Memoria. A Corporation of Lies

Chapter Nine. A Pattern Starts to Form

Frank watched the news but he couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t help thinking of the men in black who had attacked the police station. They knew about Kathleen’s package, too, and had tried to kill him at the post office. The blond guy seemed to have been the one in charge. He was the only one with his hair on. Or could it have been a wig?

Frank crossed his arms and leaned back listening to TV reports. Nothing relevant as yet. The anchor was speaking about the presidential election campaign and the Republican candidate Congressman Russell Jefferson Claney.

Frank was about to turn away when footage of Claney and the acting President came up. The two stood on the lawn in front of the White House and shook hands, smiling for the camera.

Slowly, Frank leaned forward eyeing Claney’s face. The camera panned in for a close-up, the President’s friendly tapping hand on his shoulder. The shot was replaced with a White House view — apparently, the cameraman had had a glitch so the director switched over to another camera that was filming the meeting from the sidewalk behind the fence. The faces of passersby flashed on the screen followed by a car, and the picture froze on a blurred image of a taxicab. Immediately it was replaced by the anchor’s smiling face. He apologized for the malfunction and promised to rerun the story once the problem was fixed.

A large picture of Russell Claney filled the screen behind his back. The anchor began to recount the Congressman’s life story. At this moment Frank finally realized what had been bothering him. The bullying cabman in the airport, the one Frank had refused to go with, had the same kind of bald head as those at the post office. Just like Claney was on the TV screen now. The cab driver had tried to insist that Frank take his cab.

Hurriedly, Frank shared his ideas with his coach. What if they’d wanted to kidnap him to begin with? Apparently, their plan had been to set him up for the murder. But they couldn’t have possibly known he wouldn’t take the cab because of his leather allergy.

“Did you remember the plates?” Max removed his glasses and rose.

“I did, yeah.”

“Write it down together with the car make and its description. I’ll go wake Barney up.” He shut the laptop.

“What for?”

“I want him to run a make on the car.” He walked out of the kitchen.

Frank started writing when he heard the anchorman say, “Memoria”. He jerked his head up and stared at the TV screen. Aha. So this Russell Claney was Honorary Chairman of Memoria’s board of directors.

“Max!” he called. “Mind coming here for a moment?”

He reached for the remote and put the volume up. Behind his back, Barney grumbled. Max appeared over Frank’s shoulder telling Barney to shut up. The anchor went on saying that Claney and John Baker used to be friends and had started the company together. Apparently, the Congressman had been the first volunteer to have a painful memory erased and had lost his hair in one of Baker’s experiments. Soon afterward, the late scientist had found a solution for this unpleasant side effect.

“And now back to our story,” the anchor nodded to his audience. The President and the Congressman reappeared on the screen.

“Was it so necessary to wake me up?” Barney grumbled.

“No. Wait,” Max sat at the table and put his glasses back on.

On the screen, the Congressman was announcing the start of the Vaccination. This program, he said, was a one-of-a-kind solution to the nation’s numerous ills such as unemployment, the ultimate tool to humanity’s happy future.

“Yeah, right,” Barney mumbled.

“To my dismay,” Claney sighed for the camera, “We have lost our main designer, the soul of the project. Kathleen Baker was murdered yesterday, the heiress of her father’s genius and a beautiful young woman all around.”

He paused and lowered his head in mourning. The President supported him by the elbow, motioning him to go on.

“I don’t think that Memoria’s complex relationship with the migrants is a secret to anyone,” the Congressman spoke again. “The day before yesterday, more talks have been cancelled when the Bronx leader Gautier demanded full transparency regarding the Vaccination program. The board of directors, including myself, have decided to grant their request and,” the Congressman turned to the President who nodded, “we’ve decided to present the Vaccination to the world during our unscheduled press conference at Memoria’s HQ tomorrow. Our chief executive Joe Binelli will make a complete report to the media. At the same time, we plan to have a new round of our talks with the migrants’ representatives. The President will be our guest of honor.” Claney paused, showing his excitement to the audience.

