The noise of the helicopter’s engines made conversation impossible during the short flight over the Moffat Hills to Glasgow. After boarding, Martiel had donned a pair of headphones with an attached microphone, which allowed him to converse with the aircraft’s pilot and the sole passenger, an older man whom Avery could only assume was Peter Furst. No headsets were offered to her or Stone, which was fine with Avery. She wasn’t particularly interested in talking to her captors, but it would have been nice to talk to Stone. He could be a real jerk sometimes, but he wasn’t the least bit intimidated by Martiel. She really could have used a bit of his confidence.
The flight lasted about twenty minutes, at which point the helicopter landed on the airport tarmac, well away from the main runways. While the rotors were still spinning overhead, Furst and Martiel climbed out, the latter indicating that Avery and Stone should follow. They moved a short distance away and were met by a van which carried them to a different but no less remote corner of the airport where a small business jet was waiting. As they stepped out of the van, Avery could hear the whine of the idling jet engines. The aircraft was evidently ready for takeoff.
Martiel ushered them up the steps and back into the luxuriously appointed forward cabin. “Make yourselves at home.”
Stone plopped down into the nearest chair—it looked more like a La-z-Boy recliner than an airplane seat—and stretched his legs out as if planning to take a nap. “Got any puzzle books?”
Avery was less eager to get comfortable. “Where are we going?”
Martiel regarded her with a look of amusement for a moment, then glanced over at Stone. “You want a puzzle? Let’s see if you can figure—”
“Spokane,” Stone said, and then stifled a yawn. “I’ll need something more challenging than that. It’s going to be... what, twelve hours flying time?”
A nerve near Martiel’s right eye twitched. “Closer to eight in this plane.” Then he stalked past the seating area and disappeared into the next partitioned cabin.
Behind them, a crewman pulled the door shut, sealing them inside the plane. Avery felt a mild throbbing in her inner ear as the plane was pressurized and realized only then that Furst had not accompanied them aboard the plane. She, Stone and Martiel seemed to be the only passengers.
The whine of the engines was a barely audible hum now, but Avery detected a slight change in pitch as they began spinning faster. A moment later, the plane rocked gently and started moving. Martiel wasn’t wasting any time moving to the next phase of his plan, whatever that was.
A subdued male voice came over the public-address system, warning them that take-off was imminent and advising them to take their seats and buckle up.
Avery took a seat opposite Stone. “Spokane, Washington,” she said, in a low whisper. “Where the Mystic server facility is located?”
Stone nodded. “Our host is a regular Johnny One-note.” Unlike Avery, he spoke in a loud voice, so that Martiel could not help but overhear. “He thinks Mystic is the key to everything. He can’t see past it. For all his bragging, he really isn’t very clever at all.”
Martiel took the bait. “Mystic is the key to everything,” he said as he stepped back into view. He haughtily strode forward and sat down in the chair across the aisle from Avery. Outside, the lights of the taxiway were visible, passing slowly by as the jet maneuvered toward the runway.
Stone continued addressing Avery. “His original plan to crash the economy through the user terminals would have only accomplished so much. The only way to make the damage permanent would be to corrupt the operating system, and the only way to do that is from the master terminal at the server farm. To pull off a hack like that, he knew he would need an edge, something to ramp his brain up to 110%. That’s why he was so insistent that Furst get him the Brazen Head before setting the wheels in motion.”
“The two-part attack I originally envisioned would have achieved optimal results,” Martiel said. “But once I take control of Mystic, I will be able to effect nearly the same outcome.”
“I see Peter decided to sit this one out.”
“As I said, he’s better at handling the logistical piece. He can do a lot more from his headquarters in Switzerland.”
“And he probably knows that even his highly-placed friends won’t be able to protect him this time.”
Martiel spread his hands in a gesture of acknowledgment. “Discretion and valor, et cetera. But when the dust settles, the politicians and business leaders will look to him as their savior.”
Stone uttered a noncommittal grunt.
“Honestly, Gavin, I’m surprised that you are still so resistant to this. You know what Mystic really is. It represents everything you detest.”
Avery glanced over at Stone. “What’s he mean by that?”
