Zero Alternative (22 page)

‘Sit with me, Scott,’ she whispered. ‘Please, it’s lovely here.’

Walker joined her and lit a cigarette, the small lighter flame making the shadows twist.

‘You never answered my question,’ she said.

‘Which one?’

‘Why you do your job. Is it the money?’

‘I was about to quit, actually. After my big trade… I’d have gone, I think.’

‘Where?’

Walker thought for a second. ‘Travelling, maybe, for a while. I’d had enough of modern finance, and some of its effects were really starting to grate on what’s left of my conscience. DM had a dream, and I thought I could help him with it when Deep was ready. Give something back, you know?’

Layla nodded, her eyes sparkling in moonlight. Walker sucked on his cigarette, struggling not to lean over and kiss her.
Forget it
.
Not now
. And probably not ever. He sipped from a glass of water and continued, ‘The money was key at the beginning, of course, but it’s always been about the adrenaline, as well. When you make mountains of cash… it’s a rush, a massive one. Your mind feels sharper, you’re almost more alive.’

‘And when you lose?’

‘It’s the same, especially if you lose big. Even if it hurts.’ He paused for a couple of seconds, thinking. ‘And being a trader is good because nobody tells you what to do.’

‘Come on.’

‘Obviously there are things you
have
to take on.’ Walker shrugged. ‘But in general you can trade your own book as you see fit, within your risk limits. You don’t have to be polite, or scurry after people. And the worth of your job is there, measured every second. The politics is mainly higher up in management.’

Layla was quiet for a moment. ‘A shrink would say that you seem to have a problem with authority.’

‘Maybe. I don’t like grey lines. It’s too easy to get screwed over, and I’ve learnt not to trust the world. Too much randomness, too much pain.’

Layla turned away and her tone cut him. ‘Is that why you pay for women?’

‘My dad loved his family very much. So much that it killed him.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It was a long time ago. When my mother and sister died in an accident… it broke him.’ Walker’s voice dropped a couple of octaves, becoming rougher. ‘He lasted less than a year, afterwards. A doctor said it was a tiny hole in his aorta, but I always thought he just died of a broken heart. I’m not going to go the same way.’

Layla turned back and took his hand, her tone softer. ‘Still, caring for someone, or something
other than yourself… I can’t see how that’s bad.’

Walker didn’t reply. He sucked a last lungful of smoke and put the stub out with his foot, before standing up and stepping away. ‘DM cared, and look at what it got him.’

‘That’s ridiculous. He was killed because of a machine to make money, not because he found a cure for cancer.’ Layla’s voice thrummed with an edge of anger.

‘No. DeepShare was a lot more than that, especially to him.’

‘Why?’

‘It uses financial markets, but Omega was supposed to become an instrument to predict the future, extrapolating trends in politics, technology, social moods. It had the potential to become a scientific way of… minimizing wars, revolutions, poverty. A guide, to illuminate the path of leaders – that was DM’s dream for his machine.’

Layla stood as well, gliding nearer. ‘That’s just a dream. An impossible one.’

‘You’d be surprised.’ Walker glanced at his watch. ‘Are we going back?’

‘Not quite.’ She pulled at his arm and brought him back underneath the tree. ‘Surprised at what?’ She rummaged in her bag and pulled out the small bottle of rum she had bought earlier. ‘I’m not drunk enough to believe you, yet.’

‘Yes, you are.’

She gave him the finger, but with a narrow smile. ‘We might get killed tonight. Or tomorrow. I need a break.’

‘And I need some sleep.’
And some help from God
, he thought.

‘Yeah, right. You’re drinking all the time, anyway.’

Walker grimaced. ‘I guess it comes with the job. As long as I can function.’

‘You’re not doing too bad.’ Layla stepped forward and grabbed his shirt, pulling him against her. She kissed him hard on the lips before stepping back. ‘Please, indulge me. I don’t want to die without knowing why.’

Walker watched her slide back, straightened his shirt and gave up. ‘Look, all the big banks and hedge funds have systems like DeepOmega. They’re just less advanced, and no one could count on a genius like DM, who was probably ten or twenty years ahead of his time.’

‘Really? He sounds… special.’

