Stones (Data) (6 page)

Ryzaard can tell from Alexa’s eyes that she wants to speak with him. He pauses and bends to the side, his ear inches from her lips.

“We have some preliminary readings from the location algorithm.” She keeps her voice to a low whisper. “The Stone is in North America.”

“Excellent.” Ryzaard bows his head and suppresses the urge to grin. “Keep up the hunt.” His voice drops until it is barely audible. “I want that Stone in my hands and the Holder dead and gone by the close of business tomorrow. Understood?”

She nods.

Ryzaard enters the boardroom, his face relaxed, arms hanging loosely at his side. He takes note of the surroundings.

Already seated at the front of the room, Van Pelt is staring down at documents on his desk screen without a word or a glance at anyone. His suit is conservative corporate fashion, dark blue garnished with feather epaulets. The chair beneath him squeaks with each tiny movement of his generous proportions. The other ten directors sit comfortably on raised terraces above the main floor.

Ryzaard can tell at a glance that the directors are angry about being brought to the meeting on this spring evening with such short notice. Plans have been interrupted, busy schedules thrown into chaos.

Good
, he thinks.
When striking the enemy, it’s important to maintain the element of surprise.

Quietly walking to the visitor’s section Ryzaard takes a seat. Alexa follows behind. MX Global’s general counsel, a bone-thin man with protruding cheekbones, glossy black hair pasted to his scalp and a pronounced widow’s peak, is already in his chair next to her. He examines documents on his slate, swiping his finger across its surface as he turns the pages.

Two objects rest on a table in front of Alexa, a pink slate and a cylindrical device the color of gold with inlaid glass panels and vertical light strips between them.

Ryzaard exchanges a glance with Van Pelt and gives him a slight nod. The door slides shut. Van Pelt clears his throat. The MX global logo appears on the wall behind him, two black dragons in a yin-yang posture devouring each other’s tails. Words in neon red wrap around them.

MX Global Corporation: Paradise Now.

Van Pelt looks up from the desk and rises to speak in a deep baritone voice with the hint of a British accent, well-known throughout the corporation.

“Since the time my grandfather founded this company, we have prided ourselves on being nimble. Our ability to respond quickly to every opportunity is our most valuable asset. That is the purpose for this emergency meeting of the board of directors, called pursuant to the procedure described in the bylaws. We apologize for the short notice and sincerely appreciate your attendance. The extraordinary circumstances that require a meeting will be apparent as we proceed.”

A mechanical smile graces Van Pelt’s face. He wipes a thin film of sweat from his brow and steals a glance at Ryzaard, who displays no hint of emotion.

Looking back at the directors, Van Pelt drones on.

“As specified in the bylaws, we will
not
record the proceedings of this meeting. The only record will be a written consent signed by a majority of the directors at the conclusion. Let me note that eleven of the directors are present in person, including myself, constituting a quorum sufficient for the conduct of any business that may come before the board. Any decision rendered by six of the present directors will be the final decision of this body.”

Van Pelt’s shoulders have visibly hunched up closer to his ears, and he exhales loudly, forcing them down in a futile attempt to appear relaxed.

“I note the high security that is necessitated by the sensitive nature of the matters to be discussed tonight. For that reason, no directors are attending by video and no com-links or Mesh connections to this room will be permitted until our business is concluded and the meeting is adjourned.” Van Pelt glances up at the other directors. “I apologize for the necessity of temporarily disabling your personal communication devices.”

The last comment seems to wake up the directors. A noticeable stir ripples through the room as each of them discover, perhaps for the first time in years, that their jaxes have gone dark.

There is a palpable sense of increased isolation. The tightening of a noose.

Van Pelt clears his throat. “I can assure you that all communication devices will be restored to full functionality immediately after this meeting is adjourned. We have taken this unusual step only in the interest of the highly confidential nature of the information which we are about to discuss.” He tries his best to put a sympathetic look on his face while maintaining his business-like demeanor.

More than a few eyes focus on the jax lying on the table in front of Ryzaard and the green telltales of a working device connected to the Mesh. He makes no attempt to hide it.

Van Pelt shifts on his feet. The sound of squeaking leather shoes pierces the silence of the room. “In addition, it will be necessary for each of the directors to execute a confidentiality agreement. Copies have been sent to the bluescreens on your desks.” Van Pelt nods, directing his audience to look at the wall behind him.

The first page of a document appears in print too small to read.

“Based on the advice of Mr. Cunningham, our general counsel, we will not be able to proceed further until each of you duly sign and date this document on the last page. Light pens have been provided for that purpose at each of your desks. Mr. Cunningham assures me that the contents of the agreement are entirely customary, nothing more than simple boilerplate.”

On the other side of Alexa, Cunningham nods gravely. The glossy surface of his black hair reflects the light like polished obsidian.

There is silence in the room as each director looks down at the document appearing on their desks.

One of them raises his hand.

Van Pelt raises his eyebrows.

The director hesitates, swallows, and then speaks in a faint voice. “Mr. Van Pelt, this confidentiality agreement is over one hundred pages long.” The director looks to his right and left, encouraged by nodding among his peers. “I assume we will be given sufficient time to review it and consult with our personal counsel before we sign.”

Van Pelt narrows his eyes and trains them squarely on the director. “The urgent nature of this meeting will not permit any further delay. If you have any concerns, you are, of course, free to leave at any time.” Van Pelt motions toward the door with his hand. “In that case, we will be forced to adjourn until a quorum can be reconstituted. And, I might add, the corporation of which you are a director will suffer irreparable injury from the delay.”

Well played
, Ryzaard thinks.
Just enough bullying to push them all a few feet closer to the edge of the cliff.

