Soul Identity (24 page)

We packed up by
nine a.m. “Ready for some pearl shopping?” Val asked me.

Val wanted another string of pearls, she said, because they were one of the most popular items Soul Identity members left in the depositary for their future carriers. Her own collection was growing, all of them obtained from this city.

I had read a brochure in the hotel that claimed
Hyderabad
was for pearls what
Antwerp
was for diamonds: the world’s crossroads. Ninety percent of all pearls sold passed through this Indian city for piercing and stringing.

“I’m ready,” I said. “How are we getting there?”

“Auto taxi.”

I had watched the three-wheeled yellow cages with at least seven or eight people crammed into them zip around the city. “Are you crazy?” I asked. “I don’t want to share with so many others.”

She laughed. “We can get our own—just you, me, and the driver.”

That sounded better.

Thirty minutes later, I shouted, “I think I prefer the spoiled American way of traveling.”

“Why’s that?” she asked.

I gestured. “This is loud, hot, and stinky.”

She laughed.

Five minutes later we pulled up to a small shop. The driver pointed. “Sir, ma’am, one stop first on way to pearls.”

“We don’t have much time,” Val said.

“Just see,” he said. “Good things inside.”

“Why did we stop here?” I asked him.

The driver pointed. “That man my wife’s older brother. Every auto customer I must bring here first.”

Two minutes later we climbed back in the auto taxi. I pointed at the driver. “Your wife’s brother sells light switches,” I said.

“Light switches, yes. You like, sir?”

“Just take us to RMR,” Val said. She smiled at me. “What would you call that, coercive marketing?”

“Maybe I could use that in my own business.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t seem that effective. There was only one other customer, and he wasn’t buying either.”

RMR Pearls was a little bigger than the light switch shop. We stepped over sandals scattered around the steps. A guard saluted us and opened the door.

It was dark inside. Somebody barked an order, and a boy ran to switch on the lights. The shopkeeper stood beaming in front of us. “Welcome back, my favorite customer!” he said to Val.

“Thanks, Shiv,” she said. “I’d like to buy another pearl necklace.”

Shiv wobbled his head at us. “You have come to the right place. Please have a seat.”

We sat down and watched as a boy laid a white towel on top of the glass cabinet. “Can you show me some jet black pearls?” Val asked.

“Of course.” Shiv motioned, and the boy ran into the back room. He returned with a bulging plastic shopping bag. Shiv put the bag at his feet and spread out the wrinkles from the towel. “Jet black ones are
South
Sea
pearls.” He pulled out a bunch of strands tied together at one end. “These are eight millimeter. They are perfect for you.” He splayed the strands onto the towel.

Val looked. “You have anything bigger?”

Shiv pulled out another bunch. “These ones are ten millimeter. They are perfect for you.”

“I thought the last ones were perfect,” I said.

Shiv looked at me and smiled. “My friend, all pearls are perfect.”

“Ah.” I looked at the towel. These pearls were huge, round, and almost perfect. “Wow.”

Val smiled. “There’s that word again.”

“They’re gorgeous.” I held up the end of a strand. “But how do you know they’re real?”

“Every American customer asks this question,” Shiv said. He snapped his fingers, and the boy opened another drawer and withdrew a knife, a cigarette lighter, and two small white pearl necklaces. “Let me show you.”

“He loves doing this,” Val said. Her eyes sparkled. “This is my fourth show.”

Shiv grabbed the strand of pearls I was playing with. He pulled hard at the end and separated the strand from the bunch. “Pearls are eighty-six percent calcium, two percent organic compounds, and twelve percent water,” he said.

He held up the strand. “A real pearl is grown by the oyster. You find natural ridges on it. You can feel them like this.” He rubbed one of the pearls against his teeth, then handed me the strand.

I rubbed the pearl against my teeth, and it was rougher than I expected. “What’s a fake pearl feel like?” I asked.

Shiv handed me one of the white necklaces. These slipped against my teeth with no friction at all. “Yeah, that is different.” I said.

“Now some fake pearls do feel real,” Val said.

Shiv nodded. “Some fake pearls have real nacre. That is the deposits made on top of the seed put in the oysters,” he said. “Cheap pearl shops use big seeds.” He snapped his fingers, and the boy handed over the other white necklace and the knife. “Feel these pearls.”

I did. They felt real.

