Kate glared back. "Like who, Hiram? His mother?" But Bobby's hand was on her arm.
"Back off Dad. Kate, he was bound to figure this out sometime. Look, both of you, let's find a win-win solution to this. Isn't that what you always told me, Dad?" He said impulsively, "Don't throw Kate out. Give her a job. Here, at OurWorld."
Hiram and Kate spoke simultaneously. "Are you mad!"
"Bobby, that's absurd. If you think I'd work for this creep."
Bobby held his hands up. "Dad, think about it. To exploit the technology you're going to need the best investigative journalists you can find. Right? Even with the WormCam you can't dig out a story without leads."
Hiram snorted. "You're telling me she is the best?"
Bobby raised his eyebrows. "She's here, Dad. She found out about the WormCam itself. She even started to use it. And as for you, Kate..."
"Bobby, it will be a cold day in hell..."
"You know about the WormCam. Hiram can't let you go with that knowledge. So, don't go. Come work here. You'll have an edge on every other damn reporter on the planet." He looked from one to the other. Hiram and Kate glared at each other.
Kate said, "I'd insist on finishing my investigation into Billybob Meeks. I don't care what links you have with him, Hiram. The man is a sham, potentially murderous and a drug runner. And..."
Hiram laughed. "You're laying down conditions!"
Bobby said, "Dad, please. Just think about it. For me."
Hiram loomed over Kate, his face savage. "Perhaps I have to accept this. But you will not take my son away from me. I hope you understand that." He straightened up, and Kate found herself shivering. "By the way," Hiram said to Bobby, "you were right."
"About what?"
"That I love you. That you should trust me. That everything I have done to you has been for the best."
Kate gasped. "You heard him say that?" But of course he had; Hiram had probably heard everything.
Hiram's eyes were on Bobby. "You do believe me, don't you? Don't you?"
Chapter 8—SCOOPS
From OurWorld International News Hour, 21 June, 2036:
Kate Manzoni (to camera):
...The real possibility, revealed exclusively here, of armed conflict between Scotland and England—and therefore, of course, involving the United States as a whole—is the most significant development in what is becoming the central story of our unfolding century: the battle for water.
The figures are stark. Less than one percent of the world's water supply is suitable and accessible for human use. As cities expand, and less land is left available for farming, the demand for water is increasing sharply. In parts of Asia, the Mideast and Africa, the available surface water is already fully used, and groundwater levels have been falling for decades. Back at the turn of the century ten percent of the world's population did not have enough water to drink. Now that figure has tripled, and it is expected to reach a startling seventy percent by 2050.
We have become used to seeing bloody conflicts over water, for example in China, and over the waters of the Nile, the Euphrates, the Ganges and the Amazon, places where the diminishing resource has to be shared, or where one neighbor is perceived, rightly or wrongly, as having more water than it requires. In this country, there have been calls in Congress for the Administration to put more pressure on the Canadian and Quebecois governments to release more water to the U.S., particularly the desertifying Midwest.
Nevertheless the idea that such conflicts could come to the developed Western world—just to repeat our exclusive revelation, that an armed incursion into Scotland to secure water supplies has been seriously considered by the English state government—comes as a shock...
Angel McKie (v/o): It is night, and nothing is stirring.
This small island, set like a jewel in the Philippine Sea, is only a half kilometer across. And yet, until yesterday, more than a thousand people lived here, crammed into ramshackle dwellings which covered these lowlands as far as the high-tide line of the sea. Even yesterday, children played along the beach you can see here. Now nothing is left. Not even the bodies of the children remain.
Hurricane Antony—the latest to be spun off the apparently permanent El Nino storm which continues to wreak havoc around the Pacific Rim—touched here only briefly, but it was long enough to destroy everything these people had built up over generations.
The sun has yet to rise on this devastation. Not even the rescue crews have arrived yet. These pictures are brought to you exclusively by an OurWorld remote news-gathering unit, once again on the scene of breaking news ahead of the rest.
