Son of Heaven (27 page)

As he was being skinned up, Jake kept up a conversation with Lampton.

‘So just how many
have
they killed?’

Lampton shrugged. ‘The truth is, Jake, it isn’t clear. What with the glitches and the erasures and all of that shit… but we at Hinton have lost at least nine. And the
others… well, say a dozen apiece.’

‘Just datscape people? Is anyone else getting hit this way?’

‘Not that we can work out. It’s all very specific. They mean to take us out. I guess they think that if the Market falls, the rest falls with it.’

‘Which is the truth.’

Lampton sighed heavily. ‘Yeah. So find a way, eh, Jake?’

It had changed. Had become a place of ashes and dust. In the distance great sheets of grey-green lichenous matter streaked with foul browns and blacks dominated the view. It
was a wasteland, a corrupted environment, in which were scattered, here and there, like forlorn pieces of sculpture, the hollowed-out, blackened shells of abandoned avatars.

The datscape was sick. Was a place now of sudden, unexpected weirdness. Blind, metallic spiders picked their way back and forth, while on the flanks of dying stocks – their vibrant colours
bleached, as if sucked dry – thin, whispering mouths sighed their foul breath into the atmosphere, adding to the acid taint that underlay every scent.

And then there were the eyes, thousands of them, cold, unblinking eyes staring out of every surface, like some pustulent all-seeing rash.

From time to time some small remaining facet of the Market would collapse, tumbling into the putrid flow of waste that slowly sank towards the mid ground of the landscape, all of it turning
slowly, like a whirlpool, about the central abyss.

Jake had seen a reconstruction before he’d gone in. Had seen how the Market had been destroyed in a tidal wave of data as, right at the end, China had dumped everything. It had struck him
then and it was much clearer now. Tsao Ch’un wasn’t playing some financial game. He wasn’t looking to make a profit. This was war. A new kind of war. And this wasteland was the
result.

Before they’d closed it down, they had sent in their own attack worms, rapid propagation programmes intended to countermand those that the rogues had spread, but they had barely had an
effect. The rogues were too strong, too elegant to succumb.

Jake stood there now, looking about him. For all his imaginings, he had not thought it would be so bad. Nothing new was coming in. They had slammed that door firmly shut. Only that didn’t
matter. The rogues had colonized the datscape. They had dug in, rooting themselves deep into the sub levels, tapping into the lower level programmes that sustained the datscape, and cannibalized
them.

This was
their
world now, and they were busy eradicating every last trace of the previous occupants.

‘Harry? Are you listening?’

‘I’m listening.’

‘Then hear me. It’s no good. It’s too far gone. We’re going to have to start again. Maybe erase the past two days and begin again from that point… you know…
from the moment the first intruders went in.’

‘Impossible.’

‘Why? We’ve got the data, haven’t we?’

‘Yes, but… well… two days of trading… people won’t accept that. Some people have made money out of this.’

‘Then get them to give it back. Reconstruct. Get the international community to lean on them if you have to. Only we can’t do anything with this as it is.’

He heard Lampton sigh. Heard voices talking distantly, no doubt discussing his suggestion. It was radical, true, but right now it seemed the only way. If they could persuade all parties to
ignore this
malaise
… to pretend that the last two days simply hadn’t happened… then maybe they could begin again, fresh and confident. Put up safeguards against another
such attack. After all, it was only figures in a machine. But that was the heresy of his plan. Because they weren’t only figures, they were people’s lives, their fortunes. What Jake was
suggesting was much too arbitrary.

‘Jake?’

‘Yes, Harry…’

‘We need to find one of their avatars. Capture one if we can. See if we can’t get some answers.’

Jake closed his eyes. He felt weary now. Even if he found one of their avatars – one of the Jory ones, say – how was he going to capture it? How would he question it? Lampton
didn’t understand. They weren’t in charge here any more.

And besides, he hadn’t seen a living avatar the whole time he’d been in there.

‘It’s no good,’ he said again. ‘Can’t you see that? Just blitz it. Flush it all away. It’s worth nothing now, anyway.’

He heard the intake of breath as dozens of wired-in onlookers registered his words.