“Real pearls, bad quality,” he said. He took the knife and scraped the blade against one of the pearls. The top layer flaked off and revealed a white plastic bead inside. “Cheap pearls.” He handed the necklace to me.

I looked at the ruined pearl. “And yours are different?”

“Watch.” He took the strand of black pearls and pulled one off. He shaved it down to its middle. “You see we have no seed.”

Shiv snapped again, and the boy handed him the cigarette lighter. Shiv took the cheap pearls from me and used a pair of tweezers to hold one over the flame. Within five seconds the pearl bubbled and melted. He pulled a black pearl off the strand and held it to the flame. The shine disappeared under a layer of soot, but it didn’t melt.

“You’ve ruined it,” I said.

Shiv rubbed the pearl with his fingers. The soot came off, and the pearl looked like it did before. He handed it to me, and it was cool to the touch.

“You’ve got to get some pearls,” I told Val.

She smiled at Shiv. “Another converted customer.”

Val chose a stunning strand of
South
Sea
jet black pearls. A small man took the strand and clasp, sat in the corner, and got to work turning it into a necklace.

Another customer walked into the store and sat by the door. He wore gray slacks, a white shirt, and a gray tie.

Val kicked me on my leg. She pointed with her chin at the other customer. “That guy was in the light switch store.”

The man was looking into the case in front of him, but every few seconds his glance darted our way.

I got up and stood over him. “Can I help you?” I asked.

The man handed me his card without saying a word. I read it out loud. “V.R.A.S. Reddy, Security, WorldWideSouls.”

He pointed to his chest. “Myself V.R.A.S. Reddy. And you are Mr. Scott Waverly?”

I nodded.

“I am here to protect you and Valentina Nikolskaya. Please call me Reddy.”

“Who told you to protect us?”

“My supervisor, sir. Soul Identity has outsourced its security to WorldWideSouls.”

Things must be going downhill in
Sterling
. Had Feret made his move already?

“We don’t want your protection,” I said.

“But it is my duty.”

I glared at him. “Do your duty somewhere else.”

Reddy blanched under my stare and backed out of the store. I saw him pull a phone out of his pocket.

Val joined me at the door and we watched Reddy talk on the phone. She sighed. “So the gray guys caught up to us.”

“They did. And now we know they’re WorldWideSouls. Let’s get out of here.”

Shiv called us over and handed Val the completed necklace. She put it around her neck.

“It’s gorgeous.” I said. I pulled out my wallet and paid him with some more of Archie’s cash.

Shiv beamed. “Thank you, my best customers! This is an auspicious day. You buy my best pearls. Please come again!”

We got into our waiting auto taxi. V.R.A.S. Reddy waved to us and got into his own auto, and we all headed to the office.

When we reached SchmidtLabs, we noticed the security guards in front of Soul Identity were dressed in gray outfits matching Reddy’s.

“Looks like WorldWideSouls is also protecting the premises,” I said.

Val shook her head. “Protecting is an interesting word. Remember it was the gray guys who shot at us in
Maryland
.”

We walked inside, and Bhanu came up to us. “Why is our competitor now guarding Soul Identity?”

“Don’t you have a buddy who works for them?” I asked.

He nodded. “I talked to him this morning. He doesn’t know anything.”

“Like us,” Sheela said as she walked over. “What is happening to Soul Identity?”

“We don’t really know,” Val said.

Bhanu shook his head. “You must know something.
Andre Feret is Fred Antere.
We learned in Leh that he changed the match program. That means he’s a fake. And I did some Internet searching. Antere is connected to WorldWideSouls.”

“You’re right,” Val said. “But we don’t know why Feret is bringing WorldWideSouls into Soul Identity.”

I was glad she didn’t mention the pending activities in
Venice
on Saturday. Or George’s early warning about Friday.

Bhanu opened his mouth to say something, but then he stopped. “You’ll tell us if Sheela and I are in any danger?”

I shrugged. “I doubt you are.” I told him about V.R.A.S. Reddy at the pearl store and how he’d been assigned to us. “He’s right outside,” I said. “You can see for yourself.”

Bhanu and Sheela both looked, and Reddy waved.

“Did anybody follow you to work this morning?” I asked them.

They shook their heads.

“So you’re probably okay. But keep an eye out,” I said.

We walked to our conference room, and Bhanu and Sheela left.

“Let’s find a scanner,” Val said.

I grabbed young Feret’s Lamayuru photo, and we headed for the door.

“Just like Tinless said.”
Val turned her laptop screen my way.