We will return to these scenes when the first aid helicopters arrive—they are due from the mainland any minute now—and in the meantime we can take you to an underwater view of the coral reef here. This was the last remnant of a great community of reefs which lined the Tanon Strait and the southern Negros, most of it long destroyed by dynamite fishing. Now this last survivor, preserved for a generation by devoted experts, has been devastated...
Willoughby Cott (v/o): ...now we can see that goal again as we ride on Staedler's shoulder with OurWorld's exclusive As-The-Sportsman-Sees-It feature.
You can see the line of defenders ahead of Staedler pushing forward as he approaches, expecting him to make a pass which would leave Cramer off-side. But Staedler instead heads away from the wing into deeper midfield, beats one defender, then a second—the goalkeeper doesn't know which threat to counter, Staedler or Cramer—and here you can see the gap Staedler spotted, opening up at the near post, and he puts on a burst of acceleration and shoots!
And now, thanks to OurWorld's exclusive infield imaging technology, we are riding with the ball as it arcs into that top corner, and the Beijing crowd is ecstatic...
Simon Alcala (v/o): ...coming up later, we bring you more exclusive behind-the-scenes pictures of Russian Tsarina Irum's visit to a top Johannesburg boutique and what was Madonna's daughter having done to her nose in his exclusive Los Angeles cosmetic-surgery clinic?
OurWorld Paparazzi: we take you into the lives of the famous, whether they like it or not!
But first: here's a General Assembly we'd like to see more of! Lunchtime yesterday, UN Secretary General Halliwell took a break from UNESCO's World Hydrology Initiative conference in Cuba.
Halliwell thought this rooftop garden was secure. And she was right. Well, almost right. The roof is covered by a one-way mirror—it allows in the sun's soothing rays, but keeps out prying eyes. That is, everyone's eyes but ours!
Let's go on down through the roof now—yes, through the roof—and there she is, certainly a sight for sore eyes as she enjoys the filtered Caribbean sunlight au naturel. Despite the mirrored roof Halliwell is cautious—you can see here she is covering up as a light plane passes overhead—but she should have known she can't hide from OurWorld!
As you can see Mr. Gravity has been kind to our SecGen; Halliwell is as much a knockout as when she shimmied across the stages of the world all of forty years ago. But the question is, is she still all the original Halliwell, or has she accepted a little help?...
Chapter 9—THE AGENT
When the FBI caught up with Hiram, Kate felt a rush of relief.
She had been happy enough to be scooping the world—but she had been doing that anyhow, with or without WormCams. And she'd become increasingly uncomfortable with the idea that such a powerful technology should be exclusively in the hands of a sleazy megalomaniac capitalist like Hiram Patterson.
As it happened, she was in Hiram's office the day it all came to a head. But it didn't turn out the way she expected.
Kate paced back and forth. She was arguing with Hiram, as usual.
"For God's sake, Hiram. How trivial do you want to get?"
Hiram leaned back in his fake-leather chair and gazed out of the window at downtown Seattle, considering his reply.
Once, Kate knew, this had been the presidential suite of one of the city's better hotels. Though the big picture window
remained, Hiram had retained none of the grand trimmings of this room; whatever his faults, Hiram Patterson was not pretentious. The room was now a regular working office, the only furniture the big conference table and its set of upright chairs, a coffee spigot and a water fountain. There was a rumor that Hiram kept a bed here, rolled up in a compartment built into the walls. And yet there was a lack of a human touch, Kate thought. There wasn't even a single image of a family member—his two sons, for instance.
But maybe he doesn't need images, Kate thought sourly. Maybe his sons themselves are trophy enough.
"So," Hiram said slowly, "now you're appointing yourself my bloody conscience, Ms. Manzoni."
"Oh, come on, Hiram. It's not a question of conscience. Look, you have a technological monopoly which is the envy of every other news-gathering organization on the planet. Can't you see how you're wasting it? Gossip about Russian royalty and candid-camera shows and on-the-field shots of soccer games... I didn't come into this business to photograph the tits of the UN Secretary General."