It’s worth nothing now…

It wasn’t what they wanted to hear. They wanted him to say it was saveable, that all they had to do was clean it up and things would revert to normal. That if they improved security
– upgrading their firewalls and encryption codes – everything would be all right. Only nothing could be further from the truth.

‘It’s fucked,’ he said. ‘Can’t you see that? Fucked!’

And us with it, he thought. Unless we take radical action.

‘Okay…’ It was Lampton’s voice again, but quieter now, more subdued. ‘Let’s get you out of there. I think we’ve seen enough.’

Jake stood outside in the corridor, waiting while they argued it out, the representatives of some of the richest men on earth, trying to decide what they should do.

He’d had his say. Contributed his part to the debate. Now it was up to them.

Has he anticipated this too? Jake wondered. If we do erase it all and start again, from the point where it all began to go wrong, has he a strategy to deal with that?

Jake’s best guess was that he
had
. That no matter what they did he would have an answer, a new twist, or some devious way of trumping whatever they did. Because
they
weren’t in control any more.
He
was.

So what was he doing standing there? What was he waiting for? Some blinding revelation? No. They were fucked. They were well and truly fucked.

He hesitated, then, without a glance back, made his way out of there, back up onto the roof.

‘Get me a craft,’ he said to the officer on duty.

‘I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. Not without Sir Henry’s approval.’

‘But I need to get home.’

The soldier raised his hand, then spoke into his lip-mike. For a moment he listened, then he lowered his hand and looked to Jake again and smiled.

‘It’s okay, sir. Mister Lampton says you’re authorized. Oh… and he says good luck.’

Jake swallowed. ‘Tell him thanks. And… tell him that I hope we all ride this one out.’

Jake stood there on the roof, watching the craft drop away into the darkness, then turned, looking down the steps.

He had tried to contact Kate on the way back, only the system still wasn’t working properly. If she wasn’t here then he wasn’t sure what he’d do.

For once he didn’t have a plan.

Inside the apartment it was dark and silent. He walked through into the bedroom, hoping she’d be there.

She wasn’t.

‘Trish?’

There was a moment’s delay – not much, but more than normal – and then Trish’s voice filled the air.

‘Mister Reed… what is it?’

‘I just wondered if you’d heard… from Kate. Whether she’d been here.’

Again there was too long a gap between his request and her response. It made him think that this too had somehow been corrupted.

‘She… left a message.’

‘Can I see it?’

He counted this time. Three seconds. In computer terms that was a small eternity. And then the wall screen lit up, showing Kate.

‘Hi, Jake… Just wanted to let you know I’m okay. I’m staying with Mum and Dad for a couple of days. You can get me there. Love you. Bye.’

Jake frowned. He didn’t know why, but it felt wrong. A lot had happened, but he had the distinct feeling that they were going to have her parents over here. Kate had said nothing about
staying with them.

‘Trish?’

‘Yes, Mister Reed?’

Quicker that time. Almost back to normal.

‘Can you get me Hugo?’

‘I’m afraid…’ There was a long pause. ‘There’s no signal, Mister Reed. The system’s down.’

‘Oh…’

He walked across and stood by the window, looking out across the river towards the City. It was a great spangle of lights. Looking at it, one could almost imagine that nothing was wrong; that
everything was as it had been.

‘Give me the news, Trish. Not the usual trivia. Let me see what’s happening in the world. The big items.’

There was no answer, but a moment later the wall screen lit up again. The view was of a baseball stadium – Comiskey Park, it read.

‘What’s this?’

The camera focused in on a man’s face. The instantly recognizable face of James B. Griffin, the sixtieth President of the United States of America. He was smiling, laughing, talking to his
neighbour. Then, shockingly, his head jerked back as the top of his skull blew away, fragments of bone and bloodied brain scattered over the rows behind.

‘Shit!’

Jake’s stomach fell away. The last two days had been bad. But this…

He had to get out. To get away, as far and as quickly as he could. Because this was the end. The rest had been prelude. This was the killing blow that would send it all over the edge.

‘Trish… get me a hopper.’

Silence.

‘Trish…?’

Nothing. Not even the hiss of static.

He went through to his room, packed a bag, then went out into the hallway. Were the lifts working? Was anything working?