Red Tree, also known as Fred Antere and Andre Feret, was definitely not an overseer. His real eyes produced the same soul identity that we had found in the sabotaged matching program.
Berry
was the true overseer, and Feret had stolen his identity.

Now that we had proven this, we had to stop him before Soul Identity went under.

“We’ve got to figure out Feret’s plans.” I pushed my laptop to her. “Show me how you hacked the WorldWideSouls Web site.”

She started typing. “The dummies that put this site together didn’t protect their upload section. My script makes me an administrator when you go to this URL.” She pointed to my screen. “We’re in, and we didn’t even need a buffer overflow to get there.”

“Nice job.” I pulled my laptop back. “My turn to drive.”

Within ten minutes I had uncovered a list of users, and I logged in using Fred Antere’s account.

“What can he do that an administrator can’t?” Val asked.

“Let’s see.” I brought up the Web page source and scanned it. “There.” I pointed at the screen at a hidden button, right next to the WorldWideSouls logo. I clicked on it, and a menu showing email, chat, calendar, and files popped up.

“Careful, Scott,” Val warned. “Don’t get caught.”

“I’ll be quick,” I said. I clicked on the calendar and went to last Monday’s schedule. I saw George and Sue’s eleven o’clock meeting with Feret.

Feret was flying from
Venice
later today, arriving in
Boston
on Wednesday night. And on Friday he was flying out to
Venice
at six p.m.

“Click on Saturday,” Val said.

Feret was booked from noon to two at a “New Order Planning Session,” and from three to five at a “New Order Presentation.” Both sessions were to be held at the Venetian Soul Identity amphitheatre.

“This dude seems pretty confident in mixing the two groups together by Saturday,” I said.

“He’s already done it,” Val said. “Look at the guards outside.”

“Hiring them on as outsourced security guards is one thing,” I said. “But using the Soul Identity facilities for a WorldWideSouls meeting seems rather presumptive.”

I went back to the menu and clicked on the files link. The list started with one called “New Order: Raison d’Etre.” That sounded promising: I clicked on the link and a download progress bar started chugging away.

Then a chat dialog popped up. It was Brian, wanting to talk to Feret. He had typed something in Latin:
Qui audit adipiscitur
.

Val did a Web translation. “It means
he who dares wins
,” she said.

I opened the logs and looked for a saved chat session. Last time Brian had chatted with him, Feret answered
Aut vincere aut mori
.

“That means
either to conquer or to die
,” Val said.

“It sounds pretty serious,” I said as I pasted it into the chat window.

I typed
What news?

Brian wrote back immediately.
1st phase now complete. 90 offices guarded by WWS.

I thought Feret would act pretty arrogant with Brian.
Why are you behind schedule?

Events beyond my control,
came back after a minute.

And?
I glanced at Val. “Maybe he’ll tell us something.”

After a moment the reply came.
AB and AM got in the way. He fought the outsourcing order: said you had no authority, and she backed him up. I gave him an extra dose, but that blew four hours.

AM and AB must be Archibald Morgan and Ann Blake. And it seemed that Brian was lacing Archie’s coffee.

Val typed on her keyboard for a minute. “Let’s feed him some Latin,” she suggested. “How about this?
Aut viam inveniam aut faciam
. It means
either find a way or make one.
”

I typed it in. Then I wrote
Anything else?

Brian wrote back after a minute.
S/V still in Hyd. We are following them. I will get them for sure this time—no more misses, I promise
.

So it was Brian who blew up the guesthouse and tried to suffocate us. I needed to put a stop to that.
Not yet. We must know what else they learned.

OK.
I will ask B what he hears. He returns from Balt tonight. Can’t wait to get past this stage and start running the dep for you, boss
.”

Val’s mouth dropped open. “Bob is working for them!”

Maybe he was; maybe he wasn’t. “Careful—they could know it’s us, and they’re just stirring up shit,” I said.

She frowned. “How can we know for sure?”

“I’ll give Brian an order and see if he executes.”
Email V and confirm the demo for Friday. End their investigation before they discover anything else.

Right away.

Time to sign off before we blew it. I scanned through the log and looked for how these two usually ended their chats.

I typed
Quod sum eris
. “That’s the same thing he said on that phone call,” I told Val.

I verified my download had completed and I logged off. Then I turned to Val. “Can you remove this chat log from both accounts?”