"Those tits, as you put it," he said dryly, "attracted a billion people. My prime concern is beating the competition. And I'm doing that."
"But you're turning yourself into the ultimate paparazzo. Is that the limit of your vision? You have such power to do good."
He smiled. "Good? What does good have to do with it? I have to give people what they want, Manzoni. If I don't, some other bastard will. Anyway I don't see what you're complaining about. I ran your piece on England invading Scotland. That was genuine hard-core news."
"But you trivialized it by wrapping it up in tabloid garbage! Just as you trivialize the whole water-war issue. Look, the UN hydrology convention has been a joke."
"I don't need another lecture on the issues of the day, Manzoni. You know, you're so pompous. But you understand so little. Don't you get it? People don't want to know about the issues. Because of you and your damn Wormwood, people understand that the issues just don't matter. It doesn't matter how we pump water around the planet, or any of the rest of it, because the Wormwood is going to scrape it all away anyhow. All people want is entertainment. Distraction."
"And that's the limit of your ambition?"
He shrugged. "What else is there to do?"
She snorted her disgust. "You know, your monopoly won't last forever. There's a lot of speculation in the industry and the media about how you're achieving all your scoops. It can't be long before somebody figures it out and repeats your research."
"I have patents."
"Oh, sure, that will protect you. If you keep this up you'll have nothing left to hand on to Bobby."
His eyes narrowed. "Don't you talk about my son. You know, every day I regret bringing you in here, Manzoni. You've brought in some good stories. But you have no sense of balance, no sense at all."
"Balance? Is that what you call it? Using the WormCam for nothing more than celebrity beaver shots?"
A soft bell tone sounded. Hiram lifted his head to the air. "I said I wasn't to be interrupted."
The Search Engine's inoffensive tones sounded from the air. "I'm afraid I have an override, Mr. Patterson."
"What kind of override?"
"There's a Michael Mavens here to see you. You too, Ms. Manzoni."
"Mavens? I don't know any..."
"He's from the FBI, Mr. Patterson. The Federal Bureau of..."
"I know what the FBI is." Hiram thumped his desk, frustrated. "One bloody thing after another."
At last, Kate thought.
Hiram glared at her. "Just watch what you say to this arsehole."
She frowned. "This government-appointed law enforcement arsehole from the FBI, you mean? Even you answer to the law, Hiram. I'll say what I think best."
He clenched a fist, seemed ready to say more, then just shook his head. He stalked to his picture window, and the blue light of the sky, filtered through the tinted glass, evoked highlights from his bald pate. "Bloody hell," he said. "Bloody, bloody hell."
Michael Mavens, FBI Special Agent, wore the standard issue charcoal-gray suit, collarless shirt and shoelace tie. He was blond, whiplash thin, and he looked as if he had played a lot of squash, no doubt at some ultra-competitive FBI academy.
He seemed remarkably young to Kate: no more than mid- to late twenties. And he was nervous, dragging awkwardly at the chair Hiram offered him, rumbling with his briefcase as he opened it and dug out a SoftScreen.
Kate glanced at Hiram. She saw calculation in his broad, dark face; Hiram had spotted this agent's surprising discomfort too.
After showing them his badge, Mavens said, "I'm glad to find you both here, Mr. Patterson, Ms Manzoni. I'm investigating an apparent security breach."
Hiram went on the attack. "What authorization do you have?"
Mavens hesitated. "Mr. Patterson, I'm hoping we can all be a little more constructive than that."
"Constructive?" Hiram snapped. "What kind of answer is that? Are you acting without authorization?" He reached for a telephone icon in his desktop.
Mavens said calmly, "I know your secret."
Hiram's hand hovered over the glowing symbol, then withdrew.
Mavens smiled. "Search Engine. Security cover FBI level three four, authorization Mavens M. K. Confirm please."
After a few seconds, the Search Engine reported back, "Cover in place. Special Agent Mavens."
Mavens nodded. "We can speak openly."
Kate sat down opposite Mavens, intrigued, puzzled, nervous.