‘I wish you could have met him.’ Walker paused again, choosing his words. ‘The markets have become too big, too fast and complicated for humans. Most of the trading is already done by smart
machines, using speed, arbitraging correlations, trying to predict future fluctuations and events. A lot of what humans do, these days, is simply to supervise the algos, making sure nothing stupid happens. And even then it’s too hard for us – some of this stuff takes place in picoseconds, and the amount of information these softwares can process is too big to even fathom.’

‘And what’s so different about
your
machine?’

‘Deep is the next evolutionary step. It doesn’t just look at the next few hours or days, but can go further, predict all sort of happenings.’

‘Like what?’

Walker lit another cigarette and lay back against the tree trunk. ‘The day I met you… I made close to seventy million dollars, profiting on an event Omega had forecast almost four months ago. It pointed to the week, and the exact result of the Italian elections, before anyone even expected the previous government to fall.’

He closed his eyes, reliving the events in his mind, trying to steer clear of the images of DM’s dead body. ‘And that was just me, an average trader with an average book. Can you imagine how much money Dorfmann could have made if all the bank’s resources had been geared up like my portfolio? We’re talking billions, on just one instance. Besides, Deep is starting to predict a much more turbulent twelve to eighteen months to come.’

‘That’s scary.’

‘You have no idea. Look, according to DeepOmega we are nearing another massive crisis – there’s little we can do to stop it. And the machine is right, I can feel it in my bones.’

Layla grunted and snuggled closer. ‘But I thought things were better.’

‘They look better, in some countries. Morphine can do the same with a patient, though she’s still very ill. What has been done in the last few years – they mainly kicked the can further along, storing problems for the future. And when those finally blow, it’ll be like nothing you’ve ever seen before.’

‘So if DeepShare is right…?’

‘Any bank or hedge fund with a tool like Omega could make an absolute killing, tens of billions of dollars – it would quickly become the wealthiest, most influential financial institution in the world. And the people running it would get rich, and powerful, beyond belief. You could even use it to manipulate events, determine outcomes.’

‘Which is what DM dreamed of.’

‘Yes. And he certainly wasn’t gonna let Omega anywhere near a banker’s hands. For him it wasn’t about the markets, or the money. They were just signals, to help people make the right choice.’ He sighed, took a sip of the rum that Layla offered. ‘Deep started decades ago as a chess-playing software. These days the chess computers are too good for humans, but they are great teaching and analyzing tools. That’s what Omega was supposed to become. For governments, or the UN, or something.’

‘Is it there yet?’

‘I don’t know, probably not,’ he said. ‘It’s certainly great at making money, though.’

‘But not at catching bad guys.’

‘Not really, no.’ He downed more rum and went silent, staring into the distance.
Or not yet
. DM had died too early, and Walker was becoming afraid that he could never fulfill the machine’s potential – maybe he just wasn’t good enough. ‘There might be another way, though, and that’s what I’ve been also working on.’

‘Your famous Plan B?’

‘Exactly. Even if DeepOmega can’t tie Frankel to DM’s murder, perhaps I can still hurt them.’

‘How?’

‘The only way a bank can be properly mauled. By going after its money.’

Layla glanced at him. ‘You said there was a vulnerability in their stock.’

‘Yes. Maybe a bad book somewhere, or… It could be anything, but Deep thinks we could cause a lot of trouble for them. The problem is that Frankel Schwartz is massive – I would need perfect timing and a serious amount of firepower to really go after them.’

‘Firepower? You’ve said that before.’

‘Yes. But my big fish hasn’t surfaced yet. And I don’t know if he ever will.’

‘Are you talking about that hedge-fund guy? What’s his name?’

‘Mosha.’ Walker finished his cigarette and stood up. ‘But don’t hold your breath. Lots of pieces still need to fall in the right places.’

‘It’s about time you got lucky.’

Walker shrugged. ‘I guess. And as we always say on the floor, I’d rather be lucky than good, anyway.’

Chapter Twelve

Caught

‘
The car is here
.’

‘
Good. Any sign of them?
’

‘
No. Only the broker, and he’s just turned the lights off
.’

The Englishman thought for a second. Pienaar sounded eager to move, but too many mistakes had been made already
. ‘
Fine. Follow him around for a day or two, they might still be in Switzerland
.’

