Videodrome: Days of O'Blivion (2 page)

Brian and Barry looked
to one another.

“Oleksander Bartok is
coming now? Here?” Brian asked. “It’s ten o’clock at night.”

“I appreciate that, but
he’s on his way over to meet you. He should be here in about twenty
minutes or so. Could you wait a little longer?”

Barry tried not to look
too enthusiastic. “We’ve still got to pack up our stuff so… sure,
we could wait a little.”

----- X -----

Brian was carrying the
video recorder back out to the car. “I’ve suddenly got worries
about security,” he said. “The lab has basic locks and a simple
alarm. This sudden interest has me jittery.” He placed the video
deck into the back of his car. Sanders and Irwin were watching them
from across the parking lot. The night air was crisp and cool and
their cars were the last at the conference centre.

“Nothing we can do
about it right now,” Barry said. “We can look at it tomorrow.”

Brian looked at the
video machine in the trunk of his car. He popped the top-loader and
took the cassette. At the lab was the hardware, the Veraceo signal
generator. That would take some time to disassemble, but the
cassette contained a functioning signal that, perhaps, could be
reverse engineered. Paranoia told him to not let it out of his
sight.

A car approached. A
stretched Cadillac limousine. The driver opened the back door and
out stepped a man who seemed to drip with success. The shoes, the
tailored clothing, the monogrammed broach on the lapel, the perfect
groomed light brown hair.

Sanders made the
introduction. “Mister Bartok, this is Barry Conway and his partner
Brian Olivier.”

“Brian, Barry, call me
Oleks.”

Handshakes were
exchanged. “I’ve followed your work for some time,” Brian said.
“It’s quite an honour to meet you.”

“Thank you,” Bartok
looked around him. “The parking lot is an odd place for an
impromptu meeting, if you wish, we can sit inside.” He motioned to
the car. They got in.

Barry had a glow to
him, like a kid in a candy store. “I’ve always wanted a car like
this.” He traced his finger along the edge of the bar. He touched
the small TV screen and the leather upholstery as if touching these
things made them more real.

“When you travel as
much as I do,” Bartok said, “it’s not about luxury, it’s about
having the ability to work on the move. I probably spend more time
in here than Home Base. Would you like a drink?” he motioned to the
bar. Barry and Brian indicated they were fine. “I understand you
men are looking for one and a half million dollars, yes?”

“Yes,” Barry
answered.

“What do you want the
money for? What will it be spent on?”

This time Brian
answered. “We need research and development funds to discover the
scope and limitations of Veraceo. We need extensive testing on
human subjects as well as closed broadcasting. Long range cable,
terrestrial and satellite transmissions. The focus is to bring the
product to market but we don’t yet know what it can and can’t
do.”

Bartok lifted a
briefcase onto the seat beside him. He opened it and passed copies
of a contract to both Brian and Barry. It was short. The small
print was minimal. “I have four hundred thousand dollars with me as
cash.” He showed the briefcase. Money, in stacks, in a case, like a
movie drug-dealer. “I’d like to give this to you now as a
lockout.”

Brian couldn’t read the
contract for looking at the money. Barry was focussed on the
document. Ignoring the cash.

“What the contract
says,” Bartok added, “is that you agree to allow the parent company
of BSI first refusal on becoming your partner and provider of
capital support.”

“You have a parent
company?” Barry asked.

"Consec. It’s short for
Continental Security. They’re not really in the public
consciousness so I would be surprised if you’d heard of them.
Consec are offering you this money to lockout any other suitors for
the next thirty days. In that time they will do the diligence and
if all is good they’ll make you an offer. The money is yours to
keep regardless of whether they extend an offer or not, the only
stipulation is you don’t speak to other financiers for the coming
month.”

Barry was still going
through the contract, reading it back from the beginning. “This
looks good. Too good, it’s all in our favour. I’m just kind of
worried about dealing with a company I’ve never heard of, in a
quick cash deal, made in a parking lot in the middle of the
night.”

