Virtual Reality - Chapter 4
Nov 20 '04
The Bottom Line Chapter Four of the novella, things are starting to really happen now...
Please read the Prelude before you read this!
Chapter 4.
"What!?", exploded Hansen, looking almost as if he was going to burst a blood vessel.
"I mean, that's only one of our options, of course, but it's definitely worth pursuing.", said Canning calmly.
Hansen tried to recover some measure of composure. "I wanted you because you're supposed to be the best. And what you've just come out with is something I'd expect a six year old to say! 'Try to use his natural paranoia against him'? That must have really taken a lot of thinking up. Only, of course, you've missed out one vital fact. As a military leader, he has spent all of his life suppressing this 'natural paranoia'. He has to. Do you think he could have kept his job otherwise?"
"I can see what you're getting at. But in my experience, nobody can suppress their emotions and fears when those feelings are strong enough.", retorted Canning, somewhat annoyed at Hansen's attitude. It was a perfectly logical and reasonable idea, and he was only theorizing at the moment anyway.
"But as I said, he has spent all of his life, I repeat all of his life, suppressing those feelings. To such an extent, in fact, that it is extremely doubtful if those feelings even exist any more."
Hansen was beginning to calm down now, and look at things more reasonably. But still, he thought, surely Canning must have realized before I told him. He is the best in the world. How can he not have known?
But Canning seemed genuinely bewildered. "He can't have completely lost those feelings, surely? I admit it is possible for someone, if they make a supreme effort and have incredible amounts of will-power, to suppress or isolate certain emotions, but lose them? I don't think so. I have met people who thought they had lost them, and I helped them find them again. But they still had those emotions in them somewhere. They just didn't know how to access them."
"Well, possibly. I still think we should explore other avenues first, and only use this idea as a last resort." Hansen was exasperated. He was beginning to have visions of this mission failing completely, just because of a stubborn psychologist who couldn't see that a military general was just too different to react to any normal methods of psycho-inducement.
And he was beginning to have doubts about the usefulness of his psycho-analysis reports...
Mikhail Kalashni was in a daze. His preconceptions of what was state-of-the-art in nuclear fusion lay in tatters. The plant he had just seen was... well, it was just unbelievable. It was ten times smaller, safer and more effective than the best in Russia, and they where at the very least on a par with the rest of the world, probably a lot better. Or so he had thought.
Steve Foster was carefully watching the Russian physicist. He had carefully been keeping up the seemingly over-casual approach that Hansen had told him to adopt which would, he was told, help to win over the scientist to their side. It seemed to be working.
Now came the tricky part.
Kershaw and Browning watched in fascination as the boardroom faded out of sight to become a distant memory. The Libyan paused, as if to decide which way to go. Around him in the control room, two sets of AVO's hesitated on a knife edge, waiting for his decision to either jump into the chairs by the microphones, or to temporarily relax until their turn came. (AVO's was the name given to the team of actors and actresses who peopled the Libyan C-in-C's world. It stood for 'Artificial Voice Operators')
After some thought, the Libyan went left. The AVO's on the left of the table quickly went into their seats, putting on their headphones and picking up their mike's in one smooth motion, while keeping their eyes glued to the screen in front of them all the time.
The other group sighed their relief, and went to relax for a while. Being an AVO was a tremendously demanding job, and each AVO could only play the part of one individual in Libya, the concentration demanded was so intense. But they were very well paid for performing their difficult task.
The Libyan started to talk to someone, having entered a room which Dave Marshall informed them was a strategic reconnaissance centre. On of the AVO's, his brow furrowed in deep concentration already, started to reply. For the first time Kershaw noticed two men and a woman sitting only about six feet away from them, scribbling notes furiously. Kershaw guessed that yes, they were psychologists as well. Wonderful, he thought dryly.
Alan Browning was still in a state of confusion over his friend's newfound perception. In all of the time he had known Kershaw, he had never guessed that the man had such hidden depths. And for some reason, it disturbed him strangely.
He couldn't for the life of him imagine why.
What Foster had asked him had left Kalashni in something of a quandary. What, he had thought, with all their technology that is so obviously more advanced than any I know about, do they want with me? He now understood, but that knowledge had left him even more confused than before.
