The elevator door opened and they stepped into a large basement without interior walls. Michael thought that the massive room looked like a factory without workers. It was filled with machinery and communication equipment. “That’s the backup power generator,” Mrs. Brewster said, pointing to the left. “That’s the air conditioner and filtration system because, apparently, our computer doesn’t favor polluted air.”
A white pathway had been painted on the floor, and they followed it to the other end of the room. Although the machinery was impressive, Michael was still curious about the people he had seen in the conference room. “So the employees don’t know that they’re helping establish the Shadow Program?”
“Of course not. When the time comes, Lars will tell them that their marketing data is going to help defeat terrorism. We’ll pass out bonuses and promotions. I’m sure they’ll be quite pleased.”
The white pathway ended at a second reception desk— this one manned by a burly security guard wearing a coat and tie. The guard had been watching their progress on a small monitor. He looked up when they approached the desk.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Brewster. They are expecting you.”
A door without knobs and handles was directly behind the reception desk, but the guard didn’t buzz it open. Instead Mrs. Brewster approached a small steel box with an opening at one end. It was mounted on a ledge a few feet from the door.
“What’s that?” Michael asked.
“A palm vein scanner. You place your hand inside and a camera takes a photograph with infrared light. The hemoglobin in your blood absorbs the light so your veins appear black in a digital photograph. My pattern is matched against a template stored in the computer.”
She inserted her hand in the slot, a light flashed, and the lock clicked. Mrs. Brewster pushed open the door and Michael followed her into the second wing of the building. He was surprised to see that the interior had been completely gutted, exposing the rafters and the brick walls. Inside this windowless shell was a large glass tower held within a steel frame. The tower contained three stories of interconnected storage devices, mainframe computers, and servers racked up on cabinets. The entire system was accessible by a steel staircase and elevated catwalks.
Two men sat at a control panel in one corner of the room. They were separate from the closed environment of the tower— like acolytes not permitted to enter a chapel. A large flat-screen monitor hung above them, showing four computer-generated figures in a shadow car, rolling down a tree-lined boulevard.
Lars Reichhardt stood up and spoke in a loud voice. “Welcome to Berlin! As you can see, the Shadow Program has been tracking you ever since you arrived in Germany.”
Michael looked up at the screen and saw that yes, the car on the screen was a Mercedes and it contained computer-generated images that resembled himself and Mrs. Brewster as well as the guard and chauffeur.
“Keep watching,” Reichhardt said, “and you’ll see yourself about ten minutes ago, driving down Unter den Linden.”
“It’s all very impressive,” Mrs. Brewster said. “But the executive board would like to know when the system will be completely operational.”
Reichhardt glanced at the technician sitting at the control panel. The young man touched his keyboard and the shadow images instantly disappeared from the screen.
“We’ll be ready to go in ten days.”
“Is that a promise, Herr Reichhardt?”
“You know my dedication to our work,” Reichhardt said pleasantly. “I’ll do everything possible to achieve this goal.”
“The Shadow Program has to work perfectly before we can contact our friends in the German government,” Mrs. Brewster said. “As we discussed on Dark Island, we’re also going to need suggestions for a national advertising campaign similar to what we’ve been doing in Great Britain. The German people need to be convinced that the Shadow Program is necessary for their protection.”
“Of course. We’ve already done some work on that.” Reichhardt turned to his young assistant. “Erik, show them the ad prototype.”
Erik typed some commands and a television ad appeared on the screen. A knight with a black cross on his white surcoat stood guard as cheerful young Germans traveled on a bus, worked in office cubicles, and kicked a soccer ball in a park. “We thought we’d bring back the legend of the Teutonic Order of Knights. Everywhere you go, the Shadow Program will be protecting you from danger.”
Mrs. Brewster didn’t look impressed with the television ad. “I see where you’re going with this, Lars. But perhaps—”
“It doesn’t work,” Michael said. “You’ve got to present an image that’s more emotional.”
“This isn’t about emotions,” Reichhardt said. “It’s about security.”