Mavens spread his SoftScreen flat on the desktop. It showed a picture of a big white-capped military helicopter. Mavens said, "Do you recognize this?"
Hiram leaned closer. "It's a Sikorsky, I think."
"Actually a VH-3D," said Mavens.
"It's Marine One," said Kate. "The President's helicopter."
Mavens eyed her. "That's right. As I'm sure you both know, the President and her husband have spent the last couple of days in Cuba at the UN hydrology conference. They've been using Marine One out there. Yesterday, during a short flight, a brief and private conversation took place between President Juarez and English Prime Minister Huxtable." He tapped the 'Screen, and it revealed a blocky schematic of the helicopter's interior. "The Sikorsky is a big bird for such an antique, but it is packed with communication gear. It has only ten seats. Five are taken up by Secret Service agents, a doctor, and military and personal aides to the President."
Hiram seemed intrigued. "I guess one of those aides has the football."
Mavens looked pained. "We don't use a 'football' anymore, Mr. Patterson. On this occasion the other passengers, in addition to President Juarez herself, were Mr. Juarez, the chief of staff, Prime Minister Huxtable and an English security agent.
"All of these people—and the pilots—have the highest possible security clearances, which in the case of the agents and other staff are checked daily. Mr. Huxtable, of course, despite his old-style title, holds an office equivalent to a state governor. Marine One itself is swept several times a day. Despite your virtual melodramas about spies and double agents, Mr. Patterson, modern anti-surveillance measures are pretty foolproof. And besides, the President and Mr. Huxtable were isolated in side a security curtain even within the Sikorsky. We don't know of any way those various levels of security can be breached." He turned his pale brown eyes on Kate. "And yet, apparently, they were.
"Your news report was accurate, Ms. Manzoni. Juarez and Huxtable did hold a conversation about the possibility of a military solution to England's dispute with Scotland over water supplies.
"But we have testimony from Mr. Huxtable that his speculation about invading Scotland is—was—private and personal. The notion is his, he hadn't committed it to paper or electronic store, or discussed it with anybody, not his Cabinet, not even his partner. His conversation with President Juarez was actually the first time he'd articulated the idea out loud, to gauge the extent of the President's support for such a proposal, if formulated.
"And at the ti
me you broke the story, neither the Prime Minister nor the President had discussed this with anybody else." He glared at Kate, "Ms, Manzoni, you see the situation. The only possible source for your story is the Juarez-Huxtable conversation itself."
Hiram stood beside Kate. "She's not going to reveal her sources to a goon like you."
Mavens rubbed his face and sat back. "I have to tell you, sir, that bugging the Prez is going to land you with a list of federal charges as long as your arm. An interagency team is investigating this matter. And the President is pretty angry herself. OurWorld could be shut down. And you, Ms. Manzoni, will be lucky to evade jail."
"You'll have to prove it first," Hiram blustered. "I can testify that no OurWorld operative has been anywhere near Marine One, to plant a bug or to do anything else. This interagency investigation team you run..."
Mavens coughed. "I don't run it. I'm part of it. In fact the Bureau chief himself..."
Hiram's mouth dropped open. "And does he know you're here? No? Then what are you trying to do here, Mavens? Set me up? Or—blackmail? Is that it?"
Mavens looked increasingly uncomfortable, but he sat still.
Kate touched Hiram's arm. "I think we'd better hear him out, Hiram."
Hiram shook her away. He turned to the window, hands caged behind his back, his shoulders working with anger.
Kate leaned toward Mavens. "You said you knew Hiram's secret. What did you mean?"
And Michael Mavens started talking about wormholes.
The map he produced from his briefcase and spread over the table was hand-drawn on unheaded paper. Evidently, Kate thought, Mavens was straying into speculations he hadn't wanted to share with his FBI colleagues, or even commit to the dubious security of a SoftScreen.
He said, "This is a map of the route Marine One took yesterday, over the suburbs of Havana. I've marked time points with these crosses. You can see that when the key Juarez-Huxtable onboard conversation took place—it only lasted a couple of minutes—the chopper was here."