Islands in the Net (11 page)

It was funny to think of Charlie Cullen being CEO. Laura hadn't met Cullen face to face since his appointment, though she'd networked with him a little when they were building the Lodge. Cullen was a biochemist, in construction plastics mostly, a nice enough guy. He was a great caretaker Rizome CEO, because you trusted him instinctively—but he didn't much come across as an alley fighter. Since his appointment he'd taken to wearing a gray fedora perched on the back of his head. Less like a hat than a halo or crown. It was funny how authority affected people.

Cullen's whole face had changed. With his square chin and broad nose, and mouth gone a little severe, he was starting to look like a black George Washington. The original, primeval George Washington, not the recent black president by the same name.

Then there were the others. Sharon McIntyre, Emily Donato's mentor on the Committee, and Emily herself, her ringleted hair caught under a scarf so that she looked like she'd just been cleaning a stove. Kaufmann, the realpolitik European, managing to look refined and natty even in jeans and knapsack. De Valera, self-styled firebrand of the Committee, who tended to grandstand, but was always coming up with the bright idea. The professorial Gauss, and the cozy-conciliatory Raduga. And bringing up the rear of the group, the ancient Mr. Saito. Saito was wearing a kind of Ben Franklin fur hat and bifocals, but he leaned on a tall knotted staff, like some hybridized Taoist hermit.

Then there were herself, and David, and Debra Emerson. Not Committee members, but witnesses.

Cullen crunched to a stop in a leaf-strewn autumn glade. They were meeting far from wires for security reasons. They'd even left their watchphones behind, in one of the farmhouses.

McIntyre and Raduga spread a large checkered picnic cloth. Everyone shuffled into a circle and sat. They joined hands and sang a Rizome anthem. Then they ate.

It was fascinating to watch. The Committee really worked at it, that sense of community. They'd made a practice of living together for weeks on end. Doing each other's laundry, tending each other's kids. It was policy. They were elected, but once in power they were given wide authority and expected to get on with it. For Rizome, getting on with it meant a more or less open, small-scale conspiracy.

Of course the fashion for
gemeineschaft
intensity came and went. Years ago, during Saito's period as CEO, there had been a legendary time when he'd taken the whole Committee to Hokkaido. When they rose before dawn to bathe naked in freezing waterfalls. And ate brown rice and, if rumor were true, had killed, butchered, and eaten a deer while living for three days in a cave. No one on the Committee had ever talked much about the experience afterward, but there was no denying that they'd become one hell of a group.

Of course that was the sort of bullshit half-legendry that clumped around any center of corporate power, but the Committee fed the mystique. And Rizome instinctively fell back on gut-level solidarity in times of trouble.

It was far from perfect. You could see it by the way they were acting—the way, for instance, that de Valera and Kaufmann made an unnecessarily big deal over who was going to cut and serve the bread. But you could see that it worked, too. Rizome association was a lot more than a job. It was tribal. You could live and die for it.

It was a simple meal. Apples, bread, cheese, some “ham spread” that was obviously tailored scop. And mineral water. Then they got to business—not calling anybody to order, but drifting into it, bit by bit.

They started with the F.A.C.T. They were more afraid of them than of Grenada. The Grenadians were thieving pirates, but at least they'd stayed in deep background, whereas the F.A.C.T., whoever they were, had seriously embarrassed the company. Thanks to that, they had Vienna to worry about now, though Vienna was vacillating. Even more than usual.

Rizome was determined to track down the F.A.C.T. They didn't expect that it would be simple or easy, but Rizome was a major multinational with thousands of associates and outposts on five continents. They had contacts throughout the Net and a tradition of patience. Sooner or later they would get at the truth. No matter who was hiding it.

The immediate target of suspicion was Singapore, either the Islamic Bank or the Singapore Government, though the lines between the two were blurry. No one doubted Singapore was capable of carrying out the killing in Galveston. Singapore had never signed the Vienna Convention, and they boasted openly of the reach of their military and intelligence services.

It was hard to understand, though, why they would pick a fight with Grenada, after agreeing to negotiate. Especially a rash provocation like the Stubbs killing, guaranteed to enrage Grenada without doing real strategic damage. Singapore was arrogant, and technologically reckless, but no one had ever said they were stupid.

