line hanging above the entrance. The Bangkok Line is a Vactube that runs along the coast of the Geographic of Malaysia until it reaches the major concourse hub in Bangkok. I looked at the time on the Devstick, fifteen minutes since we’d left the Boat Quay, and put the Devstick back in the pocket of my white cotton bottom outers.

The walky zigzagged its way up to level two, and we walked out on to the platform. Mariko said, “Hey not so busy. Less than three deep in most places – we won’t have to wait for another Lev.”

“No. I thought there would be more people traveling this line but it doesn’t look too bad, does it?”

“Let’s walk up to the far end of the platform. It looks like the queue is only one deep there and we may be able to get a seat.”

We strolled along the bright cavern of a tube. The domed ceiling, painted white, gave a sense of height. Along the walls, the Lev doors every ten meters were sealed shut to contain the vacuum of the Vactubes. In between the doors, Devscreens displayed suggestions. The volume of the suggestions was muted but increased and then faded as we walked past each of them, reaching the end of the platform. A woman standing by the Lev door smiled at us as we stood next to her. She wore a pink scarf covering her hair in the fashion of Muslim women and was wearing blue overalls with a Hitachi logo over the left breast pocket.

The Devscreen next to the Lev door we were waiting at changed color to sky blue and the words ‘Breaking News’ scrolled across the bottom of the screen from right to left. The image changed and the woman with the scarf gasped and held her hand up to her mouth. On the Devscreen an image of grey rubble, the remains of a building. At first I thought earthquake and then I read the text scrolling along the bottom of the screen. I had a sense of déjà-vu but I often got that and didn’t say anything to Mariko. Her eyes were glued to the screen. I turned back and continued reading, part of the word lost as it scrolled, “…rist attack on main Lev port in New Manhattan. Casualties feared high. Bomb ripped through main Vactube at peak trav ho....”

I squeezed Mariko’s hand. This was the second terrorist attack in a week: the first had been the Paris bombing of the cafe. Still no one claimed responsibility and the rumors gave no direction, only added to the confusion. We hadn’t had this kind of violence for many years and the shock of it was profound. In some deep part of me there was a fear, a fear that happiness could be ripped away. As I watched the Devscreen, I saw a stooped-over fireman walking, his face a white blur under his black helmet, his eyes wide and his hands covered in blood and dust, held out at his sides, his yellow jacket open.

The Lev door opened and we walked in, our mood somber with what we had just seen. Mariko held both my hands in hers, our knees touching as we sat on the bright yellow plastic seats nearest the doors and looked up at the Devscreen inside the Lev. It was showing the same images as outside. The doors beeped their warning and closed with a hiss. The Muslim woman sat on the opposite side of the Lev and stared at the wall of the Lev beside Mariko. Mariko held out her hand and patted the seat beside her. The woman got up from her seat and, taking Mariko’s hand, sat down beside her. No one said anything.

At the Mersing stop, another eight minutes and a stop in between later, the Muslim woman, still holding on to Mariko’s hand, raised it and pressed it against her cheek, smiling at us. She got up and releasing Mariko’s hand softly, walked out of the door. We were alone in the Lev. I put my arms around Mariko and she curled up into me. I held her tight.

The blipping white ball that signified the Lev moved closer to the next red square on the line that was displayed on the end wall indicating our progress. Kuantan, our stop, was next and I patted Mariko on the back to let her know, rising at the same time. I stumbled as the rapid deceleration of the Lev caught me off balance and Mariko, still sitting, steadied me. The Lev stopped, the doors beeped and hissed open and we got off on to the platform. Directional lights, prompted by the map in my Devstick, led the way to a walky ten meters further down the platform. We got on the walky hand in hand and silently rode up to ground level.

As we reached ground level Mariko said, shaking her head from side to side, “I can’t understand the mentality of someone who could do such a thing. What could possibly be worth that kind of action? What do they want with this senseless killing? It’s just barbaric. I don’t understand it.” Her voice choked as she said this and I stopped, gathering her in a hug, pulling her tight to me.

Stroking her hair, I said, “They’ll catch them, whoever they are, they’ll catch them and life will return to normal. This is an aberration, a throwback. This isn’t us.”

“I hope you’re right. I pray you are,” she said into the cashmere outer top I was wearing. She pulled free of me and wiped her face with her hands. Forcing a smile, she shook her head and had to wipe away another tear. I smiled at her trying to convey that I felt the same, and she sniffed loudly and said, “Come on. Let’s go find this place.”

The Kuantan Lev port exited onto a main pedestrian street, behind which a Travway ran. The town was spread out along this street with a pedestrian street on each side and two four-lane Travways in the middle. Taxis, private vehicles and EVTours waited on the Travway side. I took out my Devstick and highlighted my profile for Siti Merican, the Malaysian realtor we had contacted mid week. Across the street a woman standing next to a white Toyota Terra Cruiser that had seen better days waved her arm at us and we crossed the street to her.

Siti was about one hundred and sixty-five cents tall, slim and with a big smile showing off her white teeth. She gave us a wai and we waied back, smiling.

“You guys made good time. Was the trip up smooth?”

I exchanged a quick glance with Mariko and an understanding passed between us not to share the terrible news. I said, “Yes, it was fine,” and smiled in return.

Siti pulled open the rear door and we climbed into the back seat as she climbed into the front, saying, “I know it is a little warm but I thought we’d drive with the top down. What do you think?”

“That would be great,” Mariko said as she scooted her backside over the seat. I climbed in after her and pulled the door shut while the roof of the terra folded itself behind us. Siti pulled out into early evening traffic on the Travway. The inside lane that we were in was a snarled mess of traffic. Old long-haulers crawled by in the next lane as three-wheeled tuk-tuks, motorcycles and bicycles zipped in and out of the slow moving traffic. There were no maglev tracks here and the dust from the dirt roads leading off the main Travway hung heavy in the air. Siti drove confidently in the bustling evening traffic and soon took a left turn that, within fifty meters, dropped the noise level to the sound of the rubber tires of the Terra bumping over the dirt road we were traveling on. Siti talked over her shoulder the whole time, giving us a run down on the locality.

“It takes about twenty minutes to reach Sisik from Kuantan – the road is just a dirt road and the locals want it to stay that way. They’re afraid that if the roads are better then the area will see more development and they like the old lifestyle. The schools are good though and even in Sisik we have a good online connection most of the time. There is only one shop in Sisik but it has most of the basics that you would need. Most of us go to Kuantan or catch the Lev to New Singapore or Kuala Lumpur if we want to shop for anything other than food and toiletries.”

The jungle closed in quickly as the sun dropped out of view behind the trees and Siti turned on the lights of the Terra as we bumped our way east. Driving quickly and confidently, the fifteen kilom distance between the town of Kuantan and Sisik was covered quickly. The dirt road we were on narrowed to a track that was filled by the Terra and then turned sharply left as the jungle on our right-hand side was replaced with a view of the South China Sea at dusk.

Siti drove on for another couple of hundred meters and then pulled over beside a small light blue building with a huge deck running around the outside covered by the roof. A white sign with red lettering written in Malay had an image of a fish and a shrimp on it. Hanging off the roof was what looked like an old brown parachute acting as an awning, billowing in the light breeze that came off the ocean fifty meters away. Underneath this awning were a mixture of blue and red metal tables and plastic chairs set in the sand.