Foster was worried. This wasn't going to plan any more. He had explained to the physicist, somewhat sheepishly, that they were having a problem in isolating a certain element that was crucial to the whole reaction. They were managing it now, but somewhat shakily, and the whole set-up was a whole lot more unstable than he had been willing to admit. The difficult thing was, and they both knew it, that the Soviet scientists had for a long time been able to solve this problem, but scientists in the West had still to find an answer to it.
And therein lied the problem.
'Do I betray my homeland by handing over to the Western world one of our best kept secrets, one of our most impressive achievements in the history of Nuclear Physics?', thought Kalashni desperately. 'Can I justify it by trying to find out all that I can about their methods and telling our people about them? What does it matter now that the cold war's over anyway? Does it matter at all?'
It's hopeless, I can't betray my own country, and yet at the same time I can't let these people down.... it's for the good of both of our nations, for world peace... That last thought almost persuaded him to make a decision there and then, but something held him back. He would have to think about it.
"Give me until tomorrow to think about the matter", he said, his head still in a whirl of conflicting thoughts, "Let me sleep on it."
"What about having him believe that the West were holding his son hostage?", enquired Canning. He had gone through about twenty different ideas now, all of which Hansen seemed to think were hopeless, or that they had already tried or thought of already. Canning was beginning to think that there was no answer, but his dogged determination and natural tendency to never admit defeat kept him going. It seemed a long time since he had offered his first suggestion...
Hansen, on the other hand, was becoming more optimistic every time Canning thought of something else. 'I should have known', he kept telling himself, 'that even with the best psychologist in the world, the obvious solutions have to be gone through and eliminated first'. The solution that will actually work in this case will come when everything you would normally think of trying has been discounted. It's just a matter of time.
But time, Hansen reminded himself, is the one thing we haven't got.
'Do I do it?', Donaldson asked himself for the millionth time. He had a real dilemma on his hands; he could demand that all of the Libyan's military equipment be completely re-fitted, which would mean that they couldn't attack for at least six months, providing the program went ahead quickly enough to be irreversible by the time he was found out. However, he would almost definitely be found out very quickly indeed if he made this decision. If, if the process was far enough along and couldn't be reversed, though, that would give Mike and Steve plenty of time to sort something out, and it might not matter that I've been found out. And eliminated, naturally. Donaldson had been quite aware of the risks before he had accepted this assignment, and was totally prepared to face the consequences of whatever he did. He didn't, however, like to dwell on what was likely to happen to him...
Fitzgerald was also facing a predicament. One of the politicians she had used to such great effect so far in her plans was getting dangerously close to the truth about what she was going to do. 'Have I done or said anything to make him suspicious?', she asked herself, but quickly dispelled the thought. She was much too careful for that. Anyway, politicians, she knew, were suspicious be nature. How could they not be, in their profession?
What she couldn't decide was whether to get rid of this politician or not. This certainly wasn't on moral grounds, but just the thought that his replacement could be even more dangerous to her than the one at the moment. She didn't like things to be unpredictable to her.
Then she smiled. A thought had just occurred to her. So obvious, so simple, that she'd nearly missed it altogether.
If you don't want an unpredictable newcomer, what do you do? Arrange a predictable newcomer...
Mendleson pondered the situation. He stirred in his chair, then said to Fisher, "This company is one of your favourite's, I think. Does the name MeFitronix mean anything special to you?"
Fisher felt an icy chill race through her body. She had been right. It was MeFitronix. She tried her best to look and sound surprised, and just about pulled it off. She was absolutely ecstatic as well, however, and didn't try very hard to hide that. Mendleson knew exactly what it meant to her.
"Yes, yes it does. Melissa Fitzgerald's brainchild."
Melissa Fitzgerald was the person that Fisher most admired, and most hated. She admired her because she was a woman who had defied all the odds and succeeded in setting up and running her own company. Fisher's hatred for her was fuelled mainly by envy, and greed. Fisher wanted her own company, and, she thought, 'I may get it one day'. But whatever she did, even if she had her on company, she could never say she'd done what Fitzgerald had done, build up a business with her own two hands, and a large helping of guts and determination. Fisher couldn't take that away from her. But she wanted to take everything else away from her, and brake her. She felt very pleased that now she had a chance.