Martiel was ready with an answer. “Do you know what Mystic is, Dr. Halsey?”
“Sure. It’s a trading platform that employs artificial intelligence to predict how world events will affect the economy and manage risk accordingly.”
Martiel shook his head. “Is that what the Wikipedia entry said? I promise you, it’s so much more than that. You’re familiar with the term ‘data mining’? Mystic is the mill that takes that data, grinds it to powder, and from that dust, creates a virtual universe. You’ve probably heard stories about primitive tribes who believe that taking someone’s photograph steals their soul, giving the person who takes the picture power over the subject. That’s exactly what Mystic and our Big Data surveillance state is doing. Taking away our power, controlling us with targeted advertising, propaganda, manipulation, and reaping enormous profits on the backs of our desperation. Gavin has quite a reputation for opposing the Big Data surveillance state. Has he told you about the algorithm he created?”
“I know about it,” Avery said, a little too quickly.
The algorithm Martiel was referring to was a piece of machine code—a predictive tool that employed massive amounts of personal data to accurately forecast the behavior of groups and even individuals. Long before Avery had first met him, Stone had gotten in hot water for stealing the algorithm. In fact, a primary reason that the ordinarily solitary Stone had chosen to work with Tam and the Myrmidons was as a way to avoid the dire consequences of that action. However, Stone had never once indicated that the algorithm was his own creation.
Stone must have sensed the unasked question. “Created is a bit of an exaggeration,” he explained dismissively. “I was part of the development team. We parted company after a disagreement about intellectual property.”
Martiel chuckled. “And yet after you disappeared with it, no one was ever able to reproduce your work. Mystic is a poor imitation, but it serves the same basic purpose. It is a tool for controlling us all. They watch us all constantly, monitor our Google searches, what we shop for, what we look at, and use it to control us. They know what we want before we do. It has to stop. Surely you see that, Gavin.”
“Oh, please,” Stone said with a snort of disgust. “Save the heroic speeches for your Nazi fanboys on the Immortal forum. That’s the difference between us, you know. I know what you really want, and it doesn’t have anything to do with championing privacy or stopping Jewish bankers. You’re an open book to me, but you have no idea what makes me tick.”
Avery managed to hide her smile. Martiel had seriously misjudged his rival. Stone wasn’t a bad guy, but neither was he an altruistic privacy crusader, fighting the intrusiveness of Big Data or the NSA or anyone else. His interest in the algorithm was motivated solely by his desire to understand the seemingly chaotic nature of human behavior, and in so doing, unlock what he called “the source code of the universe.”
Martiel seemed taken aback. “Is that a fact? And what is it you think I really want?”
“To be the smartest guy in the room. But you never will be. Not while I’m in the room with you.”
The air between the men seemed to crackle with tension. Stone was intentionally provoking Martiel, and from what Avery could tell, he was hitting all the right pressure points. But they were still Martiel’s captives, and she couldn’t see how taunting the man would improve their situation at all.
As if to underscore their helplessness, Avery felt something like an invisible hand press her back in her seat as the plane accelerated down the runway and leaped into the sky. She cleared her throat. “You said you would cut Tam and Billy loose once we were on our way.”
Martiel glanced over at her, his eyes burning with barely contained ire. He shook his head. “A small deception, I’m afraid. I’ll need to keep them under wraps a while longer, both to ensure that they don’t interfere and to keep the two of you from misbehaving.”
Avery knew that Tam would expect them to do exactly that—misbehave—but until they were on terra firma, there wasn’t a lot she and Stone could do. Maybe when they were back on American soil, they would be able to slip away or at the very least, scream for help.
“There is one thing I’m curious about,” Stone said, seeming to ignore the none-too-subtle threat. “I get that you think the Brazen Head is going to super-charge your brain so that you’ll be able to hack into Mystic. That might actually work. But the Mystic server farm is probably the most secure non-governmental data storage facility on earth. Do you really think you’re just going to waltz into Mystic and do as you please?
An anticipatory gleam replaced some of the anger in Martiel’s eyes. “Oh, it won't be a waltz, but it will definitely be a dance.”