“Can you create some images?” Michael asked the technician. “Show me a mother and father looking at their two sleeping children.”
Slightly confused about who was in charge, Erik glanced up at his boss. Reichhardt nodded and the young man continued typing. At first only faceless computer figures appeared on the screen, but then they began to morph into recognizable images of a father holding a newspaper and a mother holding his hand. They were standing in a bedroom filled with toys as two little girls slept in matching beds.
“So you start with this picture— an emotional picture— and you say something like ‘Protect the Children.’ ”
Erik kept typing and the words Beschuetzen Sie die Kinder floated across the screen.
“They’re protecting their children and—”
Mrs. Brewster interrupted. “And we’re protecting them. Yes, it’s all rather warm and comforting. What do you think, Herr Reichhardt?”
The head of the computer center watched the screen as little details appeared. The mother’s kind face filled with love. A night-light and a storybook. One of the sleeping girls hugged her toy lamb.
Reichhardt smiled thinly. “Mr. Corrigan understands our vision.”
** CHAPTER 16
The Prince William of Orange was a cargo ship owned by a group of Chinese investors who lived in Canada, sent their children to British schools, and kept their money in Switzerland. The crew was from Suriname, but all three officers were Dutchmen who had trained with the Netherlands merchant navy.
During the journey from America to England, neither Maya nor Vicki ever found out what was being carried inside the sealed shipping containers packed in the hold. The two women ate their meals with the officers in the ship’s galley and, one night, Vicki had given in to her curiosity.
“So what’s your cargo for this trip?” she asked Captain Vandergau. “Is it something dangerous?”
Vandergau was a big, taciturn man with a blond beard. He lowered his fork and smiled pleasantly. “Ahhh, the cargo,” he said, and considered this question as if it had never been asked before.
The first mate, a younger man with a waxed mustache, was sitting at the end of the table. “Cabbage,” he suggested.
“Yes. That is correct,” Captain Vandergau said. “We carry green cabbage, red cabbage, canned and pickled cabbage. The Prince William of Orange provides cabbage to a hungry world.”
It was an early spring crossing with a raw wind and a drizzling rain. The exterior of the boat was gunmetal gray, almost matching the sky. The sea was a dark green, the waves rising up to slap the bow like an endless series of small confrontations. In this dull environment, Maya found herself thinking too much about Gabriel. Right now Linden was in London, searching for the Traveler, and there was nothing she could do to help him. After several restless nights, Maya found two rusty paint cans that had been filled with concrete. Holding these weights in each hand, she ran through a series of exercises that left her muscles sore and her skin covered with sweat.
Vicki spent most of her time in the galley, drinking tea and writing her thoughts in a journal. Occasionally, a look of great pleasure appeared on her face, and Maya knew that she was thinking about Hollis. Maya wanted to deliver her father’s lecture about love— that it made you weak— but she knew Vicki wouldn’t believe any of it. Love seemed to make Vicki stronger and more confident.
Once Alice realized that she was safe, she spent almost every hour of daylight roaming around the ship— a silent presence on the bridge and in the engine room. Most of the crew had families of their own, and they treated Alice with great kindness, making her toys and cooking her special meals for dinner.
AT SUNRISE ON the eighth day, the boat passed the Thames flood barrier and began its slow passage up the river. Maya stood near the bow and stared at the glimmering streetlights of the distant villages. This wasn’t home— she didn’t have a home— but she had finally returned to England.
The wind grew stronger, rattling the wire lines attached to the lifeboats. Seagulls screeched and glided above the angry waves as Captain Vandergau paced across the deck clutching a satellite phone. Apparently, it was important that his cargo arrive at a certain dock in East London when a particular customs inspector named Charlie was working. Vandergau cursed in English, Dutch, and a third language Maya didn’t recognize, but Charlie refused to answer any of his phones.
“Our problem is not corruption,” the captain informed Maya. “It’s lazy, inefficient British corruption.” Finally he talked to Charlie’s girlfriend and got the necessary information. “Fourteen hundred hours. Yes, I understand.”
