Callsign: King

20.

Sara gasped as the small pistol roared and the young Ethiopian man’s head snapped back. Right up to that moment, things had more or less made sense, and even now, her brain tried to wrestle with what she had just witnessed, to figure out how it fit with everything else.

But it just didn’t. Fulbright had murdered someone in cold blood, and now his gun was swinging toward Sigler. In the corner of her eye, she saw the other members of Fulbright’s assault team shoulder their weapons, likewise taking aim at her boyfriend.

Sigler was already moving. Maybe his stated distrust of Fulbright had given him just enough of an edge to act decisively when the betrayal occurred. Sara saw him zigzagging across the open area, and then the world seemed to explode in a haze of noise and sulfur smoke. She couldn’t tell if Sigler had been hit, and before she could find him again, one of the commandos grabbed her by the shoulder and propelled her toward the helicopter. Fulbright was already stuffing the unconscious Felice into one of the rear seats.

He looked at Sara as he buckled Felice’s safety harness over her torso. “Sit down and shut up, Dr. Fogg. You’ve got important work to do, and I hope for your sake that you’ll be cooperative. I will get what I want either way; it’s just a question of how hard you want to make it for yourself.”

Still reeling from the violence and treachery, Sara complied without really even knowing what she was doing.

Fulbright leaned out and addressed the commando. “Did you get him?”

The man shook his head. “Might have wounded him, but he made it to that cave.”

“Keep a team here and make sure he’s dead.”

A pang shot through Sara’s heart at the pronouncement. Fulbright reached back tapped the pilot’s shoulder, signaling him to start the engines, and then he settled into his own seat and buckled in. She had to understand what she had just witnessed. It was the only way to keep the despair at bay, to keep from thinking about what she had just witnessed, and… Jack!

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded, shouting to be heard over the whine of the turbine.

He stared at her, a hint of his roguish smile returning. He reached forward and settled a headset over her ears. The cushioned earphones dramatically reduced the engine noise. Fulbright donned a set as well.

“That’s better.” His expression was sardonic, but somehow the electronic amplification of the intercom failed to convey it in his tone. “Who am I? I told you my name. There’s really not much more to tell.”

“You’re not CIA, are you?”

He laughed. “I never said I was, though in point of fact, I am a field officer with the Company. But it just so happens that…” He glanced at the ceiling as if searching for the right word. “You might say I’m moonlighting. But I’m not going to talk about that.”

There was a lurch as the helicopter lifted off. Sara felt her stomach drop as the pilot tilted the aircraft forward and swooped away, but she fought back the waves of nausea. “You said I should cooperate. That works both ways.”

He crossed his arms. “Believe it or not, I haven’t told you anything that isn’t true. My employer knew what Manifold was trying to do, and wanted to develop a cure or a vaccine; something to permanently remove that threat. As my employer might say, you have the highest probability of finding that cure.”

“Your employer, would that be the Russians? The Chinese? No, I’m sure you’re a patriot; you’d never do that. A rival genetics firm, then? I won’t help you turn this thing into a bioweapon, no matter how much you torture me.”

Fulbright laughed. “I don’t think my employer is interested in developing bioweapons. There’s no profit in it.”

“So it is just about money?”

“It’s always just about money.” He regarded her across the dimly lit interior, as if weighing how much more to reveal. “Let me tell you how the world really works.

“Nations, armies, governments…they don’t mean anything anymore. They don’t have any power anymore. Everything is controlled by corporations. And unlike governments and armies, corporations don’t make decisions based on whims or idealistic beliefs or petty revenge. They are motivated by just one thing; the need to keep growing. They are, in a very real sense, a higher life form. The individual shareholders might be governed by those petty human concerns, but that all gets lost in the collective decision making process. They are like brain cells, and in the end, no matter what the individuals may think or believe, the corporation is driven by the singular desire to make a profit. It’s a paragon of efficiency.

“I called it a life form; I wasn’t joking about that. You see, something happened a couple decades ago. No one really knows all the details, but the working theory is that the quest for greater efficiency led to the creation of a vast computer network called Brainstorm.”

“You expect me to believe that a computer is running the world?” Sara scoffed. “That’s pure science fiction.”

“It’s not as simple as that. You see, the computer doesn’t make decisions. It just supplies probability assessments to the corporations in the network.

“It’s like using a computer to help you play a game of chess. The computer analyzes the board and then gives you the moves that are most likely to result in victory. You want to win, so you do what the computer suggests. To do otherwise would be patently foolish. And after a while, you realize that you’re the redundant part of the process. You’re just an appendage of the machine, moving the pieces while it does the thinking. But it’s always right, so why would you do anything else?

“The Brainstorm network kept making the right decisions, and kept growing and growing, gaining a majority stake in the world’s biggest corporations and institutions, and they in turn profited immensely.

“But these corporations need stability. Things like war and terrorism are disruptive; the quaint notion of a military industrial complex and war profiteering…that’s an obsolete paradigm. Brainstorm wants to keep things peaceful. That’s why it pays people like me an obscene amount of money to make sure that nothing upsets the apple cart.”

Sara shook her head, incredulous. “This is all true?”

“The Brainstorm network exists. A lot of the rest is just supposition, but based on the communications I’ve received, I don’t think it’s a stretch to believe that there’s an artificial intelligence running the show.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

Fulbright shrugged. “I get paid very well. And besides, it’s making all the right decisions. Like I said, we need stability in this world. Believe it or not, I’m one of the good guys.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

“If you say so.” The roguish smile hardened, and Fulbright keyed the switch that patched his headset in to the external radio. “Please tell me Sigler is finally dead.”