“I would also like to add,” He shook his index finger in the air while keeping his other hand behind his back. “This is something I want everyone to know. The late Kathleen Baker was like my own daughter to me. Her life… and her work… were terminated in a most cruel way by the outcast Frank Shelby: a terrorist acting on his own. The President and I have already discussed it. The administration will do everything possible to bring the murderer to justice. The talks with the migrants will take place as planned. The President has confirmed his participation. The police have dismissed all accusations regarding the unsubstantiated participation of the Bronx migrant population in the murder. They had nothing to do with it. Let me assure you that the murderer was a terrorist acting on his own. Code Orange has been lifted accordingly.”

Frank expected to hear something along those lines. No sleep lost.

The lawn resounded with applause and a few cheers. Claney raised his hands, appealing for silence.

“Now that we’ve laid all the groundwork, all we need to do is to conduct the much desired talks with all the parties concerned. Understanding and agreement are our objectives. We will offer the migrant population an opportunity to be the first to take part in the Vaccination. Together, we can change the world. We can bring joy and prosperity to everyone!”

Behind Frank’s back, Barney chuckled.

The President nodded. “Thank you, Russell. I can’t agree more with you. I am amazed at how far Memoria has gone in its research. It is such a terrible shame that Ms. Baker is no longer with us, slain by an outcast. But her memory will always live on in our hearts. What a loss. The whole family seems to be hostages to ill fortune. Her father, as far as I remember, also died under suspicious circumstances.”

Just like Claney before him, the President pressed his right hand to his heart and lowered his head in an expression of his sorrow. Then he smiled and patted the Congressman’s shoulder. “But life must go on,” he said. “Russell Claney may be my Presidential adversary, but that’s because not many people know we’re big friends outside of politics. I admire his business sense and tenacity and would like to wish him luck in all his undertakings. See you all in New York.”

They shook hands, and the footage ended, replaced by the figure of the news anchor. He reminded his audience that the full report of the Vaccination project would be presented to the public the next day at Memoria’s HQ in the presence of the President. Then he moved to other stories.

Frank turned the sound down and walked away from the screen.

“Tomorrow,” the coach said staring in front of him. “It will all happen tomorrow. Then we could-” He stared at Barney in the doorway. “We need to get inside the HQ before the press conference starts and get hold of the data.”

“Still no reason to wake me up,” reminded Barney.

“Oh yeah,” Max removed his glasses and wiped his red eyes. “I need some information on one of your taxi drivers. I’ve got the plate number.”

“Piece of cake,” Barney said. “Give me the number.”

Frank grabbed the piece of paper, jotted down the car’s make and color, and passed it over to him. The coach opened his laptop. His fingers flitted over the keyboard.

Barney in the next room bellowed into the phone, “That son of a bitch cut me off on the Fifty-Ninth the other day. Exactly. Are you sure? All right, then.”

He popped his head into the room to tell them the news. Not only did the plates not match, but his company had only eight Fords which were all currently firmly stuck in major overhaul.

“Can I go to bed now?” he yawned.

“Please do,” Max turned to Frank. “Get some paper out. We need to mull over these facts for a bit. Let’s see where they take us.”

“And how about the news?”

“We’ve already heard whatever they had to say. First, they’re plugging this Vaccination thing in a bit of a hurry. Secondly, you’re the scape goat.”

Frank reached for the remote and was about to press the off button.

“Don’t,” said Max. “Put the sound down so it doesn’t distract us. Let’s do it.”

Fifteen minutes later, they had their first model. Someone had intended to intercept Frank on his way from the airport. They had sent a bogus taxi out for him. His allergy had saved his butt. They had killed Kathleen while he was being driven home, staging their date and removing her purse. Possibly, they had let the killer know that Frank was on his way and given the killer an order to smoke him, as well. But it hadn’t worked because of the media crowded in the hall, and Kathleen had been the one who’d called them. She must have intended to break some news to them. She’d also backed up whatever information she’d had onto the hard disk. Suspecting that they might be after her, she’d mailed the disk to Frank. The killers hadn’t learned about it early enough. Could Kathleen have tried to negotiate with them? What if she’d tried to blackmail them by threatening to go public with the information on the hard disk? Before leaving, the killer had removed her electronic bracelet and either destroyed it or placed it into an insulated container, preventing the police from detecting its signal.

