Unknown location
Awareness returned slowly to Stone, like sunlight gradually burning away a thick fog. He had no sense of where he was or how he had gotten there, and it took several seconds for him to pin down the last thing he remembered.
I was with Thom Martiel in his office.
Martiel was still there, seated next to him in a folding chair, just like the one Stone himself occupied. Martiel appeared to be asleep, with his head sagging forward, chin almost touching his chest. They definitely weren’t in that office now, but the small windowless room looked like it might be serving a similar purpose albeit informally. The fluorescent light overhead illuminated a single wooden door set in one of the featureless white walls, and a collapsible long table positioned against another. A desktop computer, identical to the Mystic terminal in Martiel’s office, rested on the latter.
Stone stared at the blank screen for several seconds, trying to build a bridge between that last memory and his present situation, but the connection continued to elude him.
Before joining forces with Tam and the Myrmidons, he had been imprisoned at a “black site,” an unsanctioned detention facility in the mountains of Romania, interrogated by security contractors working for the U.S. government, and during the course of his involuntary stay, he had been dosed with various sedatives and truth serums. He couldn’t remember anything about being under the influence of those drugs—memory loss was one of the side-effects—but he remembered what it felt like to come back down. It was exactly how he felt now.
Someone drugged me.
He made no effort to rise from his seat. Even though his mind was working again, he knew the physical effects of the drug would impair his reflexes and possibly trigger bouts of vertigo or nausea. He did, however, raise his hands, flexing his fingers experimentally and then patted his pockets to see if the radio unit was still there. It was not. His pockets were empty. The glasses with the hidden video camera were gone as well. His captors had taken everything, even his wristwatch.
He had no sense of how much time had passed, but guessed it had been several hours. Plenty of time for his captors to take him...anywhere, really.
He glanced over at Martiel again, then brought his gaze back to the laptop which seemed to beckon invitingly. Like the cheese in a mousetrap, he thought.
Still, he would learn nothing if he refused to take the bait. He rose slowly to avoid passing out, and used his chair like a walker, scooting it closer to the table before plopping down again and tapping the touchpad on the laptop. The screen lit up instantly, revealing an open browser window with a video-conferencing software enabled.
Immediately, an electronic trilling sound issued from the computer, along with a flashing message, alerting him to an incoming call. Behind him, Martiel stirred from his stupor, mumbling incoherently. Stone ignored him and, knowing that he had little choice in the matter, used the touchpad to move the cursor over the green button to accept the call.
The light appeared at the top of the screen, indicating that the built-in webcam was broadcasting, and then the square video player in the browser window flickered, revealing, not a person, but a computer-generated animated simulacrum that spoke, with a warbling and distorted electronic approximation of a voice.
“Welcome, Gavin Stone.”
Stone’s lips twitched into a smile. “The Immortal, I presume.”
The face shivered and jumped as if the transmission was buffering, then cleared up. “You may call me that. Allow me to offer my apologies for the way I brought you here. It was, unfortunately, the only way to save your life.”
“Is that a fact?”
The head bobbed as if trying to interpret the reply. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
“You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble.”
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
Stone sighed. “Okay, I’ll bite. Where am I?”
The video screen flickered again. “That is not important right now.”
“Maybe not to you.”
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
“This is getting old, fast. And I’m starving. Is there an app for ordering pizza on this thing?” Stone looked away from the chat screen, searching the desktop for the means to access the Internet. If he could get to his email, he could send Tam a message.
“Allow me to explain,” the Immortal went on. “I have brought you here because I need your help.”
“Go on.” Stone moved the cursor down onto the taskbar and clicked it in hopes of bringing up the Start menu, but the system was not responsive.
So much for that idea.
If the Immortal was aware of his attempt, he—it?—gave no indication. “Are you familiar with the name Peter Furst?”
