The Prince of Risk

18

Three seconds after Bobby Astor hung up with Penelope Evans, a transcript of the call landed in the technician’s inbox in Iceland, already translated into his native language and ready for forwarding to his master halfway around the world. The technician did not read the transcript. He had no interest in the affairs of the men and women on whom his master spied. There were far too many people to keep up with any one.

At last count, the satellite was programmed to intercept the communications of over 57,000 individuals. One slow evening he had perused the names listed next to the phone numbers. Some he recognized. Some he did not. But in general the names fell into two categories: government officials and corporate chieftains. There were presidents and prime ministers, senators and delegates from nearly every country on the globe, including plenty from his own. There were bankers and industrialists, chief executives of this corporation, chairmen of that. There were lawyers in Berlin and magistrates in Bulgaria. After an hour he abandoned his task. One thing was clear. Sooner or later, every influential individual in the world ended up on the list.

The technician tapped his keyboard, forwarding the message to his master’s private mailbox. His duty done, he swiveled in his chair and gazed out the window. It was midday and the sun blazed high in the sky. Crystals embedded in the fields of pumice sparkled like diamonds on a stormy velvet sea. He considered his position, working alone in such a solitary, isolated corner of the world. He daydreamed often about achieving a higher rank, of bettering his job and earning more money. He was a young man, bright, hardworking, obedient. Anything was possible.

The technician decided he was happy where he was. There were more important things than being influential. He did not want to end up on the list. When he talked to his girlfriend, he didn’t want anyone to be listening.