It was also possible that the bracelet chip was hooked up to some access codes. It could have been Kathleen’s workstation, or it equally could have been some secret bank accounts. After all, the Bakers weren’t exactly poor. One of the world’s richest families, to be precise. Most importantly, the killer knew how to remove the electronic bracelet. Someone had to have trained him to do it. The removal technology was classified so all the technicians capable of doing it could easily be checked. But to check it, you had to contact Memoria’s research center whose staff were directly interested in doctoring the data.

When the killer had left Kathleen’s apartment with her purse, he hadn’t found the hard disk inside. What he had found was the post office receipt, and not straight away but after Frank’s arrest. Otherwise, what had been the point in risking their butts at the post office? This was the only explanation Frank and Max could come up with to explain away the assault on the post office a mere two hours after Frank’s escape from the police station.

“They basically followed in my wake,” Frank concluded staring at the notes.

The coach nodded.

“Yes, you…. or we, rather, were going head-to-head until now. But I’m afraid they’ll be gaining ground before long. Let’s assume that the data on the hard disk has something to do with this Vaccination thing. Then if it turned out to cause physical or mental damage, Gautier must have demanded they went public about it. And they refused her demand causing the DC talks to collapse.”

“Then what’s the point in going public about it tomorrow?” Frank threw the pen onto the desk. “All this media-summoning, migrant-cajoling presentation?”

“They need to remain one step ahead. To shut Gautier up and appease the public. They’re too scared that we can hack the files and they have no way of knowing if Kathleen told you why she’d copied them to begin with.” Max reached under Frank’s arm and pulled out a sheet where they’d listed all the events of the past few days.

“Look,” he took the pen and circled an item on the list. “You were taken to the station for questioning. Immediately they attacked it.”

“They must have thought,” Frank started, “that I knew what was going on. They thought I would testify against them.”

“Exactly. They also thought you had the hard disk. So they wanted to get rid of the eyewitness and remove the device.” He pulled the laptop closer and tapped “Memoria board of directors” into the search engine.

Frank exploded.

“So now I’m a terrorist acting on his own? It’s not what they said before! Can’t anyone see they’re lying? How could I trash the station on my own? Even a child can see that I couldn’t turn the city into a battlefield all alone. Besides, didn’t you just say that three hundred thousand migrants are a force to be reckoned with? All these war-mongering alerts of yours, and now you’re backpedalling?”

“Relax,” Max gave him a cold stare. “I may be mistaken. Kathleen’s killers could have another agenda for all that I know.”

“Yeah, right, but how about Memoria? And the President? They don’t even try to hide their contempt for the migrants. The authorities can barely stand them. Surely everyone can put two and two together…”

“You’re forgetting our civic duty. Most eyewitnesses to yesterday’s carnage must have already visited Memoria branches and had their horrible memories erased. Why should they carry around thoughts of gunfire and dead bodies on the streets? I’m more than sure they were very nicely asked to do so. I’m also sure that the media have refuted their earlier stories under the pretext of not wanting to hurt people’s sensibilities. You are the scape goat because they hope to catch you pretty soon. Now that they’ve prejudiced everyone against you, they just sit and wait till you give yourself up.”

Max turned the screen toward Frank. He saw several mug shots and brief resumes of a couple of dozen Memoria executives. They hadn’t removed Kathleen’s file yet, listing her as their research manager.

“The fact that the President called you a terrorist acting on his own means that those who put a hit out on Kathleen have government connections and media control. They can force their own version of events on everyone. Basically, they let us know, very nicely, who we’re dealing with. Just a suggestion on their part that we stop nosing around searching for the truth.”