Bartok grinned. “A week
from now, Barry, you will be part of the new world. Believe me when
I tell you that my introduction to Consec was more unusual than a
meeting in a parking lot. But also believe that everything I have
today is the result of becoming a Consec partner. Partnership
brings virtually limitless opportunities and resources. Joining
Consec was the greatest thing to ever happen in my life and right
now they’re offering you four hundred thousand just to prove how
serious they are. In thirty days, if you don’t like their offer you
are free to keep the money and seek another partner. But I promise
you, once you see what Consec can offer, you won’t need another
partner.”

----- X -----

They were picked up by
limo four days later. Once on the road the driver’s voice came
through a speaker. “Gentlemen, I’m taking you to a helicopter
transfer that will forward you on your journey to Consec. If you
would direct your attention to the screen, Consec Leader has
recorded a short message for you.”

On the in-car TV
screen, an animated logo played of three interlocking shapes coming
together above the word Consec. An older man appeared. Silver
haired and blue eyed. He sported a neatly trimmed silver beard and
sat at a desk behind which was a pure white background. He was
perhaps in his sixties or even maybe his seventies, but he looked
like he kept himself fit and trim.

The man in the TV
spoke. “Mister Conway, Mister Olivier, my name is Consec Leader and
I’d like to introduce you to the concept and principles of our
organisation. We’re a parent company that assists high-end and
cutting-edge science projects and businesses that are of benefit to
North America. We have a great many partners, some of which are
household names, yet the umbrella of Consec is not known to the
public. Our role is low-profile to an almost invisible level, but
the companies, entities and people we invest in, we do so because
we believe they have something that will take North America into
the future. I’ve talked with Oleksander Bartok who spoke very
highly of you both and of your Veraceo technology. He believes that
Veraceo could be used to enhance the prospects of North America
greatly and as such, I’m very interested to speak with you. I look
forward to meeting you in person very soon.”

The recording ended
with a replay of the animated logo. “I need to have a car like this
one day,” Barry said. “I want a chauffeur driven car with a
TV.”

The limo took them to
an industrial park on the outskirts of the city where a helicopter
was already waiting. White and tan in colour, the Bell Jetranger
had a Consec logo on the side. “Limousines and private
helicopters,” Barry whispered. “They’re not short of money.”

“Or secrets,” Brian
whispered back.

The flight took almost
an hour. They descended towards a non-descript grey building by a
lake. “Do you see what I see?” Brian asked.

“I see it,” Barry said.
His expression switched from gleeful to concern. Men were on the
landing platform wearing grey security uniforms; they looked like
the policemen of a fascist dystopia. They carried Remington,
pistol-grip shotguns.

Brian and Barry got out
of the helicopter and ducked low as they ran to the side. “Mister
Conway,” a man yelled over the noise.

“Yes?”

“My name is Cue Ball;
I’m here to take you through security. Follow me.” He took them
inside, the bluster and noise of the chopper dying as the door
closed behind them.

“I’m sorry, but did you
say your name was Cue Ball?”

He nodded. “My security
name is Cue Ball. Within Consec we have security names that are
used during meetings. In the minutes of the meetings your special
name will be recorded, not your real name. Sometimes sensitive
matters are discussed and you may wish to keep your real life and
Consec life separate. Security names have been designated for you,
too.” He brought out two plastic security badges to be clipped to
their jackets. “Barry, your security name is Convex; the name was
designated based on your expertise.”

Barry laughed. “I began
my career as a lens grinder.”

“Well, within this
building you’re now known as Barry Convex.”

“What about me?” Brian
asked.

“Your security name is
Spectrometer. For all Consec matters you will be recorded as Brian
Spectrometer.” Brian looked at his name badge. It had a picture of
him that looked recent that was taken in the street. A spy shot.
“There’s a formality to go through of fingerprinting and
photographing, then we can proceed to your meeting.”