So the Committee agreed to suspend judgment while awaiting further evidence. There were too many possibilities at present, and to try to cover every contingency would only bring paralysis. In the meantime they would move with the initiative, ignoring the terrorist communiqué.

FACT was obviously a threat, assuming FACT had a separate existence from the people they were already dealing with. But they'd had a clear chance to kill a Rizome associate—Laura—and had chosen not to take it. That was some small comfort.

The discussion moved to the Grenada situation.

“I don't see what we can do on the ground in Grenada that we can't manage over the Net,” Raduga said.

“It's time we stopped making that false distinction!” de Valera said. “With our newest online stuff—the tech Vienna uses—we
are
the Net. I mean—in MacLuhanesque terms—a Rizome associate in videoshades can be a
cognitive spearhead
for the entire company.…”

“We're not Vienna,” Kaufmann said. “It does not mean it will work for us.”

“We're in a one-down situation with Grenada now,” said Cullen. “We're not in a position to talk media invasion.”

“Yes, Charlie,” de Valera said, “but don't you see, that's exactly why it will
work
. We go in apologizing, but we come out indoctrinating.”

Cullen frowned. “We're responsible for the death of one of their top people. This Winston Stubbs. It's as if one of us had been killed. Like we'd lost Mr. Saito.”

Simple words, but Laura could see it hit them. Cullen had a knack for pulling things down to human scale. They were wincing.

“That is why
I
should go to Grenada,” Saito said. He never said much. He didn't need to.

“I don't like it,” said Garcia-Meza. “Why make this an eye-for-eye situation? It's not our fault that the pirates have enemies. We didn't shoot them. And we are not one down, because they were never up on our level.” Garcia-Meza was the hard-liner of the group. “I think this diplomatic approach was a mistake. You don't stop thieves by kissing them.” He paused. “But I agree that we can't back out now. Our credibility's at stake.”

“We can't allow this to degenerate into a gangster power struggle,” Gauss declared. “We have to restore the trust that we went to such pains to establish. So we must convince Grenada of three things: that it was not our doing, that we are still trustworthy, and that they can gain from cooperation with us. Not from confrontation.”

That kind of plonking summation was typical of Gauss. He had killed the conversation. “I think Heinrich has hit it on the head,” Cullen said at last. “But we can't do any of that convincing by remote control. We need to send people in who can press the flesh and get right on the Grenadians, hand to hand. Show them what we're made of, how we operate.”

“All right,” David said sharply. Laura was surprised. She'd felt the pressure building, but she'd assumed he would let her pick the moment. “It's obvious,” he said. “Laura and I are the ones you need. Grenada knows us already, they've got dossiers on us a foot thick. And we were there when Stubbs was killed. If you
don't
send us—the eyewitnesses—they're bound to wonder why not.”

The Committee members were silent a moment—either wondering at his tone, or maybe appreciating the sacrifice. “David and I feel responsible,” Laura added. “Our luck's been bad so far, but we're willing to see the project through. And we have no other assignments, since Galveston shut our Lodge down.”

Cullen looked unhappy. Not with them—with the situation. “David, Laura, I appreciate that correct attitude. It's very courageous. I know you're aware of the danger. Better than we are, since you've seen it personally.”

David shrugged it off. He never reacted well to praise. “Frankly, I'm less afraid of the Grenadians than the people who shot them.”

“An excellent point. I also note that the terrorists shot them in America,” Gauss said. “Not in Grenada, where the security is much stronger.”

“I should go,” Saito objected. “Not because I would be better at it.” A polite lie. “But I am an old man. I have little to lose.”

“And I'll go with him,” said Debra Emerson, speaking for the first time. “If there's any blame in this security debacle, it's certainly not the Websters'. It's my own. I was also at the Lodge. I can testify as well as Laura can.”

“We can't go into this expecting that our people will be shot!” de Valera said passionately. “We must arrange things so they never even
think
we might be prey. Either that, or not go in at all. Because if that confidence fails, it's gonna be war, and we'll have to become gangland soldiers. Not economic democrats.”