Jake pressed the button, then waited.

When did that happen? An hour ago?

No. It had to be more recent than that. The news must have broken even as he was in the air, coming back. Lampton wouldn’t have let him go if something that serious had happened.

So what now? How long did they have before it became a shooting war? Because Jake had no doubt who was behind it.

Tsao Ch’un. He’s pushed and pushed and now…

It was astonishing. Audacious, one might say. And very, very risky. But then, everything Tsao Ch’un had done so far was risky. Which was not the same as saying that this was all a gamble.
No. It was all part of a much greater strategy, clearly thought out and confidently carried through. And President Griffin’s death was another key part of that, designed to panic America. A
symbolic cutting off of the executive head.

The lift arrived. Pinged. As the doors hissed open, Jake hesitated. Maybe he should have left a written message. A note for Kate, just in case she returned. Only what would he have said? He
wasn’t even sure himself where he was going to go. Just that he had to get out of London fast, before the missiles flew.

Jake stepped inside the lift.

As he descended, he wondered if he’d ever return. Whether anything would ever be the same.

He’d go to Hugo’s. If anyone knew what to do, it would be Hugo.

Besides, Hugo had a car. An air-driven Porsche. There was no one in reception. He rang the service bell, but no one came. And when he spoke to the air, summoning the block’s AI, he got
only silence.

He’d meant to get a cab to take him, but he could walk. It was only ten minutes away. But the big, sliding panel doors wouldn’t open.

Jake went over to the reception desk. There was a control panel there. The outer doors were clearly marked. There was also a gun, in the drawer to the left of the board.

Jake stared at it a moment, surprised to find it there, then took it out and checked the chamber.

It was loaded.

He’d done an arms course years back, when he’d first become a
login
. He was licensed to carry a gun. Only there had never been a need for it.

He unlocked the doors and went outside, the gun wedged into the waistband of his trousers, the safety on.

Outside it was cold, the streets dark and empty. Overhead he could glimpse a hopper, one of the big Security craft, heading west at speed, away from the City.

Maybe they were evacuating. Maybe the big people were getting out.

If they’d worked it out, like he had.

He half walked, half ran. By the time he got to Hugo’s building he was almost out of breath.

He knocked on the outer glass doors. The guard on the desk looked up, then quickly came across. He was elderly, ex-police, and whilst Jake didn’t know his name, they were nodding
acquaintances.

‘Mister Reed…’ he said, letting Jake in, then locking the door securely behind him. ‘Have you come to see Master Hugo?’

‘Is he home?’

‘I’ll check for you…’

The guard walked back over to his desk and pressed a connecting switch. He glanced back at Jake. ‘Awful business this, don’t you think?’

Jake looked across and saw how the silent screen behind him was filled with images from the assassination. Distraught faces told their eyewitness accounts into camera.

‘It’s horrible,’ Jake said. ‘How long ago did it happen?’

‘Not twenty minutes back… Ah… Master Hugo… it’s James here, down on the desk… yes… your friend Mister Reed is here… Okay… I’ll
put him in the lift…’

The guard pointed to the lift, which pinged open.

‘There you are, Mister Reed. You know the way…’

Hugo was waiting for him upstairs outside the lift. He hugged him, then ushered him inside.

‘Where’s Chris?’

‘Somewhere…’

‘You’ve got to find him. Get him to go with you.’

‘Go? Go where?’

Jake swallowed, then launched in. ‘Haven’t you seen? The American President’s dead! Someone blew his head off!’

‘I know. I saw it on the news.’

‘Then why aren’t you packing?’

Hugo looked at his old friend askance. ‘It’s not good, I know, but… why in hell’s name should I be packing? You booked us a surprise holiday?’

‘It isn’t time for jokes, Hu. We’ve got to get out of London. It’s war…’

‘Oh, come on…’

Hugo stared at him, saw how serious he was, then shook his head. ‘Okay. What don’t I know?’

Chris arrived twenty minutes later. He seemed breathless.

‘It’s a madhouse out there,’ he said, throwing off his coat, then striding through into the bedroom. ‘I don’t know what’s going on, but there are big queues
at all the gates, and you can’t hire a hopper for love nor money.’