The Sapporo Outbreak (22 page)

Tanaka winced at the noise. Itou watched on showing no reaction.

 
In an instant, the tiny-framed Gothic apparition sprang onto the young man, tearing and biting at his face and neck. She grabbed the fallen screwdriver from the floor, and stabbed him again and again in the side and chest. His back broken, the man was powerless and within seconds was slumped lifeless across the toolbox.
 

The girl continued to tear at the man's body, until out of frame one of Itou's men appeared. She lunged toward him, the man stepped quickly to the side, grabbed her wrist and twisted until she was locked face down on the floor. Her tiny frame bucked as she spat and tore up at the guard.
 

Itou's thick finger pressed the tablet computer and the video froze with the girl's snarling face looking up from the floor, her face and hair matted in the blood of the dead young man beside her.

Itou looked up at Tanaka. His face was ashen, his hands shaking.

A few seconds passed before Tanaka quietly asked, "What happened to the woman Itou?"

Betraying no emotion, Itou responded matter-of-factly.

"Three hours after this incident, she was recovered from a car accident, with most of the body destroyed by the fire. The police forensic tests will reveal the girl was over twice the legal limit. An eye witness has described the girl appearing drunk prior to the accident. The family are fighting the early findings, but the evidence will be overwhelming, and I have been assured that the finding will be death by misadventure."

#

As Itou spoke, he examined his friend Tanaka closely. He looked pale, shaken. The ugly incidents of the last few weeks had taken a heavy toll on the man. So much had happened in the three years since Itou had met Tanaka that it often felt like a dream. When he'd first met Tanaka, he saw him as another in a long line of wealthy businessmen, smart and charismatic but divorced from the harsh reality of life. A strong man in the boardroom, but a weak man in life.

He had been wrong.

Time and again, Itou had marvelled at the man's drive, his persistence, his ability to bounce back from the cruelest of blows. However, more than anything, Itou was struck by Tanaka's fierce loyalty to his family and the small circle of trusted advisors he had around him. More than once, Tanaka had used his power and influence to protect and reward Itou, something the bull-necked ex-special forces Captain would never forget. Itou was determined to repay Tanaka's faith in him by protecting him from others - and sometimes from himself.

Itou was bemused by the world's addiction to iSight. He could see - in a way - the fun and excitement of connecting with friends and family as if they were in the same room, of accessing information with the blink of an eye or the wave of a hand. But a great many didn't join iSight just to extend reality or improve their social network. Instead, they sought an escape from reality, an opportunity to immerse themselves in great battles, to fight, stab, shoot and kill in a virtual world. To enjoy violence as entertainment.
 

Since his days as a troubled young man on the streets of Tokyo, Itou's world had been a violent one. He was a natural fighter, who'd sharpened his skills with the best in the world. He'd seen and done things that most people would recoil in horror from. The teenage kids and businessmen, the housewives and middle managers, the people that put on a pair of glasses or contact lenses to glory in safe violence - they sickened Itou. He was a professional; his first instinct was to avoid any confrontation, to find a peaceful way forward. He only traded in violence when the circumstances demanded it.

And in the last few weeks, circumstances
had
demanded it.

Tanaka's soft voice, breaking a little, interrupted the big man's thoughts.

"Thank you Itou. I'm sure we will soon resolve these ... issues ...
 
but until then I appreciate your loyalty and discretion old friend. Now, if you'll excuse me its time for me to talk to Shou. As always, she asks that I pass on her love to you."

Itou pushed up from the thick leather armchair, smiled and bowed deeply as he said, "Sir, please pass my best wishes to Shou and tell her I look forward to seeing her very soon."

The burly head of security turned on his heels and strode out of the cavernous apartment.

Tanaka waited until the doors glided shut behind Itou. He nestled back into the chair and his eyes flickered while whispering a few short commands. A brief moment passed before a broad smile washed over the billionaire's face.

"Shou, my sweet darling, I've been looking forward to talking to you all day. Tell me, what new adventures did you get up to today?"