“No guns,” Cullen agreed. “But we do have armor, at least. We can give our diplomats the armor of the Net. Whoever goes will be online twenty-four hours. We'll know exactly where they are, exactly what they're doing. Everything they see and hear will be taped and distributed. All of Rizome will be behind them, a media ghost on their shoulder. Grenada will respect that. They've already agreed to those terms.”

“I think Charlie's right,” Garcia-Meza said, unexpectedly. “They won't harm our diplomats. What's the point? If they want to savage Rizome, they won't start with the Websters just because they are close at hand. They are not so naive. If they shoot us, they will shoot for the head. They will go for us—the Committee.”

“Jesus,” de Valera said.

“We are feasting with tigers here,” Garcia-Meza insisted. “This is a vital operation and we'll have to watch each step. So I'm glad we have those Vienna glasses. We'll need them.”

“Let me go,” Ms. Emerson begged. “They're young and they have a baby.”

“Actually,” de Valera said, “I think that's the Websters' major advantage as candidates. I think the Websters should go, and I think they should take their baby with them.” He smiled at the circle, enjoying the stir he'd created. “Look, think about it. A peaceable young married couple, with a baby. It's a perfect diplomatic image for our company, because it's
true
. It's what they
are
, isn't it? It may sound cold-blooded, but it's a perfect psychological defense.”

“Well,” said Garcia-Meza, “I don't often agree with de Valera, but that's clever. These pirates are macho. They would be ashamed to fight with babies.”

Kaufmann spoke heavily. “I did not want to mention this. But Debra's background in American intelligence … that is simply not something that a Third World country like Grenada will accept. And I do
not
want to send a Committee member, because, frankly, such a target is too tempting.” He turned to them. “I hope you understand, David and Laura, that I mean no reflection on your own high value as associates.”

“I just don't like it,” Cullen said. “Maybe there's no other choice, but I don't like risking company people.”

“We're all in danger now,” Garcia-Meza said darkly. “No matter what choices we make.”

“I believe in this initiative!” de Valera declared. “I pushed for this from the beginning. I know the consequences. I truly believe the Grenadians will go for this—they're not barbarians, and they know their own best interests. If our diplomats are hurt on duty, I'll take the heat and resign my post.”

Emily was annoyed by this grab for the limelight. “Don't be non-R, de Valera! That won't do
them
much good.”

De Valera shrugged off the accusation. “David, Laura, I hope you understand my offer in the meaning I intended. We're associates, not bosses and pawns. If you're hurt, I won't walk from that. Solidarity.”

“None of us will walk,” Cullen said. “We don't have that luxury. Laura, David, you realize what's at stake. If we fail to smooth things with Grenada, it could plunge us into disaster. We're asking you to risk yourselves—but we're giving you the power to risk all of us. And that kind of power is very rare in this company.”

Laura felt the weight of it. They wanted an answer. They were looking to the two of them. There was no one else for them to look to.

She and David had already talked it out, privately. They knew they could duck this assignment, without blame. But they had lost their home, and it would leave all their plans floundering. It seemed better to seize the risk, go with the flow of the crisis, and depend on their own abilities to deal with it. Better that than to sit back like victims and let terrorists trample their lives with impunity. Their minds were made up.

“We can do it,” Laura said. “If you back us.”

“It's settled then.” And that was that. They all rose and folded up the picnic. And went back to the farmhouses.

Laura and David began training immediately with the videoglasses. They were the first the company had bought, and they were grotesquely expensive. She'd never realized it before, but each set cost as much as a small house.

They looked it, too—at close range they had the strange aura of scientific instruments. Nonconsumer items, very specialized, very clean. Heavy, too—a skin of tough black plastic, but packed tight with pricy superconductive circuitry. They had no real lenses in them—just thousands of bit-mapped light detectors. The raw output was a prismatic blur—visual software handled all the imagery, depth of focus, and so on. Little invisible beams measured the position of the user's eyeballs. The operator, back at his screen, didn't have to depend on the user's gaze, though. With software he could examine anything in the entire field of vision.