A pop-up window opened alongside the video player, displaying a headshot photograph of a dignified looking man with salt-and-pepper hair. He looked like he might be in his late sixties or early seventies, and Stone assumed it was a picture of the man himself, but neither the face nor the name was familiar to him. “Nope.”
“I am,” called out a voice from behind Stone. It was Martiel, and after a moment, he dragged his chair forward to sit beside Stone. “Furst is the COB of Nutria Mills.”
The revelation came out as a bleary mumble, as if he was still fighting the effects of the tranquilizer. As soon as the words were out, the banker looked around. “Where are we? What the hell happened?”
The digitized likeness shivered again. “Welcome, Thom Martiel.”
Martiel blinked and then looked at Stone for an explanation. “What the heck is that supposed to be? Max Headroom?”
Stone cocked his head sideways. “Who?”
“It’s a... thing from the 80s. Sort of a computer-generated cartoon, only it really wasn’t. It kind of looked and sounded like that. Seriously? You’ve never heard of Max Headroom?”
Stone shrugged.
“You are correct,” the Immortal continued. “Peter Furst is the chairman of Nutria Mills Incorporated.”
“Well, that clears it right up,” Stone remarked.
“Nutria Mills is a trans-national food company,” Martiel explained, sounding a little more alert. “Actually, you could say they are the trans-national food company. Everything from candy bars to dog food. If it’s something that can be eaten, there’s a fifty-fifty chance that it came from Nutria or one of its subsidiary brands.”
Stone’s stomach growled at the mention of food. Now that the effects of the sedatives were wearing off, his appetite was returning with a vengeance. He wondered again how long it had been since he’d been dosed.
The other man was still talking. “They’re also the world’s single biggest producer of bottled water. Furst has gone on record as saying that water is a commodity, like any other, and that the only way to guarantee safe drinking water for everyone is by treating it that way. He’s a very controversial figure, but say what you will about him, Nutria Mills is a solid investment.”
Martiel turned to the computer again. “You haven’t answered my question. What’s going on here? Who are you?”
“You may call me the Immortal.”
Martiel looked at Stone for confirmation.
“I think we’re supposed to believe that it’s an artificial intelligence,” Stone said. He spoke in a low surreptitious manner, as if conveying a secret, though he knew the computer’s microphone would have no difficulty picking up his voice.
“Is it?”
“Let’s just say, I don’t think this thing would pass the Turing test.”
Martiel cocked his head sideways. “So what...or who is behind the curtain? Some hacker?”
Stone just shrugged again.
Martiel turned back to the computer. “Why should we be worried about Peter Furst?”
The digitized head shivered as if processing the question. “Peter Furst wants to kill you, Mr. Martiel. He is responsible for one hundred and thirty-six deaths in the banking industry. You would have been number one-hundred-thirty-seven.”
“Stone’s people said you were the killer.”
“Mr. Stone is mistaken. I am attempting to stop Peter Furst. I brought you here in order to protect you, and so that you could help me stop Peter Furst.”
“Stop him from what?”
“Peter Furst wants to take over the world.” The surreal electronic effect made it impossible to tell if the statement was meant to be taken at face value.
“He’s not the only one,” Stone said, but then sensing what was expected of him, he asked the obvious question. “How does he plan to do that? And what does killing bankers have to do with it?”
“Peter Furst intends to destroy the international banking system. He will do this by purchasing and repaying the debt of several developing nations in Asia and Africa.”
“Heinous,” Stone observed.
“How much debt?” Martiel asked.
“All of it. Approximately four trillion dollars.”
Martiel shook his head. “That’s impossible. Nutria Mills is wealthy, but their assets don’t even come close to four trillion. And even if they did, the banks have safeguards to prevent that kind of activity.”
Curious despite himself, Stone straightened in his chair. “Safeguards? Against what? Don’t the banks want the loans repaid?”
“You might think so,” Martiel replied, “but that’s not how the system works. Those loans are the banks’ assets.”
“Because they make their money on the interest.”
