Memoria (15 page)

When the killer had left Kathleen's apartment with her purse
, he hadn't found the hard disk inside. What he had found was the post office receipt, a
nd not straight away but after Frank's arrest. Otherwise, what had been
the point
in
risking their butts at the post office?
This was the only explanation
Frank and
Max
c
ould come up with to explain away
the assault
on
the post office
a
mere
two hours after Frank's escape from the police station.

"They
basically
followed in my wake," Frank concluded staring at the notes.

The coach nodded.

"Yes, you..
..
or we, rather,
were going head-
to
-
head
until now
.
But
I'm afraid they'
ll be
gaining
ground
before long
.
Let's assume that the data
on the hard disk
has something to do with th
is
Vaccination
thing
.
Then if it turned out to cause physical or mental damage,
Gautier
must have
demand
ed
they went public about it. And they
refused her demand causing the DC talks to collapse."

"Then what's
the point
in
going public about it tomorrow?" Frank
threw the pen onto the desk. "All this media-summoning, migrant-
cajoling presentation?"

"
They need to remain one step ahead.
To shut
Gautier
up and appease the public.
They're too scared
that
we can
h
ack
the files and t
hey have no way of knowing if
Kathleen
told you why she'd copied them
to begin with."
Max
reached under Frank's ar
m and pulled out a sheet where they
'd
listed
all the events of the past few days.

"Look," he took the pen and circled
an item on the list. "You were taken to the station for questioning.
Immediately they attacked it."

"Th
e
y
must have thou
ght," Frank started, "that I
knew what was going on. They
thought I would
te
stify against them."

"Exactly. They also thought you had the hard disk. So they wanted to get rid of
the eyewitness and remove the device." He pulled the laptop closer and tapped
"Memoria board of directors" into the search engine.

Frank exploded.

"
So now I'm a
terrorist
acting on his own
?
It's not what they said before!
Can't anyone see they're lying?
How could I trash th
e station on my own? Even a child
can see
that
I
couldn't turn the city into a
battlefield
all alone
. Besides,
di
dn't you just say that th
ree hundred thousand migrants are
a force to be reckoned with?
All these war-mongering alerts of yours, and now you're backpedalling?"

"Relax,"
Max
gave him a cold stare. "I may be mistaken. Kathleen's killers could have another agenda for all that I know."

"Yeah, right, but how about Memoria? And the President?
They don't even try to hide their contempt for the migrants.
The
authorities can barely stand them. Surely every
one can put two and two together
...
"

"You're forgetting
our
civic duty. Most eyewitnesses to yesterday's carnage
must
have already visited Memoria branches and had their horrible memories erased. Why
should they carry around thoughts of gunfire and dead bodies on the streets?
I'm more than sure they were very nicely asked to do so.
I'm al
so sure that the media have refuted their earlier stories under the pretext of not wanting to hurt people's sensibilities. You are the scape goat because they hope to catch you pretty soon.
Now that they've prejudiced everyone against you, they
just
sit and
wait till you give yourself
up
."

Max
turned the screen to
ward
Frank.
He saw several mug shots and brief resumes of a couple
of
dozen Memoria executives. They hadn't removed Kathleen's file yet, listing her as their research manager.

"The fact that the President called you a terrorist acting on his own means that
those who put a hit out on Kathleen have government connections and
media control. They can force their own version of events
on everyone. Basically, they let us know, very nicely, who we're dealing with. Just a suggestion on their part
that we
stop nosing around
searching for
the
truth
.
"

"Whatever. It's not a loner, it's a group, a numerous and well-trained one, too."

"You're right on that
one."

"So you don't think
it could be the migrants?"

Max
shook his head.

"Doubtful.
To challenge the authorities so openly
...
" he cringed. "The moment they show any signs of aggression, they'll be toast. This is what we'll do. We won't eliminate the migrant
theory, not quite yet.
I want you to jot down
some questions,"
Max
half
stood and poked his finger at the
farthest sheet on the table. "What did
Gautier
want the Memoria techn
ologies for? How did she know about
the V
accination project? Now
...
" he sat back. "You got it? Good. Now have a look at all these people.
Check out their personal files. And tell me which one of them could be of interest to us."

"In which respect?"

"We need someone we can use to read the hard disk."

Frank scratched his cheek, thinking and picking fresh scabs off the scratches.