‘
What if they are not?
’

‘
Then the broker will know where they’ve gone
.’

‘
I can tell you now. Italy
.’

‘
Maybe
.’
The Englishman sighed. Pienaar was becoming too dangerous, but he had no other choice
. ‘
Just keep your eyes on him, and wait for my instructions
.’

‘
Will do
.’

‘
No initiatives
.’

The Australian grunted
. ‘
As you say, Chief
.’

Santu Antine

Walker woke groggily and struggled up on the couch, only the smell of coffee enticing his eyes open. Layla was still wearing just his T-shirt, her long legs naked and her hair messy from sleep. He noticed she had a new – and smaller – bandage wrapped around her upper arm, the white gauze spotless.

‘This sofa is shit. My back feels like an elephant trampled me.’

Layla grinned and handed him a mug of coffee as he looked for his cigarettes, found them on the floor and lit one.

‘Good morning to you,’ she said. ‘I think we’re almost there, the stitches are nice and clean, and look…’ She lifted her arm and swung it about, reaching behind her back. ‘I can even undo my bra now.’

He sighed, grimacing at the bitterness of his coffee. ‘Don’t, please.’

‘Boring.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Almost ten.’ Layla sat next to him and opened her laptop. ‘Aren’t you supposed to go and get your new passport today?’

‘Yes,’ he answered, staring at her legs for a second. She studied his face and he realised he needed a shave.
I hope I don’t look as crap as I feel
.

Layla smiled. ‘You smell like death. Did you stay up late?’

‘Five, I think.’

‘Any results?’

‘Nothing new, really. I’m still running a few deep searches – maybe they’ll throw something up later. But it’s not looking too good, I’m afraid.’

‘Pity.’ She slipped sideways and looked down, starting to type something on her computer. ‘Now leave me alone.’

Walker shrugged and shuffled to the bathroom for a shower, trying to get back to a more human form. After half an hour he emerged, feeling a lot better in a fresh shirt and jeans. Suddenly his laptop beeped and he swore – the ECB decision that DeepShare had predicted was about to be announced. He ran to his computer and fired it up, just catching the newsfeed from Frankfurt. He turned the volume higher and prayed.

‘The European Central Bank has decided to lower rates by a quarter of a point…’ droned the commentator.

‘Yes!’ Walker swung his fist, skipping.

Layla glanced up at him, surprised. ‘You look happy.’

‘Deep was right, again. Mosha will definitely be ready to listen now.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ve just given him proof that I can make him oceans of money.’

‘Delightful. Is that really the only thing you guys ever think about?’

Walker grinned. ‘No. Sex is important, too.’

Layla closed her computer and stood up, studying him. ‘At least you look better.’ She checked the time and asked, ‘Is it far, this place you have to go to?’

‘Maybe three hours. I should be back around six or seven, I guess.’ Walker searched for his phone, found it and started typing a number.

‘Who are you calling?’

‘The firepower, I hope.’ He signalled for her to be quiet, then waited nervously as the line rang without answer for a few seconds.

‘Hello?’

Walker paused a beat, savouring the moment. ‘Mosha, it’s Scott.’

‘That was impressive, Yours.’ An intake of breath. ‘I want to see this DeepShare thing.’

‘I’m sure you do. I’m about to send you the logs from the mini-crash last week – they will blow your pants off – but after that we need to talk, in person.’

‘I have to say, I’m curious about what the hell happened in London. When do you want to meet up?’

‘Soon. Are you in Rome?’

‘No, I’m in Sarajevo till tomorrow. Then I have to go to Siena for a couple of days.’

Walker thought for a second. ‘Siena is good. Can you see me there?’

‘Yeah, sure. Don’t know what time, yet.’

‘Just send me a text, day after tomorrow. On this number. I should be in town by late afternoon.’

‘Fine. You’re not gonna bring the police down on me, are you?’ Mosha sounded nervous, Walker realised.

‘Would I?’

‘I’ve heard of worse.’

‘Fuck off. I’ll see you on Thursday.’

‘Done.’

Walker closed the phone and looked at Layla. Did his plan even make sense, he wondered, or was he just running around as the axe prepared to fall? ‘Have you ever been to Tuscany?’