“I thought it was because of General Nash.”
“I’ve read all about Travelers,” Mrs. Brewster said. “Apparently some of them can look at a person’s face and see what he or she is thinking. Do you have that particular skill?”
Michael shrugged. He was wary of revealing too much about his abilities. “I know if a person is lying.”
“Good. That’s what I want you to do during this meeting. It would be most helpful if you could notice who is voting yes, but thinking no.”
MICHAEL FOLLOWED MRS. Brewster to the banquet room, where General Nash gave a short speech welcoming everyone to Dark Island. Three flat-panel video screens had been placed at one end of the room, faced by a semicircle of leather club chairs. The middle television screen was white, but a grid of boxes appeared on the screens of the two side monitors. Members of the Brethren from all over the world sat down at their computers and joined the meeting. A few members had video cameras, so their faces appeared on the screen, but usually the box described only a member’s geographical location: Barcelona, Mexico City, Dubai.
“Ah, here he is,” Nash said when Michael entered the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Michael Corrigan.”
With his hand on Michael’s right shoulder, Nash guided him around to meet the others. Michael felt like a rebellious teenager who had finally been allowed to attend the adults’ party.
After everyone took their seats, Lars Reichhardt, the director of the Berlin computer center, walked up to the podium. He was a big man with red hair, flushed cheeks, and a booming laugh that filled the room.
“It’s an honor to be speaking to all of you,” Reichhardt said. “As you know, our quantum computer was damaged during last year’s attack on our research center in New York. At this time, it’s still not operational. Our new computer center in Berlin uses conventional technology, but it’s still quite powerful. We’ve also created bot nets of cooperating computers around the world that obey our commands without the owner’s knowledge….”
Lines of computer code appeared on the middle monitor behind the podium. As Reichhardt spoke, the computer code became smaller and smaller until it was condensed into a black square.
“We’re also expanding our use of computational immunology. We have created self-sustaining, self-replicating computer programs that move through the Internet like white blood cells in the human body. Instead of looking for viruses and infections, these programs search for infectious ideas that will delay the establishment of the Panopticon.”
On the screen, the tiny square of code entered a computer. It reproduced itself and then was transmitted to a second computer. Rapidly, it began to take over an entire system.
“Initially, we used computational immunology as a tool for discovering our enemies. Because of the problems with the quantum computer, we turned our cyber leukocytes into active viruses that damage computers filled with information that is determined to be antisocial. The program requires no maintenance once it is released into the system.
“But now I will turn to the Hauptgericht— the ‘main course’ of our banquet. We call it the Shadow Program….”
The monitor went dark and then showed the computer-generated image of a living room. Looking like one of the mannequins used to test car safety, a figure sat on a straight-backed chair. His face and body were comprised of geometric shapes, but he was recognizably human— a man.
“The use of electronic surveillance and monitoring has reached a crucial fusion point. Using both government and corporate sources, we have all the data necessary to track an individual during his entire day. We’ve simply combined it into one system— the Shadow Program. Shadow creates a parallel cyber-reality that constantly changes to reflect the actions of each individual. For those members of the Brethren who would like more information after this talk, I’m warning you— the Shadow Program is…” Reichhardt paused, searching for a word. “I would call it verführerisch.”
“Which means beguiling,” Mrs. Brewster explained. “Seductive.”
“Seductive. An excellent word.
“In order to show what the Shadow Program can do, I’ve chosen one member of the Brethren as our subject. Without his knowledge, I have established his duplicated self within our system. Photographs from passport and driver’s license databases are converted into a three-dimensional image. Using medical records and other personal data, we can establish weight and height.”
Michael had briefly meet Dr. Anders Jensen before the meeting started. He was a slight man with thinning blond hair who had some kind of position in the Danish government. Jensen looked surprised when his face appeared on the computer-generated man. Medical information flashed on the screen, and that data transformed the shape of the body. Information taken from a clothing store computer became a gray business suit and a blue necktie. When the figure was dressed, it stood up from the computer chair and waved.