“Exactly. If the loans get repaid, the revenue stream dries up. But that’s not the real problem.”
“What is?”
“Have you ever heard the term ‘fiat money’?”
Stone had, but was curious to see how Martiel would explain it, so he shook his head.
“Fiat money establishes the value of currency arbitrarily, as opposed to commodity money, where the value of the currency is based on something real.”
“Like gold bullion.”
“Exactly. Commodity money sounds great on paper, if you’ll forgive the pun, but in the real world, it leads to economic stagnation, which is what happened at the end of the Nineteenth Century. That’s why we eventually gave up the gold standard in America and shifted to fiat currency. Unfortunately, fiat currency has its own drawbacks, not the least of which is the fact that the only thing backing it up is the government’s promise that it’s worth what they say it is.”
“In God we trust,” Stone murmured.
“The actual value fluctuates by the minute, but it’s kept more or less constant because the banks control the markets and monitor the supply, and the Fed sets the interest rate to control inflation. Digital banking has taken fiat currency to a whole new level because there isn’t actual currency involved in it anymore. Just electronic transfers between accounts.”
Stone nodded slowly. “I get that. By why is repayment of those loans such a bad thing? I would think the banks would be more worried about default.”
“Not really. The banks will get their money, one way or another. If a country gets behind on their payments, the banks get to start dictating fiscal policy. They can impose austerity measures, like the EU did in Greece, or force the government to liquidate assets or give up mineral exploitation rights to foreign investors.”
“So if the loans get paid back, the banks lose control over those countries and their resources.”
“Yes, but the real problem is that a surplus of currency would crash the global economy. The system is based on debt. If there’s no debt, and all the money is in the bank and going nowhere, it loses its value. Supply and demand. Too much of the former drives down the latter. Too much money in the banks drives down the value of the currency, triggering runaway inflation.” Martiel paused a beat, then added. “But it’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Two reasons. First, nobody has access to that kind of money. Nutria Mills has a net worth just shy of 150 billion. Even if Furst liquidated everything, he wouldn’t have enough to cause more than a ripple.”
“Just for kicks, let’s say he had a way to come up with the money. A hacker who could move the decimal a few places.”
“That’s not as easy as it sounds, but even if he could do that, there are safeguards to stop fraud and to prevent the kind of inflationary peaks and valleys we’re talking about.”
“What kind of safeguards?”
“For starters, there’s a mandatory waiting period for large transactions.”
Stone glanced over at the image on the computer screen. Evidently, the so-called Immortal was content to let Martiel provide the background, which only confirmed his suspicions that it was, at best, a rudimentary artificial intelligence, incapable of responding to conversational exchanges. “No way to get around that? Someone working on the inside?”
“Well, in theory, a senior account executive could expedite the process for his bank. That’s actually my job description. But we’re not talking about a single loan at a single institution.”
“How many then? Would a hundred and thirty-seven be enough?”
Martiel’s eyes widened in surprise. “I don’t know. I suppose it might be enough to trigger a cascade failure.”
As if on cue, the Immortal chose that moment to rejoin the discussion. “That is his intent. For the past two years, Furst has been murdering key personnel in the financial industry in order to create vacancies, to be filled by his own agents.”
“Let me guess,” Stone said. “You figured out who the targets were and published their names in coded messages on the Internet, hoping that your followers would know what to do, but they were always too late.”
The digitized head shivered for several seconds, as if uncertain how to respond, and then continued. “I have brought you here because I believe that you can stop Peter Furst.”
“How?” Martiel asked.
“That is what you must discover. This computer contains a virtual copy of the Mystic interface. I will use it to simulate an attack on the banking system. It is my hope that you will be able to discover a vulnerability in his plan.”
Stone waited a moment to see if the Immortal would say anything else, but the machine seemed to be waiting for him to break the silence, which was fine with Stone. He had heard enough.
“Mystic,” he muttered, and then turned to face Martiel. “Let’s cut the crap, okay? What are you really after?”