Shit, he told himself, I can’t be late. He started to push back his chair, and the voice of the other man at the table stopped him.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
Simon stopped short. He swallowed. Then he said, “Max. You bastard.”
He reached up and pulled down the top edge of the paper. It lowered obligingly, revealing his best friend and his familiar smirk.
Simon grinned. “You know how I hate being followed,” he said.
Max let the paper drop the rest of the way and made a production of folding it into smaller and smaller sections. “Now tell me what this is all about, you lunatic, and how I fit into your mad plan.”
“You know what’s going on, Max.”
He made a “thinking” face. “I know about the quarantine, of course. I know some ships are sinking here and there, and I know this beautiful city has lousy weather and that you have a room in one of its shittiest hotels, but beyond that? Clueless.”
Simon sighed and nodded, not believing a word of it. Max was a top-level operative, a man five times farther up the ladder of international intelligence than Jonathan Weiss had ever climbed. His special forces military background gave him an even deeper knowledge. But he would play along. He would start at the beginning.
“You remember Hayden?”
“You mean the weird hermit-guy in the robotics department? Yeah, I remember him. I remember Oliver loved him, and that you were fascinated with his work when we were kids. What the hell is he up to now?”
Simon paused for a moment. “We’re hijacking his amphibious submersible,” Simon told him. “The one he’s been working on for years.” He couldn’t help himself; he looked over his shoulder, back at the counter to make sure no one was listening. He knew he couldn’t make himself look more suspicious if he’d tried.
Max moved closer. “What the hell are you talking about? Simon, that guy has been building freaky stuff since we were kids; don’t tell me he actually finished one.”
Simon nodded. “For UNED, no less. We have access to one that we hijacked and will use it to go find Oliver in Antarctica.”
“-and I’m supposed to pilot it, is that it? I’m the driver?”
Simon just stared at him. Then he smiled.
“You’re smiling you bastard?” Max said. “Why can’t the weirdo himself pilot his strange creation?”
Simon gave him a sarcastic look. “You know better than I do that this thing isn’t going to be guided by AIs connected to GPS, and god knows what other navigation nets. And those are the only types of vehicles that Hayden knows how to drive.”
“The ones that practically drive themselves.”
“Right.”
“Okay so I’ve got a job, a hired skipper.” Max grunted rolling his eyes. Then he slapped the table and said, “That’s fantastic. I’m getting another coffee.” He levered himself out of his chair, shaking his head in exasperation, and walked toward the counter.
Max, at six-foot-two, was broad-shouldered and thin-waisted, built like an athlete with a chiseled face. Behind the tough exterior, Simon knew, was a fiercely dedicated friend and a cold-blooded, efficient soldier. Now at thirty-seven, he had spent most of his life in the British Special Forces. He’d spent the last few years as a “freelancer,” doing the things that even Black Ops professionals couldn’t get official permission to do. No one but Max himself knew the whole story-not UNED, not the CIA, and certainly not Simon. All he knew for certain was that his friend was resourceful, fearless, and-above all-loyal.
Max turned from the register, coffee in hand, and sat down with a sigh. He put the cup on the table in front of him, turned his chair 180 degrees and sat on it backwards.
“You know, you should have let me know about this before I flew all the way out here.
Never mind how I found you, I could have turned you down in two minutes’ time.”
“Max, I need your help. Only you can cut off the some of the AIs and pilot the vessel blind.”
Max shook his head as he leaned forward and took a sip of his black espresso. “A ten-year-old can speak to a robot.”
“It’s more than that. Far more.” Simon paused for a moment contemplating the best delivery. “Listen Max, this thing is like no other submersible, it takes several super AIs to coordinate all the functions. But if we’re running all of them at the same time, we don’t have a chance of slipping beneath UNED’s radar. So we need to shut some AIs down if we have any chance of succeeding-and no one I know has more experience with these types of vessels than you.”
Max sighed at him, clearly frustrated. “Simon, I do have some experience with AI-assisted vehicles like this. I can get them to cooperate. But your biggest problem is RAI, and you know it. If anybody finds out what you’re doing, they can take control of an AI just long enough to hurt you-and hurt you badly.”
“I know that.”
“You know that. But despite knowing it, you want me to steer a strange experiment of Hayden’s into one of the most hostile environments on the planet?”
Simon had to force himself to keep his voice low. “Look, we’ve taken care of the RAI problem already. We can shield from that. We can cut them off from the satellites and from each other.”
Max pretended to be surprised. “Oh! Oh, well then! Great! Now all I have to do is steer the ship and simulate the actions of half a dozen of Hayden’s experimental brains at the same time! Sure, I can be the world’s greatest pilot and fill in for four or five super computers at the same time. Why was I worried?”
Simon pushed his empty cup of coffee to one side and said, “You’re not the only one that’s going to be there. We’ve got a whole team.”
Max huffed, even more frustrated. “Now you’re talking,” he said. “A bunch of college nerds from Oxford is going to save the day.” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, thoroughly exhausted at even contemplating the project. “Why do I get myself into these things?” he sighed.
“Max, you can’t just do it yourself. There is no way you-anyone-could understand the complexity of this vessel alone. This thing has features that are beyond the comprehension of one pilot.” Simon did not want to elaborate on the specifics at this point; he knew time was too short. They would soon meet at Port Williams, as was the plan, and there, Max would see for himself.
“I understand what you’re saying. But I’m also not about to babysit a bunch of college boys on a lark, through unknown terrain in temperatures of eighty below, let alone do it secretly, inside the most intensive quarantine in human history. If we get caught, Simon-even after the fact, even years later-you can kiss your comfy little life in Oxford goodbye forever. Forever.”
They sat and stared at each other for a long moment. Max was the first to look away. He stared into the dregs of his espresso and said, “So tell me, what do you know about what really happened to Oliver?”
Simon caught himself for a split second looking at the Max’s wool overcoat, remembering the thread interrogation that Andrew had told him about. Wonder if he knows someone could have heard the whole conversation, he thought to himself as he looked directly at Max.
Head tilted with a sarcastic grin Max said, “Relax.”
Bastard, Simon thought, I’m always one-upped on this kind of shit with Max. Then he took a deep breath and told him everything-everything from Jonathan’s first arrival, to his meetings with Hayden, to the chess journal and its deciphering. From the attempted hijacking to Hayden’s paralysis, from Samantha’s kidnapping and chemical interrogation to Jonathan’s murder and the disposal of his body. From their flight to Malta and their intended interception of the Munro.
To his credit, Max sat silently and listened during the entire recitation. He simply could not believe a word of what he was hearing.
Simon knew that deep down inside Max wished that he had been there for all of it.
Almost an hour after he began, Simon drained the last of his third espresso, now stone cold and gritty, and said, “And here we are. That’s everything until now.”