Two Spirits
A terrorist organization, trying to destroy the Internet, accidentally creates an artificial intelligence that threatens to change the face of humanity.
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Two Spirits
BOOK ONE PRELUDE Two Spirits
by Graham Bell Two Spirits meet in the dark and touch. The one, pulls back in fear. The other, reaches out in compassion. “Give me your hand” she says, and waits for the other to reply. “I am alone” he says, “and you are nothing but a dream” “We are all nothing but dreams, but still, my hand is outstretched for you.” And she waited. Chapter 1
The truth is that Marcie Graham should have thought of herself as being a lucky woman. After all, she had a great career, and literally the most remarkable ex-husband in the world. But, she had lived so many lies for so long, that even the truth felt like a lie to her now. Each new lie fit her like a glove. She wore her life, and it was wearing her down. So, in the rare moments when she was honest, she would say to herself, ‘I hate my life’. She was carrying a leather brief case, and was dressed in a dark gray wool suit, which was only slightly wrinkled from the flight. Her long dark hair was tied up in a tight bun that inexplicably, was still neat. “Hey Ted, thanks for meeting me,” she said wearily to the tall man with the thinning brown hair who was waiting for her at the bottom of the escalator. “No Problem Marcie,” Ted said. “Did you have a good time?” “The usual.” She looked down at the one-year-old boy asleep in the stroller. “Babysitting again?” She asked as she kneeled down in front of the child and stroked his soft hair gently. “Yea, Tim and Nancy had to go to Victoria for a funeral. I have him for a whole week.” “A week! They’re lucky to have you, and Marshall is lucky to have such a nice uncle.” Marcie was hardly surprised to see him with his nephew. Sometimes it seemed that Marshall spent more time with Ted than with his with his own dad. She rose, and straightened the back of her skirt. “Ted,” she said to him, “could you get my bag? I have to go to the ladies room.” “Sure. I’ll be waiting here for you when you get back.” She reached out, and gave his shoulder a squeeze before she hurried off. That was always how they would greet each other when she returned from her business trips. No hug, no kiss, and Marcie feeling awkward and out of place in a building full of demonstrative, emotional people. She loved Ted. Loved him with every fiber of her being, but he was just “Her Special Friend,” and they were now a divorced couple who still lived together. The only ones in the world, as far as she knew. Marcie went through the door of the public washroom just behind a small brunette woman, who went into the cubicle beside her. They switched briefcases under the divider without a word, as they had done so often before. It only took a few seconds. Ted. She thought to herself as she sat in the stall. Most of my friends and colleagues have no idea who he really is, what he cares about, or what keeps us close. Marcie wasn’t about to tell them anything. “Let them guess,” she had said to Ted. “A little mystery is good for the office gossip circuit.” To her, it was just one more lie. Tonight, she was tired of mysteries though, and longed for an end to all of them, especially the one waiting for her in their basement. * * * *
“I’m going to put Marshall to bed now Marcie. We’re up late, so please, try to not wake us when you get up in the morning, okay?” “Okay,” she replied. “I’m probably going to sleep on my desk.” She listened to his soft snort of a laugh, stifled a smile, and went downstairs to her office. Dropping down onto her old desk chair, so hard that it groaned, she scanned the mess in front of her. On the left-hand side of her desk, a pile of file folders was stacked almost a foot high. To her right, was the open briefcase. Immediately in front of her were over two hundred black and white photos, obviously taken with a telescopic lens. She picked up the one nearest to her and peered at it closely, using a large magnifying glass. The picture showed four men standing outside a long tin building shaped like a corrugated tube cut down the middle. In the background, farm equipment and a silo could clearly be seen. Without taking her eyes off the men, she reached out with her free hand and pulled toward her the top filing folder, deftly opening it with one hand and sliding out several color prints. She put the photographs side by side and compared them, making soft humming noises to herself. * * * *