“Sure.” She typed for a few minutes. “All gone,” she said. “And the email from Brian just arrived—he’s asking if I’m still doing the demo on Friday. Mr. Feret wants to know.”

So it was Brian on the other end, and not somebody playing us. “Don’t answer the email,” I said. “We don’t want Brian forwarding your reply to Feret.”

She nodded.

“Are you still logged in?” I asked.

“I am.”

“Can you see if Bob and Elizabeth are on the membership list?”

She pulled it up. “Do you know Bob’s last name?” she asked.

I thought back to
Kent
Island
when he first delivered me the reader. “I know it begins with an O.”

She typed for another minute. “They have three Bob and Robert O’s,” she said. “One of them was added yesterday, along with an Elizabeth Blake.”

I sighed. “Dammit.”

“Why would they do this?”

“Maybe they think they’re doing the right thing,” I said. “But we can’t let them know that we found them out.”

She looked troubled. “So we don’t tell Mr. Morgan?”

“We don’t tell anybody until we get back and see what’s really going on,” I said. “Now let’s find out why Feret thinks you need a new order.”

Twenty minutes later I scrolled back to the top of the New Order: Raison d’Etre document. It was a copy of Feret’s speech that he was giving in
Venice
on Saturday.

The first part discussed his goals: Feret stated that he wanted to take over the Soul Identity leadership and redistribute all the assets according to a new order.

The speech went on to describe the motives. It was presented as something Feret called his testimony, and it tied in to what we learned from Tinless: apparently his grandfather was a very rich man who didn’t pass any money on to his son. His father had spent like crazy, expecting to inherit a fortune when the old man died.

“Are inheritance problems common in Soul Identity?” I asked Val.

She sighed. “Every now and then we have problems with surprised families.”

Grandpa Feret died and left all his money to his soul line. Feret’s father went berserk and killed his wife and then himself. Their only child, seventeen old Fred Antere, who we knew as Andre Feret, was left to fend for himself.

“This stuff happens?” I asked. “Good grief.”

Val nodded. “Fortunately it’s rare—most people preserve only a portion of their wealth for their future carriers and save the rest for family.”

“Maybe we’d be fine today if Gramps had been a little more careful with his notes,” I said. Feret wrote how he had found a stash of Soul Identity papers in his grandfather’s office thirteen years ago. Those papers had driven his urge for revenge.

Feret conveniently forgot to mention his stint at Lamayuru, his blackmailing of the
gompa
, and the match program adjustments he had to make to become an overseer. He did describe his first trip to
Sterling
, where he discovered his destiny. This, he claimed, was to fix Soul Identity and institute his new order.

Feret’s speech then described how WorldWideSouls members would benefit. He claimed that only the enlightened members would gain from the new order, while everybody else would suffer all sorts of calamities.

Val turned to me. “He’s using their need to feel special to reel people in.”

“That’s a pretty common theme in fundamentalist religions, isn’t it?” I asked. “They call their members
Chosen
, Remnant, Martyrs, or Enlightened. Everybody likes thinking they’re on the inside track.”

In the last part of the speech, Feret had outlined a creed for the new order members to recite: answers to why the bridges were there, what they meant, what a member’s duties were to the organization, how they should act, and what their reward would be.

Feret’s game appeared to be about sucking the money out of Soul Identity and into his
church
of
WorldWideSouls
. And it seemed to be working.

Bob, for example, wanted somebody to tell him what to do with his impressive soul line. He had told me during the drive to
Sterling
that he still sought meaning.

Feret was dishing up plenty of meaning in his creed.

I closed the file, and we both sat back and pondered what we had read.

Then Val stood up. “Scott, we must stop Andre—he’s going to ruin everything!”

I nodded. “We will, Val.”

Whether Feret’s quest for revenge was justified or not, I couldn’t let one jerk screw up this organization for so many people.

It was now early evening. I did a quick email check. My parents were having quite a time in
Iceland
. One of the three major volcanoes had a minor eruption under its icecap, and the ensuing hot lava melted the ice and caused a
jokulhlaup
, which is what Icelanders call a glacier outburst flood. It wiped out the roads, but the Internet connection was strong.

“Aren’t they scared?” Val asked when I showed her some spectacular pictures of rising steam and ash.

“They’re having a blast,” I said. I looked at my watch. “Our flight’s at two this morning. Let’s get Bhanu and Sheela to take us to Bawarchi for another dose of biryani before we go to the airport.”