Barry was back to
grinning. He looked like a kid enjoying his secret-agent game.
“After you, Mister Spectrometer.” He held his hand out to gesture
the way but Brian was not so comfortable. This was wrong. There
were too many unanswered questions. He didn’t even know where they
where or how to get back to civilisation. They were in a strange
concrete building, surrounded by men with guns, in a world where
fake names were the norm.

----- X -----

The Consec building was
a barren landscape of smooth concrete walls and red carpets. Their
meeting room was a grey, Orwellian cell with a surveillance camera
above the door. The only effort to brighten the place was a large
plant in the corner of the windowless room. Cue Ball introduced the
people at the table. “This is Marilyn Bricks, financier, Steven
Watercolour, operations and Mister Harpoon of security.”

“Nice to meet you,
gentlemen.” Harpoon said.

“Likewise,” Brian
mumbled.

“I suppose we should
start by laying some cards on the table,” Harpoon began. “My role
within Consec is to look at future threats from emerging technology
and we believe that your Veraceo project represents a substantial
threat to North America.”

“A threat?” Barry
quizzed. “How is it a threat? It’s an advertising tool.”

“It influences
decisions,” Harpoon replied. “It could, for example, swing an
election. What’s to stop someone embedding a Veraceo signal into a
political broadcast? What if a foreign state, a rogue state, used
Veraceo technology to subvert a democratic vote? If abused, Veraceo
could influence the opinion of North Americans against their
government and that makes it a credible threat.”

“Those things won’t
happen,” Barry said dismissively.

“But it could happen,”
Cue Ball replied. “The threat potential is significant.”

Steven Watercolour
spoke next. “Our fear is of Veraceo, or related technologies,
slipping behind the iron curtain. Right now, legislation is being
prepared in America and Canada to classify Veraceo as a munition
and subject to military export restrictions.”

“What the fuck?” Barry
stood up. “Seriously?”

“This new legislation
will be completed before your thirty-day lockout ends.”

“You fucking conned
us... Didn’t you?” Barry paced the room. “You already had this
twisted idea in your head when you offered the lockout money. Well,
fuck you. We’ll take the project to Europe and develop it there if
we have to. Hell, I’d take it to China, we’ll work out of Hong Kong
if we have to, but understand, there is no way in hell you’re going
to stop us from earning our ticket on this.”

“Mister Convex,” the
woman said. “Please, this meeting is going to be in your favour. I
promise. You won’t be angry when you hear what we would like to
offer you.”

The room went still as
they waited for Barry to return to his seat. “Go on,” he said.
“Impress me.”

“We would like you to
continue developing Veraceo. We can offer you an unparalleled level
of support and financing. Our concern is not that you don’t work on
Veraceo, quite the opposite, we want you to work on it and we
expect you to earn everything that you would have done had you gone
to the private sector. Our concern is for the security of our
continent and we need to ensure that Veraceo never ends up in the
hands of our enemies. Or if it does, that we have robust
countermeasures against it.”

Barry didn’t say
anything but his face was screwed like he’d bit into a lemon.

Brian asked, “What are
you proposing?”

“We would like to offer
you, Barry, and your company Spectacular Optical, a humanitarian
contract worth twenty two million dollars American. This money is
from a United Nations grant towards developing affordable
eye-glasses for the Third World. From that you can take at least a
sixty percent profit margin.”

Barry rubbed his eyes
between thumb and finger. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

Miss Bricks repeated
herself. “We’d like to give you twenty two million dollars this
year, there will be more in the future, but for this financial year
we can give you twenty two and at least half is for you personally.
The other half is for your company to develop cheap glasses.”

“Uh-huh. Twenty two
million. Do I have to share that with Brian?”

“Mister Spectrometer,
we would like to offer you and your company a thirty million
dollar, one year contract to upgrade a missile defence system
currently in production with Raytheon.”

“I don’t know anything
about missiles,” Brian said.

Steven Watercolour
spoke again. “You don’t have to know anything. It’s just cover.
What we want is that you to continuing developing Veraceo, for
Consec.”