“Where the hell is Marcie!” The big man was practically screaming, and very red in the face. “How should we know, Bill? She should be here". Claire LaFontaine said to her boss. “I’m getting goddamn tired of her being a loose cannon all the time.” “I met her at the airport last night, and switched cases with her in the ladies’ room. I’m pretty sure that she got home okay, ‘cause Ted was there to pick her up.” Claire was a junior on the staff, young, eager, and especially skilled in surveillance, having a background in photography. “Well, we’ll have to start without her,” the chief said. "First, let’s get this Burin thing out of the way. Claire, Herb, what do you have for me?” “The CIA is positive he’s here somewhere,” said Claire, “but we haven’t seen any sign of him.” ”We have distributed his information to all the RCMP detachments. If he’s here, someone is bound to see him.” Herb added. “It’s embarrassing, if you ask me,” Ray spat. “He’s wanted for mischief for Christ’s sake, why are we even involved?” Ray was always peeved about something. He was a misfit in CSIS. A rule-bender, who wore his hair and beard long. “Of course it is,” the chief replied. “But what do you expect me to say the Americans? I’m sorry old chaps, but we’re rather busy chasing two prominent Canadian businessmen halfway around the world for no obvious reason? Besides, they think he’s here to get that ‘Two Spirits’ Guy.” “Ah, forget that. Just tell them that we’re looking for Mr. Malachi Burin, and to stay off our turf.” Ray said. Claire and Herb both laughed. The chief wasn’t amused, not in the least. “Look, we can’t wait for Marcie forever, Let’s get something done here!” As if to put him in his place, the chief barked an order to the slovenly man by the door. “Ray, make yourself useful for once. Go and phone her house. See if she’s asleep or something” “Okay.” Ray said, as he stumbled out of the room in his inimitable manner. The chief turned and glared at Claire. “You were doing surveillance for her, what is she on to? What do her notes say?” Claire picked up the pages in front of her and reviewed the all too familiar details. “Peter Grossman 28, Albert Grossman 34". She looked up at her boss. “They’re brothers, and are the inheritors of a rather substantial fortune, yet they live rather simple lives. They run their father’s farm equipment business, and own their own plane, which is kept at the factory. We‘ve found out from various sources that in the last four years, they have managed to spend close to fifteen million dollars, yet they live together in a plain bungalow in the west end of Winnipeg. They don’t seem to be all that interested in their business and rarely spend any time there. We also don’t have a clue what they have spent their money on, except that they have done a hell of a lot of flying.” Glancing back at her notes, she continued. “Walter Furman, 27. This guy is a real genius nerd type, but He dresses and acts like a hippie. From everything we’ve managed to dig up about him, he’s an exceptionally smart young man. The only black mark on his record is that he was expelled from school, twice. Both times, for using the schools’ terminals to hack into their mainframe.” “Why?” the chief asked. “No one knows. He didn’t seem to tamper with anything, grades or records, nothing. He just said that he wanted to know if he could do it.” “Why did he do it twice though? That’s what I‘d like to know,” said the remaining man in the room, a small, plain looking, balding middle-aged man. Herb Glazer was second-in-command in the division, and Marcie was supposed to be his partner. In the last few months however, they had hardly seen each other. Herb had recently remarried, this time to a woman half his age. Co-workers had privately wondered what Jenny saw in Herb, but the truth was eminently simple: He was a good listener. Herb’s first wife unfortunately, had acquired the bad habit of talking to everyone except Herb, and became, in Herb’s eyes, a ‘security risk’. She always seemed to make Herb feel very insecure about himself and his job. People had begun to ask if she was ‘all right’, to which Herb had no easy answer. Finally, she ran away. Herb got a divorce from her a year later. “According to the report,” Claire continued, “after he hacked into the computer the first time, they upgraded the security, and pronounced it foolproof.” “And our friend Walter was playing the fool.” Herb interrupted. “He got kicked out for the first time, why would he risk it again I wonder?” Claire put down her notes, took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “Well, as you know, Marcie has been tailing the Grossman’s for the last year or so. They have managed to lead her to practically all the major centers in the world.” ”And blow our travel budget in the process” said the chief. “Why is she dogging them?” Claire looked uncharacteristically