"William Bow is one. Cathleen's
deputy manager. They worked together."

The coach nodded.

"Anybody else?"

"Joe Binelli, the chief manager. Maggie is one of his secretaries. They have a
workstation
with an access to the server."

"That'll do," the coach pulled the laptop closer.
"You
're
think
ing
in the right direction."

"Thinking is one thing. But-"

'But what?"
Max
didn't look up from the screen,
busy
studying
the files.

"Just that," Frank blinked, "how are we supposed
to find
out the truth? We can't ask either
of these two to
hook us up to their server, can we? Or do you want Maggie to do it for you? She's a good girl, she can risk her life
...
"

Max
looked up at him.
For a second they glared at each other.

"I disagree," Frank shook his head. "Kathleen's death is more than enough.
Others'
deaths a
re more than enough
. I don't
-
"

"Do shut up, will you?"
Max
stood up. "And calm down.
No use for emotions in my line of work. We need to exercise wisdom and act
for certain. There's no
margin for errors, as they
say." He tapped his fist on the desk.

Frank turned to the TV, sulking.

"Never mind,"
Max
calmed down. "
Let's think some more."

"Go ahead, then," Frank
gave him a frowning glance and straightened the loose notes.

"Who
do you think would be easier to get hold of? Binelli or Bow?"

Frank shrugged.

"Take an educated guess," the coach removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes, red with the sleepless night.

"Binelli, most likely," Frank grumbled. "He has to be at the press conference tomorrow afternoon. Maggie has access to his office."

"
Not bad," the coach gave him a faint smile. "Ideally, we should first see what Bow has to say for himself.
But I'm pretty sure he has more corporate bodyguards than the government have FBI agents.
I'm almost sure Bow knows what happened. But he's out of our reach."

He added, answering Frank's silent question,

"Had I been one
of Kathleen's killers, I'd
have moved
him out of the HQ. As far as I could. I'd take him to some secret underground lab. And I do
n't doubt for one second that one
exists."

The TV speakers rustled with, "Joy and prosperity."
Memoria's orange flower blossomed on the screen. Images of people started flashing. Happy people going about their business at home and on the street
. Happy children at school. Everyone was smiling, and everyone had something orange: an item of clothing, or a bunch of tulips in their hands.

The commercial
ended, replaced by
yet
another ad. Frank turned to his coach.

"Yes?"
Max
gave him a strained look.

Frank
tapped his fingers on the table.
"One thing I keep thinking about."

"Go ahead, shoot
. That's why we're sitting here. We need to
exhaust all possibilities, however implausible.
"

"This isn't implausible. Quite the cont
rary. But still. I keep pondering
why all my pursuers had no hair.
Claney
didn't, either. But the story said that he'd lost his hair in some early Baker experiments. They said that later the problem had been solved. Otherwise everyone who'd ever been to Memoria would have been bald as an egg by now."

Frank paused and went on,

"This is what I don't understand.
If my pursuers have
some kind
of Memoria connections, then what's their common denominator?
Claney
is in his late sixties while those who fought me were about thirtyish.
The fake airport cab driver had to be forty or so. What do they all have in common?"

Max
didn't answer.

"You have a point, Frank. Jot it down, will you?"

B
ud Jessup sat in his office and looked
through the glass partition at the departing backs of
Claney
and Binelli's lawyers.
Talking to them had been
a mere formality, albeit unavoidable.
He knew he couldn't expect any positive outcome, but
instead
could look forward to all
kind
s of innuendo
that
they'd promised him. They'd made it pretty c
lear he shouldn't try too hard, unless he wanted to lose his post and his head.

Jessup picked the lawyers' business cards
off the desk
, crumpled them in his fist and
binned them.

Fucking
rats.
Jessup turned his chair to the window.
An audacious bunch of bullies
.
Smug and knowing that he had nothing against Memoria
. Its bosses order
ed
the media around telling the majority what they were supposed to think. The government, the President, the law itself
—
they had everything on their side.

He rose and looked out into the street.
The hustle and bustle
made one forget yesterday's murders. Twenty years ago, a violation like this would have had the whole city
on its toes. People didn't bother to consider these things any more. The world had changed.
Those who'd once fought for its freedom were far past their prime now. Who
would need a patriot these days?
They were few and far between now, those who still bothered to remember.
All thanks to Memoria and its memory wipe
s
.
They
also wiped out
integrity.