Vandergau gave a command to the engine room and the twin propellers began turning. When Maya went below she felt a faint vibration in the steel walls. There was a constant thumping sound, as if a gigantic heart were beating somewhere in the ship.
Around one o’clock in the afternoon, the first mate knocked on the door of their cabin. He told them to pack their belongings and come to the galley for instructions. Maya, Vicki, and Alice sat at the narrow table and listened to the glasses and dishes rattle in their wooden holding racks. The ship was turning around in the river, maneuvering toward a dock.
“Now what happens?” Vicki asked.
“After they get through the inspection, we’ll go ashore and meet Linden.”
“But what about the surveillance cameras? Will we have to disguise our appearance?”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen, Vicki. Usually, if you want to avoid being tracked, there are two possible responses. You do something so old-fashioned— so primitive— that you can’t be detected. Or you go the opposite direction and use technology that’s one generation ahead of the standard. Either way, the Vast Machine finds it difficult to process the information.”
The first mate returned to the galley and made a grand gesture with his arm. “Captain Vandergau sends you his compliments and requests that you follow me to more secure accommodations.”
Maya, Vicki, and Alice entered the ship’s walk-in food locker. With some help from the Javanese cook, the first mate shifted the supplies so that the three stowaways were concealed behind a wall of cardboard boxes. Then the metal door was shut and they were alone.
The fluorescent fixture above them radiated a harsh metallic light. Maya was carrying her revolver in an ankle holster. Both her Harlequin sword and Gabriel’s Japanese sword were out of the carrier and placed on a ledge beside her. Someone was walking quickly down a passageway on the level above them, and the sharp clicking sound leaked through the ceiling. Alice Chen moved closer to Maya, only a few inches from the Harlequin’s leg.
What does she want? Maya thought. I’m the last person in the world to show her any love or physical affection. She remembered Thorn telling her about a trip he had taken through the southern Sudan. When her father spent the day with missionaries at a refugee camp, a little boy— an orphan of war— had followed him around like a lost dog. “All living things have a desire to survive,” her father explained. “If children have lost their family, they search for the most powerful person, the one who can protect them….”
THE DOOR OPENED and she heard the first mate’s voice. “Storage locker.”
A man with a London accent said, “Right.” It was just one word, but the way it was delivered reminded her of certain aspects of Britain. I’m all right, Jack. Backyard gardens with ceramic gnomes. Chips and peas. Almost immediately, the door was shut and that was it: inspection over.
They waited some more and then Captain Vandergau entered the locker and dismantled the wall of boxes. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you three ladies, but now it’s time to leave. Follow me, please. A boat has arrived.”
A dense fog had rolled in while they were hiding below. The deck was wet, and little beads of water clung to the railing. The Prince William of Orange was moored within the East London docks, but Captain Vandergau quickly escorted them to the starboard side of the ship. Attached by two nylon ropes, a narrow boat rode on the waves. The wooden boat was forty feet long and built for shallow water. It had a large central cabin with porthole windows and an open back deck. Maya had seen other narrow boats in London whenever she crossed one of the canals. People lived on the boats and used them for holidays.
A bearded man wearing a black mackintosh was standing on the stern of the boat, holding the tiller. A hood covered his head and made him look like a monk from the Inquisition. He gestured—Come down— and Maya saw that a rope ladder was now attached to the side of the ship.
It took Maya and Alice only a few seconds to climb to the deck of the narrow boat. Vicki was a good deal more cautious, gripping the wooden steps of the rope ladder, and then glancing down at the narrow boat as it rose up and down on the waves. Finally her feet touched the deck and she let go. The bearded man with the hood— whom Maya began to think of as Mr. Mackintosh— bent down and started the boat’s engine.
“Where are we going?” Maya asked.
“Up the canal to Camden Town.” The bearded man had a strong East London accent.
“Shall we stay in the cabin?”
“If you want to stay warm. No reason to worry about the cameras. No cameras where we’re goin’.”
Vicki retreated to the little cabin, where a coal fire was burning in a cast-iron stove. Alice went in and out of the cabin, inspecting the galley, the sunroof, and the walnut paneling.