‘That’s still ten years of chaos.’
‘Better ten than a hundred.’ He stepped closer to her. ‘I am not a passive man, Dr Wilde. I rose from the slums by seeing opportunities and taking them, changing the world around me to my advantage. This will be the ultimate opportunity, and I
‘The downfall of civilisation as a business opportunity, huh?’
‘More a guiding hand. I have been assembling resources worldwide - people with vital skills, stockpiles of food and shelter, secure data archives in remote locations like Mongolia and Greenland, a satellite communications infrastructure that will be unaffected by wars on the ground. They will all be put to use to help those in need following the collapse.’
Nina narrowed her eyes. ‘With strings attached, I’m guessing.’ ‘The world must learn that Shiva is the one true lord of creation. Which is why I hired Urbano Fernandez. Some of the items he obtained for me were for their protection; they are irreplaceable cultural treasures that would surely be stolen or destroyed during the chaos.’
‘And they’ll just happen to be in your private collection for “safekeeping” while all this is going on, right?’
‘But,’ he went on, ignoring her, ‘the others will provide me with leverage in places where the word of Shiva might not be heard.’ ‘Places like Saudi Arabia,’ she realised. ‘If there’s a global collapse, nobody’ll be paying for their oil - and they don’t have a hell of a lot of other resources. So then you tell them, “If you want help, if you want the Black Stone back, I want something in return.” ’
‘Correct. Money may not be much use after the collapse, but influence will be. Having power over the Saudis gives me influence over Islam, power over the Italians gives me influence over Roman Catholicism, and so on. I will use it to spread the word of Shiva - the true, uncorrupted word that waits inside the Vault.’
‘Sounds kinda far-fetched, if you ask me,’ Nina scoffed. ‘You won’t turn over centuries of belief and tradition with blackmail.’
‘People will do anything when they are hungry and desperate. When one god has failed them and another offers them hope, will they take it? I think so.’
Nina slowly circled him, Tandon shadowing her. ‘So how are you planning on bringing all this about? I don’t see how a search engine can be a harbinger of the apocalypse.’
‘Then you are short-sighted, Dr Wilde. Qexia will play a vital part.’
She could tell that he was itching to impress her with his cleverness; the question was, how much would his ego let slip? She injected a disbelieving, faintly mocking note into her voice. ‘You’re going to end the world with search results? How?’
He raised his hands, the virtual keyboard appearing on the screens. Some commands, and the walls lit up with numerous pages from news sites around the globe. ‘People choose sources of information not because they trust them to be impartial, but because they reflect their own view of the world. Their biases - their passions, if you like.’ He regarded the screens. ‘All these pages are about a terrorist bombing in Mumbai two weeks ago. As you can see, it was covered by dozens of news agencies in different countries, each of which had its own interpretation of events.’
‘That’s hardly news, if you’ll excuse the pun.’
More commands. ‘When people want information about a subject, they turn to a search engine. Like Qexia. Now, these are the results a Hindu living in India would see when they searched for information about the bombing.’
A ‘cloud’ of results appeared, the ones Qexia deemed most relevant dominating the centre, others smaller on the periphery. Nina examined the central cluster; they blamed Pakistani-backed Islamic militants for the attack. ‘Okay, but apart from looking prettier, I don’t see how that’s any different from what you’d get on Google.’
‘Then see what the same search would give to a Muslim in Pakistan.’ He typed again. The search cloud reloaded . . . with considerably different results.
‘These . . . these are all accusing the Indian government of lying,’ Nina saw. ‘Blaming the Pakistanis for something they weren’t involved in.’ The larger implications struck her. ‘This is stirring up tensions between India and Pakistan.’
Khoil nodded. ‘As I told you, Qexia
‘You’re fixing the search results,’ said Nina accusingly. ‘You’re lying to them.’
‘Not at all. It gives them what they
‘
‘If it is for a greater purpose, then yes.’
‘And how were you planning on doing this?’ She waved a hand at the screens. ‘Inflaming passions, starting a war, yeah . . . but between who?’ As soon as she spoke, she realised that Khoil might have already answered the question: he had chosen the subject of his demonstration without hesitation, as if it had already been on his mind. India and Pakistan were nuclear-armed enemies, on the edge of open conflict for decades. Had his urge to show off his technology, his intellectual superiority, tipped his hand?
However, he proved unwilling to elaborate. ‘You will find out soon. As will the rest of the world. But that is not why I brought you to me. Come this way.’ Khoil exited the dome, Tandon pushing her after him.
He rounded the framework supporting the screens and led her to one side of the room. A desk held several pieces of high-tech equipment, but Nina’s attention was caught by something obsolete. A glass display case contained a small computer of a type she didn’t recognise, but from its styling - and time-scuffed condition - it appeared to be of 1980s vintage.
Khoil noticed her looking at it. ‘My first computer,’ he said. ‘A Spectrum Plus. Everything I have achieved with Qexia began with that.’ Something approaching warmth entered his voice. ‘As a boy, I made money for my family by repairing and selling broken devices we found on the dump - radios, tape players, and so on. I could not believe that somebody had thrown away a computer! The only thing wrong with it was the power supply, and once I repaired it we were going to sell it . . . but I decided to experiment with it first. I wrote some simple programs - and, as the saying goes, I caught the bug.’
‘Your humble beginnings,’ Nina said dismissively. Under other circumstances a rags-to-riches story might have been interesting, but she was in no mood to indulge Khoil’s nostalgia.
His tone chilled once more. ‘Indeed. Now, come here.’ Tandon shoved her to the desk. ‘Hold out your right arm.’
Suspiciously, Nina regarded the machine Khoil was adjusting. It resembled a lathe, only where she would have expected to find a cutting tool, there was a highly polished prism. ‘What is it?’
‘A laser scanner. Your palmprint is needed to remove the Talonor Codex from the United Nations’ vault.’ He indicated the machine beside it: a rapid prototyper, identical to the one Zec had delivered to Eddie. ‘Using the pattern from the scanner, this will create an exact duplicate of your hand - one good enough to fool the security system.’
Nina shook her head and folded her arms tightly. ‘No way are you getting my palmprint.’
‘One way or another, your hand will be sent to New York. It is up to you whether it is a copy . . . or the original.’
Tandon’s expression suggested he would be more than happy to make it the latter. Reluctantly, Nina held out her arm. Khoil positioned it over the scanner, then tapped a control. The prism began to spin, so rapidly that it became a ghostly blur. A bright blue laser light shone from the body of the scanner, the needle-thin beam spread into a flickering grid by the prism. The pattern moved smoothly over the length of Nina’s hand. A bleep from the machine, and the light vanished, the prism stopping with a click.
Khoil checked a reading, appearing satisfied. ‘Your palmprint has been recorded. Now we have everything we need.’
Nina pulled her hand away. ‘Except the Codex. And without that, you’ve got nothing.’
‘That,’ said Khoil, ‘is entirely up to your husband.’