“But how can you possibly expect us to sign a hundred-page document without adequate time to review it.” The color of the director’s face is visibly changing to a light shade of pink. His initial reluctance to speak has all but disappeared. “In any case, it’s a basic principal of corporate law that directors owe a fiduciary duty to the corporation they serve, making a confidentiality agreement unnecessary.”

It is now clear to Ryzaard that some mistake has been made in the selection of this particular director.

He makes a mental note of that fact.

“The length of the document is, unfortunately, a product of our times.” Van Pelt shoots an accusing glance at Mr. Cunningham in the visitors section. “But our general counsel has assured me that it’s a standard form whose length can be attributed to boilerplate provisions that you would find in any confidentiality agreement.”

By now, the director’s face is bright red. “I refuse to sign anything until given adequate time to review it with my personal advisor.” He stands up and walks out the door, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.

Ryzaard’s eyes narrow and follow him.

K
ent Newmark stands up from the table, moves to the kitchen sink and begins to wash the dinner dishes. The truth is, he’s not sure he can let Matt go to Japan. His mind begins searching for an excuse, any excuse, to persuade his son to stay.

Matt pops the last pickled radish into his mouth, grabs his plate and walks it to the sink. “Dad, can you just finish the story before I go?”

The words knock Kent out of his daydreaming. “Story? What were we talking about?”

“Come on, Dad. You were going to tell me what happened to Mom.” Matt eyes are squinting with a burning intensity. “I need to know now, before I leave to pick up Jessica.”

“Sit down.” Kent walks over to the table and drops into a chair, motioning for his son to sit in his usual spot on the opposite side. He takes a deep inhale, and then exhales before starting to speak. “Where were we?”

“You were talking about the uranium mines in India and that guy you sent there to search for information at the client’s offices.”

“Right.” Kent closes his eyes and picks up the thread of the story. “He sent me an old report purposefully deleted from the client’s electronic files.” His eyes flip open.

“What did it say?” Matt leans forward.

“Apparently, there was an independent study that found high levels of a toxic material called
Jadugodium
mixed in with the uranium deposits. It was flowing from slag heaps into the Ganges River through sub-water channels.”

“The Ganges was being poisoned?”

Kent nods. “Right. In a big way.”

“But Dad, everyone knows that the Ganges is just about the filthiest river in the world.” Matt looks at his jax as his fingers tap its side. “What difference would a few more toxins make in such a thick soup?”

Kent puts his hands on the table. “The Ganges
is
filthy. But
Jadugodium
is incredibly noxious stuff. And there was evidence in the company’s files that they knew exactly what it was.”

“What makes this stuff so nasty?” Matt’s eyes flit past his jax.

“It attacks reproductive DNA when ingested in trace amounts. The damaged DNA is passed on to the first generation of offspring with no effect. It’s the second generation that gets hit hard. Ninety-nine percent of them suffer from a rare form of dementia. It begins when they reach adulthood and turns them into violent maniacs.”

Matt starts to speak, but his dad holds up his hand.

“Hold on. There’s more. The report detailed a method for masking the
Jadugodium
. When mixed with biphenyl, it becomes chemically undetectable, but the toxic effect remains. And it only appears to affect humans. No other animals or plants.”

Kent pauses so that Matt can absorb the full impact of his words. He watches with pride as his son’s eyes dart back and forth, working it all out.

Matt reaches for his jax.

“No searches on the Mesh.” Kent shakes his head. “It could raise suspicions.”

“Dad, why are you so paranoid?”

“Just being cautious. You’ll understand when I’m done.”

Matt smiles and drops the jax. “So, let me see if I’ve got this. Exhibit A. The Ganges supplies drinking water for over four billion people in India, Bangladesh and Burma.”

Kent nods. “Right.”

“Exhibit B. It’s being secretly polluted with a toxic chemical that’s impossible to detect.”

“So far, so good.”

“Exhibit C. Fifty years later, ninety-nine percent of the people that drink the water will go crazy and start killing each other. Did I miss anything?” Matt smiles with satisfaction.

“You’ve got it. That’s why that young associate never made it home from India. They got his jax, traced his last message, and found out he sent the information to me.”

“So, what did you do, Dad?”

“When I showed up for work the next morning, the managing partner of the firm was waiting for me at the bottom of the elevator. I’d never even met the guy before, and here he was, white as a sheet and wanting to talk to me.” Kent breathes in slowly. “He told me that the partnership has just voted to throw me out of the firm and that my career was over. Six armed guards surrounded me and escorted me out the front door of the building. I never made it to my office.”

A knot starts to form in the pit of Matt’s stomach. He has a feeling about what is coming next.

“I was thunderstruck. All I could do was walk to my car. When I pulled out of the parking garage, a black Mercedes Benz was following me. They didn’t try to conceal themselves. They
wanted
me to know. I could tell they were mercenaries. Ex-military thugs hired by the corporation. I drove to Times Square, parked the car and melted into the crowd. Mom had already left the house to run errands. She didn’t answer her jax. I got scared.”

Matt stares down at his hands. He wants to tell his dad to stop talking. He wants to turn and run out of the house without hearing the rest of the story.

“I knew I had stumbled onto something big when I got the environmental report back from the kid I sent to India. I just didn’t realize how quickly it would all spin out of control.” Kent’s eyes are red and brimming with wetness. “And how ruthless they would be.”

He stands up from the table and goes over to the kitchen sink where he takes a glass out of the cupboard and fills it with water. Drinking it carefully and methodically, he looks like he’s forcing himself to be calm. When he drains the glass, his eyes drift up to the mountains.