#

2:30pm Thursday, Level 5 NOC, Sapporo (Minus 30 Mins)

The group was waiting at the elevator bay on the 5
^th
floor when Skinner spoke.

"I'm sorry Ms Sakura, but I'm afraid I have to make another brief visit to the bathroom. Must be all this excitement!" Skinner flashed what he'd always considered his most charming smile, and was met with a steely glare.
 

"I understand Professor, although I have to say I am under some time pressure and would be grateful if we could move swiftly on to the last stop for today."

"Of course, I'll be as quick as I can - and I promise no more water from now on." Another boyish smile was greeted by Sakura's deadpan expression, although Skinner was pleased to see that Santos, standing just behind, was flashing a broad smile back at him.
 

Skinner double-timed his way through the discrete door and into an immaculate, marble-tiled bathroom with a series of Warhol and Liechtenstein prints arranged along the washroom basins. Vines crawled along the walls while four floor-to-ceiling doors led into the cubicles. Skinner softly nudged open each door to confirm he was alone, before walking swiftly over to the sink.

He examined his face on the backlit mirror. Oh man, he looked tired. His strawberry blond hair seemed even more ruffled than normal, his blue cotton shirt looked as if he'd slept in it.
 

Skinner moved his face a little closer to the mirror, then opened his right eyelid wide with his left hand. Moving carefully, he gently pressed his right index finger on his eyeball and felt the iSight lens stick. He slowly pulled his finger back and examined the contact lens now on his finger. He could make out a tiny pattern of almost invisible lines swirling and circling over the surface, like a ghostly fingerprint. Arranged evenly around the circumference of the lens were a dozen tiny yellow dots - each with their own tiny lines connected to each other and into the 'fingerprint' itself.

It really was a remarkable piece of technology. Although noticeably thicker than a traditional contact lens, it didn't feel uncomfortable in the eye. He had learned in a previous WhiteStar trip that this was due to a layer of nano particles which optimised the lens for the wearer's eye. For almost everyone, this made for a perfect fit. Most iSight players reported feeling comfortable within minutes of putting the lenses in for the first time. A tiny minority had pre-existing eye conditions which precluded wearing the lenses, or found the nano coating irritated the eyes and would need to be removed. In almost all cases, those who could not wear the lenses immediately adopted the iSight glasses. It was one of Tanaka's great boasts that iSight had by far the lowest 'drop-off rate' of any game in history. In effect, almost every player who tried iSight, never gave it up.

Skinner pushed his finger under the sink's large stainless steel tap, blasted out cold water and the lens disappeared. He quickly and silently repeated the process with his other lens, rubbed his eyes and stood back.

The large pop art posters were gone as too were the vines and the marble floor. Even the large cedar doors had revealed themselves to be modest whitewashed concrete.

Skinner felt a surge of nausea. His heart started racing. He felt panicked. Disoriented. He
missed
the lenses - they had become a comforting presence. He didn't just miss the 'reality plus' experience the lenses created, he also missed 'Jo'. He missed the subtle, ever-present transparent bubbles of information, guides and personal messages that would fade in and out of his lateral vision. He bent almost double, and splashed cold water onto his face and focused hard on slowing down his breathing. A minute later he was starting to feel better.

Skinner stepped back from the sink, its industrial tub and fittings a sharp contrast from the designer fittings he'd first seen. He shook his head again, his breathing under control as he came to terms with his stripped down surroundings.

Skinner pressed a finger over the thin, wide band of plastic wrapped around his left wrist, and the flexible mobile phone sprang to life. A few more swipes and he could hear the phone ringing through the jawbone speaker clipped onto his wisdom tooth.

The familiar rumbling voice of Steve Clark answered.

"Ben, you may not be as smart as I am and you're definitely not as pretty as I am, but man you certainly do have great timing."

Skinner spoke urgently, subconsciously lowering his voice despite being alone.
 

"Listen Steve, I'm going to have to make this quick. I'm pretty sure we can draw a direct line between this game and the attacks. I know it sounds crazy but ..."