"Shall I, er, eliminate the variable?", she asked Mendleson.
"No." Her heart sank. "I don't want to waste any resources." Her heart sank further.
"However, she does seem to be doing rather well so far. It may be in our best interests to put a spoke in her wheels, but without committing large reserves of cash or manpower. Now, how can we do that?"
"Hire an assassin. Eliminate Fitzgerald", said Fisher at once.
"Too risky, too expensive. And unlikely to work. She is extremely well protected."
"Well, then, we could sabotage her headquarters."
"Same problems. No, we need to be rather more subtle than that. My sources tell me that a certain Tunisian politician is getting warm."
"What, you mean he knows what Fitzgerald's up to?"
"He's guessing well. So I think Fitzgerald will want him removed."
"So, we could put our own man in his place?"
"Absolutely. We have the right connections in Tunisia to do it."
"And thereby we eliminate that awkward variable, right?"
"Wrong. We eliminate the whole damn equation!"
Mendleson dismissed her, looking again at the reports he had heard about there being a conspiracy to depose him, ending his reign as head of MINE. (And almost definitely ending his life as well.)
The reports said that Fisher was behind it. He wasn't in the least bit surprised. She was, after all, a highly ambitious, not to mention ruthless, young woman. That was why he'd given her such an important job, the most important job besides his own.
Oh, she pretended to be loyal and everything, but then she would, wouldn't she? It didn't fool him in the least, it never had.
A few minutes later, he called Fisher into his office again. She looked a little confused but not afraid or uncomfortable. `Maybe it's time to change that...', mused Mendleson.
"Fisher...", he started, letting his voice trail off.
"Yes?" Fisher was appalled at how small her voice sounded.
Mendleson's mouth twisted into a smile.
"Next time, wait for me to tell you something, ok? I know you wanted to find out which company it was, but wait for me to say next time. Got that?"
"Yes, sir", was all Fisher could say in reply.
At this moment in time, she felt just like a schoolgirl.
Canning's head was numb. After 5 days of constant thinking about this problem, he still seemed no nearer a viable solution than when he had started.
Hansen too was beginning to lose hope again. He was still convinced that he had been right that the obvious had to be thought of and discounted before the real solution could be found. But he was starting to doubt that the real solution even existed.
He was also worried about Kershaw. The psycho- analysis files just couldn't be wrong. They had been the results of exhaustive research by 15 top agents, over a period of 2 years. And yet all of the evidence he'd been presented with today, taken from Kershaw's actions over the last days, had seemed to indicate something highly disturbing to Hansen if it were true.
Alan Browning was also worried about Kershaw. Not only what had happened before, which seemed to contradict everything he knew (thought he knew, he reminded himself) about his friend, but also what had happened yesterday. He had innocently wandered into Kershaw's room the other day, to find him furiously scribbling something down in a small black book, with some letters imprinted on the cover which he couldn't quite make out. His friend had hastily snapped the book shut and put it in a briefcase, which he then locked and span the numbers round on the combination lock. He hadn't exactly looked pleased to see me at the time, which was unusual. Browning didn't dare to ask what he had been doing.
Still, Kershaw seemed to be back to his old self today.
Kershaw, in fact, had never really left being his own self. But he was also worried. 'I've got to be careful', he thought, 'even old friends can get suspicious'. He was angry with himself for putting himself in the position he had yesterday, leaving his door unlocked like that when he was writing his notes. And reacting like he had, as if he'd got something to hide. Which he had, of course.
On the first night in his room he had sussed out where the bugging devices where, and always wrote when he was out of sight of the secret camera. He had no doubt that they had tried to get into his briefcase as well, they wouldn't be able to leave that alone. But it was a combination lock like no other on his briefcase. There where 12 dials on the lock, with not just the numbers 0 to 9, but also every letter (in higher and lower case), plus 20 assorted Greek and Latin characters. This gave 82 possible characters for each dial, which totalled approximately 92,420 billion billion possible combinations. And each dial was made so as to click every time it moved, so you couldn't open it in safe-cracker style. And then, of course, it would only open when his fingerprint was in a certain (and unmarked) position...