“And here we are!” Reichhardt announced. “Dr. Jensen, meet your shadow self!”
Michael and the rest of the group applauded the achievement while Jensen forced a smile. The Dane didn’t seem happy that his image was now held within the system.
“From housing records we can re-create Professor Jensen’s apartment on Vogel Street. From credit card information, especially from mail-order companies, we can even place selected pieces of furniture in different rooms.”
While the computer-generated professor paced back and forth, a couch, chair, and coffee table appeared in the room. Michael glanced at the others. Mrs. Brewster nodded at him and smiled knowingly.
“This is not exactly correct,” Jensen said. “The couch is pushed against the wall near the door.”
“I beg your pardon, Professor.” Reichhardt spoke briefly into the thin microphone attached to his headset. The shadow couch melted away and appeared in the proper location.
“Now I’d like to show you the edited record of a few hours in Professor Jensen’s life. The Shadow Program watched him nine days ago during a successful test of the system. Because the professor has a home security system, we know exactly when he leaves his apartment. Professor Jensen’s mobile phone and his car’s GPS system allow us to track his trip to a local shopping area. Two surveillance cameras are in the parking lot. The professor is photographed and a facial algorithm confirms his identity. The discount shopping card in Jensen’s wallet comes with an embedded RFID chip. It informs a computer when he’s entered a particular store. Here it’s a business selling books, films, and computer games….”
On the screen, the shadow Anders Jensen began to walk down the aisle of a store, passing other shadow individuals. “Please understand— what you’re seeing on the screen is not hypothetical. It corresponds to Professor Jensen’s physical experience. We know what the store looks like because most modern businesses have been transformed into electronic environments to monitor shopping behavior. We know what the other customers look like because we’ve scanned their ID cards and found images of their faces in various databanks.
“Most products now have RFID chips to guard against theft. They also allow stores to track their shipments. Businesses in Denmark, France, and Germany have chip sensors in the shelves so they know if customers are attracted to promotions and packaging. This will become standard on everything in the next few years. Now watch. Professor Jensen goes to this particular shelf and—”
“That’s enough,” Jensen murmured.
“He picks up the product, returns it to the shelf. He hesitates and then decides to make a purchase of a DVD entitled Tropical Sin III.”
General Nash laughed and the others joined him. Some of the Brethren on the computer monitors were laughing as well. Looking crushed, Jensen stared down at the floor and shook his head. “I-I bought it for a friend,” he said.
“I apologize, Professor, for any embarrassment this may have caused you.”
“But you know the rules,” Mrs. Brewster snapped. “All of us are equal within the Panopticon.”
“Exactly,” Reichhardt said. “Because of our limited resources at the moment, we have enough computing power to establish the Shadow Program in only one city— Berlin. The program will become fully active in fifteen days. Once we get the system running, then the authorities will face—”
“A terrorist threat,” Nash said.
“Or something of that sort. At this point, the Evergreen Foundation will offer the Shadow Program to our friends in the German government. The moment it becomes established, our political allies will make sure that it becomes a worldwide system. This is not just a tool against crime and terrorism. Companies will like the idea of a system that can exactly determine an employee’s location and actions. Is the employee drinking during lunch? Is he going to the library at night and taking inappropriate books from the shelves? The Shadow Program will allow a certain number of controversial books and films to exist in the marketplace. The public reaction to these commodities gives us more information to create our duplicate reality.”
There was a brief silence, and Michael seized the opportunity. “I would like to say something.”
General Nash looked surprised. “This is not the time or place, Michael. You can give me your notes after the meeting.”
“I disagree,” Mrs. Brewster said. “I would like to hear the views of our Traveler.”
Jensen nodded rapidly. He was eager to move on to any topic of conversation that didn’t involve the duplicate professor on the television screen. “Sometimes it’s good to get a different perspective.”
Michael stood up and faced the Brethren. Each person sitting in front of him was wearing a mask created by a lifetime of deceit, the adult face concealing the emotions once expressed as a child. As the Traveler watched, these masks dissolved into little fragments of reality.