Clark interrupted. "That's why I'm calling. I think you're right. Your gaming buddies are involved somehow. I have no idea how or why - yet - but there's an awful lot of coincidences popping up. And I'm not a big believer in coincidence."

A couple of years back the men had bonded over a particularly nasty case in San Francisco and he'd seen how Clark operated first hand. It was impressive. Skinner had watched as the big man relentlessly dug through the facts, letting the evidence lead the way. He wouldn't be influenced or swayed by anyone - outside or inside the department. He was methodical. Relentless. And when he'd decided who the bad guys were he was swift and ruthless. As far as Skinner was concerned, Clark was the best homicide detective he'd ever met, and a man he'd much rather fight with than against.

"What do you mean Steve? What have you found?"

"Well, it's Wednesday night here, midnight in New York and really early Thursday morning in London - so it took me a while to piece this together, but I think I can see a picture now."

"Go on". Skinner felt his stomach tighten. His breath quickened. He felt a nagging sense of ... inevitability. As if he knew what the detective was about to say but didn't want to hear it.

"Ben, so far I've found recent attacks in New York and London that seem to match the Palo Alto profile."

Clark's voice was fading in and out. Skinner pressed the phone harder against his ear.

"Are you sure?"

"Not yet, but when our friends in London get back to me that might change. I'm also waiting for forensics. I'll have a better idea in the next hour. But what I've seen, read - and what my gut tells me - is that these attacks are very similar."

"It's interesting Steve, but what's the connection?"

"Well - at the same time as reports of similar attacks have been coming in, there's been a flurry of 'industrial accidents' reported at WhiteStar centres. Four in six weeks to be exact - from a company that hasn't reported any issue for over two years. One guy - in the same centre you're in now - died just two days ago. They say it was some sort of freak electrical and mechanical failure - but it's got the ring of be B.S to me. It's a bunch of whirring and blinking computers for Christ's sake - not some building site or oil rig. I know what a good forensic report looks like, and this one was
unusually
brief.
 

"The thing that's nagging most at me though, is how fast everything was done. Forensics next day, cremation the day after."

"Wait. Why's a fast cremation such a big deal?"

"Well - you remember Kyoko?"

The phone crackled, the noise on the line now a constant buzz.

"Oh yeah - I remember. Another in a long line of women far too good for you."

Clark snorted. "You're so wrong professor. My problem is finding anyone who's good enough for me." Clark let out a short, rumbling laugh before continuing. "Well, I called her to ask about it and ..."

"You
called
Kyoko? Oh man Steve, you are a brave man!"

Clark groaned. "Yeah Ben, she wasn't too thrilled to hear from me. But after a few minutes telling me all the ways her new man is better than me, she did help out. She was a first generation American, and while we were dating her grandmother died. I remembered a lot of discussion about which day the cremation would take place. I particularly remember that the second day was no good. I asked Kyoko about it, and she told me that pretty much everyone in Japan cremates. But almost no one does so on the second day. It's the ..." Skinner could hear Clark pause to leaf through papers before continuing. "...
Tomobiki
. It's considered a very bad day to cremate - some superstition about 'bringing your friends with you' to death."

"And so you think somebody rushed to get rid of the body?"

"Yeah - that's right Professor. As far as I'm concerned, this one now has big, bright flashing lights on it. Whatever the hell is happening, my gut tells me WhiteStar are somehow involved."
 

Skinner paused as Clark's words sunk in. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "There's something else isn't there Steve?"

"Man - am I getting that predictable? Well - now that you mention it there is - I've left the best for last. I'm trying to get this one confirmed, but working all this Interpol stuff from Santa Clara 'aint easy man. I'm dropping your name like crazy. In fact I'm pretty sure the Germans think they're talking to you!"

"Germans? What the hell has Germany got to do with this?"

Clark's voice faded completely for a second, before returning fainter still.

"... I said, what I'm hearing is that a couple of hours ago the head of Tanaka's German operation walked in to a Berlin police station with her lawyer to make some sort of statement."