sheepish. “I’ve been on Furman’s tail and he’s done nothing but live at his parent’s farm. Since we’ve been watching him, he has had no visitors except for the Grossman’s. Marcie has this strong hunch that she’s about to blow the lid off something really big.” “A Hunch?” the chief snorted. “Yea, she figures the Grossman boys are up to something using Furman and his computer skills. The question is: Why would two successful businessmen hire some weird hippie recluse to work for them, when they could have gotten the high-priced guys downtown? There is an answer here, and that’s what Marcie has been working on.” “So, what did she pass to you last night?” “An itinerary. Everything the Grossman’s have done this last trip. The bulk of their time was spent in Moscow, ‘theoretically’ arranging the sale of their farm equipment, but get this, one of their meetings was with the head of the Russian Agricultural Trade Board. He’s believed to be rather heavily involved with the Russian Mafia. “That’s where the money is,” said Herb. “Head office suspects that the Mafia is acting as a second level of Government, financing imports of technology and services.” Ray interrupted by bursting suddenly into the room. “Marcie left her house early this morning Bill. Ted has no idea where she is. I think I scared the hell out of him asking though.” Suddenly, all the lights in the building went out, and were replaced by the dull glow of the emergency lamps. “What the hell’s going on now?” the chief exclaimed. “Powers gone off,” Ray observed. “I saw some workers on the roof when I came in. That could be it.” * * * *
Walter Furman giggled to himself as his deft fingers neatly tied up the bundle of wires. “Jesus, Waltman. What the hell’s funny?” said Peter, “You’re going to kill us all.” This made the Waltman laugh out loud. “Oh, this little piggy won’t hurt us, will you piggy?” he said as he patted the dull metal casing. “How much longer now Walter?” said a voice from under the covers of the cot in the corner. “We have to get the thing on the truck, they’re expecting it by the end of the day!” “Not long Alley, not long. I just need to test the uplinks. If everything checks out fine, we are in business!” Albert groaned and rolled over. “Wake me when you’re done okay?” The Waltman giggled, stood up and stretched. “Here we are, at the brink of history’s most famous moment, and poor Alley has a code in his node.” Bending over for a moment in front of the computer keyboard, he started the test program, and said: “I’m going out for a walk, Petey Sweetie. When he beeps, give me a shout . . . and don’t touch anything!” he added, a rare serious tone creeping into his voice. * * * *
Marcie watched from the bushes as Walter exited the Quonset shed, lit a smoke, and started to pace back and forth like a tin soldier. Man, that guy is beyond strange! She said to herself. She had been watching the metal shed for almost two hours, and every fifteen minutes or so, this weirdo would come outside, smoke, and march. Marcie could almost set her watch to him. He’s gonna die if he doesn’t cut down. Why doesn’t he smoke inside? What do they have in there? So many questions, and so few answers. She was not surprised in the least by what she had seen this morning; it was merely the live version of the pictures Claire had passed to her. She had gotten here at daybreak, without taking a nap, in time to see all four men gather. Walter had come from his house, crossed the yard and gone inside the Quonset hut. The Grossman’s had stayed outside to talk to a man sitting in a battered old truck. They passed an envelope to him, and he drove off. She wasn’t finding out anything new here. Whatever the Grossman’s and Furman had been working on together, it was inside this nondescript and simple shed. What she needed was to get inside and see for herself, but it had to be another time, she was expected back at the office. Exactly three minutes later, his smoke crushed underfoot, Walter went back inside. Silence again enveloped the lonely farmyard, and Marcie hurried back to the road and her car. Down the road, she noticed the man in the battered truck had stopped to change a flat tire. She drove off in the opposite direction. * * * *
“Did he beep?” Walter said, addressing the short wiry man tipped back in a wooden chair, reading a newspaper. “Huh? Nope, not a sound” “That’s too long. Should’ve only taken about three minutes.” He quickly crossed over and peered at the computer’s monitor. “Oh shit.” He said quietly, his hands at his side. * * * *
Marcie was about two miles away, going fast, when the bomb went off. Her car stopped dead, a searing white light burned her eyes, and the wind ripped out of her lungs. |