“Whatever. It’s not a loner, it’s a group, a numerous and well-trained one, too.”

“You’re right on that one.”

“So you don’t think it could be the migrants?”

Max shook his head.

“Doubtful. To challenge the authorities so openly…” he cringed. “The moment they show any signs of aggression, they’ll be toast. This is what we’ll do. We won’t eliminate the migrant theory, not quite yet. I want you to jot down some questions,” Max half stood and poked his finger at the farthest sheet on the table. “What did Gautier want the Memoria technologies for? How did she know about the Vaccination project? Now…” he sat back. “You got it? Good. Now have a look at all these people. Check out their personal files. And tell me which one of them could be of interest to us.”

“In which respect?”

“We need someone we can use to read the hard disk.”

Frank scratched his cheek, thinking and picking fresh scabs off the scratches.

“William Bow is one. Cathleen’s deputy manager. They worked together.”

The coach nodded.

“Anybody else?”

“Joe Binelli, the chief manager. Maggie is one of his secretaries. They have a workstation with an access to the server.”

“That’ll do,” the coach pulled the laptop closer. “You’re thinking in the right direction.”

“Thinking is one thing. But—”

’But what?” Max didn’t look up from the screen, busy studying the files.

“Just that,” Frank blinked, “how are we supposed to find out the truth? We can’t ask either of these two to hook us up to their server, can we? Or do you want Maggie to do it for you? She’s a good girl, she can risk her life…”

Max looked up at him. For a second they glared at each other.

“I disagree,” Frank shook his head. “Kathleen’s death is more than enough. Others’ deaths are more than enough. I don’t—”

“Do shut up, will you?” Max stood up. “And calm down. No use for emotions in my line of work. We need to exercise wisdom and act for certain. There’s no margin for errors, as they say.” He tapped his fist on the desk.

Frank turned to the TV, sulking.

“Never mind,” Max calmed down. “Let’s think some more.”

“Go ahead, then,” Frank gave him a frowning glance and straightened the loose notes.

“Who do you think would be easier to get hold of? Binelli or Bow?”

Frank shrugged.

“Take an educated guess,” the coach removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes, red with the sleepless night.

“Binelli, most likely,” Frank grumbled. “He has to be at the press conference tomorrow afternoon. Maggie has access to his office.”

“Not bad,” the coach gave him a faint smile. “Ideally, we should first see what Bow has to say for himself. But I’m pretty sure he has more corporate bodyguards than the government have FBI agents. I’m almost sure Bow knows what happened. But he’s out of our reach.”

He added, answering Frank’s silent question,

“Had I been one of Kathleen’s killers, I’d have moved him out of the HQ. As far as I could. I’d take him to some secret underground lab. And I don’t doubt for one second that one exists.”

The TV speakers rustled with, “Joy and prosperity.” Memoria’s orange flower blossomed on the screen. Images of people started flashing. Happy people going about their business at home and on the street. Happy children at school. Everyone was smiling, and everyone had something orange: an item of clothing, or a bunch of tulips in their hands.

The commercial ended, replaced by yet another ad. Frank turned to his coach.

“Yes?” Max gave him a strained look.

Frank tapped his fingers on the table. “One thing I keep thinking about.”

“Go ahead, shoot. That’s why we’re sitting here. We need to exhaust all possibilities, however implausible.”

“This isn’t implausible. Quite the contrary. But still. I keep pondering why all my pursuers had no hair. Claney didn’t, either. But the story said that he’d lost his hair in some early Baker experiments. They said that later the problem had been solved. Otherwise everyone who’d ever been to Memoria would have been bald as an egg by now.”

Frank paused and went on,

“This is what I don’t understand. If my pursuers have some kind of Memoria connections, then what’s their common denominator? Claney is in his late sixties while those who fought me were about thirtyish. The fake airport cab driver had to be forty or so. What do they all have in common?”

Max didn’t answer.

“You have a point, Frank. Jot it down, will you?”