The revelation about Hansen being a psychiatrist had been a calculated risk. It revealed a lot about him, much more than he had ever let anyone know before when he was involved in a mission, in fact. But, he had reasoned, it could be perceived to be because he hated psychiatrists so much. Except Canning, which was another calculated risk. Some of his actions would throw certain people into confusion, he knew. He just hoped that they were the right people...
After five days with still no decision, Mikhail Kalashni saw himself being in front of a brick wall with no way out. He couldn't deny these people, yet he couldn't deny his country. And he couldn't deny himself. 'If only', he thought, 'I knew just what I would have done if I denied myself, I might be able to make a decision. I can't even make sense of what I just thought. I'm cracking up. I need help. Maybe I should just see Edward Canning, he is a psychiatrist after all.'
Then he reminded himself that Canning was under just as much pressure himself, if not more. Perhaps he should see a psychiatrist.
Foster was in no better mood. Whatever he said, he just couldn't get that Russian to hand over his country's secrets. As if it really matters to his country now. It really matters to us, though. Foster was the only one who knew this, even Hansen didn't know much about it, but the reactor had been fluctuating wildly over the last 3 days. Yesterday, it had come within 18 percent of critical level.
Foster had glumly deduced that they had about 48 hours before the containment field blew.
How ironic, thought Foster. They'd be able to see the explosion in Chernobyl. And all because a Russian physicist wouldn't divulge dead Soviet secrets.
Donaldson had received a memo from General Antreb. It was very provokingly worded. "Attn: Commander-in-Chief of the Libyan Armed Forces. It is very worrying that your attitude toward the forthcoming invasion of Tunisia has become insistently passive. I do hope that this in no way reflects your eagerness to settle the diplomatic concern without using military endeavours. I also hope that no change has occurred in you of any type which might be of concern to Libya. From: General Antreb, Libyan Armed Forces."
That last part had been too loaded with connotations for Donaldson not to realize that his days were numbered. It wouldn't take too long now before he was found out, and then his death would follow quickly. He just had to make sure that he did everything he could before then.
Now, what could he do to put back Libya's invasion plans?
"Andrew!"
"Yes, Mel? What's up?", asked Webber, concerned, knowing from experience, sometimes bitter experience, the meaning inside her of every nuance in Fitzgerald's voice, every permutation of her actions and words, and how they related to her moods.
That was why he was so good at keeping her trust in him. Or so he thought.
Fitzgerald was fuming. "Andrew, you know I said the other day that one of these politicians was getting too smart and I wanted him replaced?"
"Yes."
"Well, I still need him to be replaced, he definitely knows too much. Much too much for my liking."
"But?"
"But. There is no way that I can influence who will be appointed."
"Why?"
"It's not like I would choose anyone who'd do them any harm or anything, is it?" Fitzgerald looked at some papers in front of her with absolute disgust and contempt.
Webber nodded sympathetically, waiting patiently. He was quite surprised that she had taken him into her confidence so much, but he had no immediate plans to dispose of her, so she was safe to tell him and it pleased him that he had her confidence. If he knew of the company's more clandestine operations now, it meant he could control the company better once he took over. Whenever that was.
"They've only said that they don't want me to interfere in internal politics! Of all the infernal cheek! After all I've done for them!", burst out Fitzgerald.
"Like screw them for twenty million pounds", murmured Webber with a wry smile.
"They don't know that though, do they?"
Webber wasn't too sure about that. After all, just how thick could Tunisian military intelligence be? He stifled those thoughts and put forth a question.
"Um, tell me, how have you arranged for this politician to be replaced by someone else anyway?"
"I know some things about him that he doesn't know I know. And that gives me the added advantage of leaking the information to the press, thus discrediting anything he says about me in the future, should he decide he wants to try and get even."
"Aha. So, you've basically got him by the short hairs then?"
"Indeed I have. But now, I'm committed to a course of action and I have no idea who I'll have to deal with now."
"Don't worry", Webber said soothingly, "maybe you won't have to deal with him at all. He may not be interested in your, erm, relations with the Tunisian government or his predecessor."
"How's that then?"
"Don't worry", repeated Webber, "just leave everything to me."
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