“The Shadow Program is a brilliant achievement,” Michael said. “Once it’s successful in Berlin, it can easily be extended to other countries. But there is one threat that could destroy the whole system.” He paused and looked around the room. “You have an active Traveler out in the world. A person who can cause resistance to your plans.”
“Your brother is not a significant problem,” Nash said. “He’s a fugitive without any support.”
“I’m not talking about Gabriel. I’m talking about my father.”
Michael saw surprise in their faces and then Kennard Nash’s anger. The general hadn’t told them about Matthew Corrigan. Perhaps he didn’t want to look weak and unprepared.
“I beg your pardon.” Mrs. Brewster sounded as if she had just found an error in a restaurant bill. “Didn’t your father disappear years ago?”
“He’s still alive. Right now, he could be anywhere in the world, organizing resistance to the Panopticon.”
“We’re investigating,” Nash sputtered. “Mr. Boone is dealing with the problem and he assures me that—”
Michael interrupted. “The Shadow Program will fail— all of your programs will fail— unless you find my father. You know that he started the New Harmony community in Arizona. Who knows what other centers of resistance he has started— or is organizing right now?”
A tense silence engulfed the room. Looking at the faces of the Brethren, Michael knew that he had managed to manipulate their fear.
“So what are we supposed to do?” Jensen asked. “Do you have any ideas?”
Michael bowed his head like a humble servant. “Only a Traveler can find another Traveler. Let me help you.”
** CHAPTER 12
On Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn, Gabriel found a storefront travel agency with a dusty collection of beach toys displayed in the front window. The agency was run by Mrs. Garcia, an older Dominican woman who weighed at least three hundred pounds. Chattering in a mixture of English and Spanish, she pushed at the floor with her feet and scooted around the room in an office chair with squeaky wheels. When Gabriel said that he wanted to buy a one-way ticket to London— paying in cash— Mrs. Garcia stopped moving and studied her new customer.
“You have a passport?”
Gabriel placed his new passport on the desk. Mrs. Garcia inspected it like a customs official and decided that it was acceptable. “A one-way ticket makes questions with inmigración y la policía. Maybe questions no good. Sí?”
Gabriel remembered Maya’s explanation of air travel. The people who got searched were grandmothers carrying fingernail scissors and other passengers who violated simple rules. While Mrs. Garcia rolled over to her desk, he checked the money in his wallet. Buying a round-trip ticket would leave him about a hundred and twenty dollars. “All right,” he told her. “Sell me a round-trip ticket. On the first flight out.”
Mrs. Garcia used her personal credit card to buy the ticket, and she gave Gabriel information about a hotel in London. “You don’t stay there,” she explained. “But you must give el oficial del pasaporte an address and phone number.” When Gabriel admitted that he didn’t have any luggage other than his shoulder bag, the travel agent sold him a canvas suitcase for twenty dollars and stuffed it with some old clothes. “Now you are a tourist. So what do you want to see in England? They might ask you that question.”
Tyburn Convent, Gabriel thought. That’s where my father is. But he shrugged his shoulders and looked down at the scuffed linoleum. “London Bridge, I guess. Buckingham Palace…”
“Bueno, Mr. Bentley. Say hello to the queen.”
Gabriel had never flown overseas before, but he had seen the experience in movies and television commercials. Well-dressed people were shown lounging in comfortable seats, where they had conversations with other attractive passengers. The actual experience reminded him of the summer he and Michael had spent working at a cattle feed lot outside of Dallas, Texas. The cattle had bar-coded tags stapled to their ears, and a great deal of time was spent picking out the steers that had been there too long, inspecting them, weighing them, sorting them into pens, driving them down narrow chutes, and forcing them into trucks.
Eleven hours later, he stood in the customs line at Heathrow Airport. When it was his turn, he approached the passport officer, a Sikh with a full beard. The officer took Gabriel’s passport and studied him for a moment.