Based on comments by readers and a good long look at some previous material, I decided that a bit of significant rewriting was in order. Several significant errors had accumulated, mostly having to do with how top-secret databasing systems actually work and the kind of access someone like Anna would actually have. I also realized that we needed a good hard look at Anna's true programming expertise, as this will play a huge role later on in the book and we want to see her in action.
I will be reposting chapters until we're caught back up to where we were originally. This first reposted chapter and the next one might not seem much different than they were originally but the changes will rapidly become more significant. Also, the chapter numbering will be different because I added another chapter near the beginning that I will not be posting here at all, but that you'll see in the final copy of the book (maybe).
So without further ado, here is the revised version of Chapter 12 of The SubVersion Complex. This book is intended for a more mature audience, so be advised.
╗ TWELVE ╚
THE THEORY
He
approached the Secretary's office door and ground his teeth behind
closed lips as the security officers posted outside took his firearm
and scanned him. They irked him, the Secretary's personal security.
It felt like a breach of trust that he, Security Chief Holloway, was
not their commander as well. When the officers were satisfied,
he pushed roughly past them and rapped hard on the wood. The lock
clicked and he burst through.
“And
let yourself in, my door is open,” Adam remarked with faux
pleasantness. His feet were propped up on his desk and his commex was
clutched in his hand. Fumes from his electronic cigarette spiraled
around his head in fantastic swirls and shapes. He reluctantly pulled
himself forward to face Sam. “What is it?”
Sam
pulled out one of the chairs in front of the Secretary's desk and sat
down heavily. The chair protested with a loud squeak. “I think you
know very well why I am here,” he rumbled.
“I
might, but do elaborate. Seeing as how you are so very good at
elaborating,” the Secretary sighed.
“Well,
to start, your 'Praetorian Guard' outside seem extra obnoxious
lately.”
A
wide smile spread across the Secretary's face. “Ah. Then it would
seem that you know your ancient history. So few people do nowadays.”
Sam
snorted. “You mean do I know how the Praetorian Guard eventually
turned on the emperor that they were sworn to protect? Then yes, I
do.”
“A
necessary risk in this business,” Adam replied levelly. “Let's
just call it a division of power.” He stood slowly, leaning forward
towards Sam with his hands on his desk. “A division at which you
will continually chafe, and that I will continually enforce. This
emperor will have his Praetorian Guard and you will be content with
your place. So let's leave all that aside for the moment and come to
the real point of your intrusion.”
The
pose and tone were threatening enough to make even Sam recoil ever so
slightly in his chair. He would not be cowed for long, though, and he
shifted closer to the desk. “I'm here to talk about Miss McLean.”
Adam
smiled again. “Ah yes, Miss McLean. Isn't she something?” he
said. “Young, vibrant, sexy, very intelligent, and with a great
appreciation for my fine wines.” A strange protective sort of
sarcasm dripped in his voice. “Really, Sam, you ought to get
yourself a woman like that. Or should I say, another woman
like that? This one's not a blonde at least.”
Sam
squirmed. “I'll make a note of it . . . “
“Please
do, and please also remember your place in regards to the
aforementioned woman. Now,” Adam said, turning to the window and
gazing down at the nighttime cityscape below, “what about Miss
McLean?”
Sam
remembered his purpose and his anger returned. “I was told by the
mobile security division downstairs that you took Miss McLean to the
Version Ghetto.”
“They
told you that, did they?”
“Yes
they did. And they also told me that an auto-tank opened fire while
the two of you were right there. And that she was witness to a
massacre.” Sam opened his hands with an incredulous gesture. “Is
this true? Please tell me that it's not true.”
The
Secretary regarded the large man with curiosity for a long moment
before replying. “What if it is or isn't? What is that to you?”
“If
I was to put myself in the shoes of an outsider,” Sam replied with
rising ire, “and given you a completely objective assessment of
your actions, I would have said that you were certifiably insane and
had no business going any farther with this demented plan.”
Adam
cocked his head. “But I don't pay you to put yourself in other
people's shoes, especially outsiders,” he said. “What I pay you
for and demand accordingly is a subjective voice of force. The hound
dog doesn't question the master's intent, he merely does his duty
under the assumption that his human has a plan. And right now, the
hound is not trusting but resisting.”
Sam
scowled. “Except that this hound is human. And he wonders if his
human betters actually have that plan in mind when they do things
like parade street violence in front of a woman. Where indeed is the
sense in that?”
Adam
stood silent for a long time, the vapors from his cigarette curling
around his motionless hand. “There is a time and a place for
everything, Sam, even the truth. The entire sugar-free, violent and
ugly truth. She refused to accept that what I had said was true, and
so I decided to show her instead. A dice roll of sorts. There is a
delicate balance, between telling her what she needs to hear and
showing her that which will motivate action.”
“Motivate
what action?” Sam asked incredulously. “Driving her away? Sending
her packing into the arms of a group like Verité?
They prey on people who know the truth, as you must be well aware.
When that occurs it becomes a security issue, and when it becomes a
security issue it becomes my issue.”
“Correct
as usual,” Adam said with a nod, clapping with slow derision. “But
I am focused on the larger picture here. She will come, wait and
see.”
“And
that leads me to my other questions,” Sam continued as if the
Secretary had never spoken, “which are these: why have we given her
a firearm and a top-level access key? We hadn't discussed those
either but I let them slide. That was before. Now I am concerned that
she will be like a child who has discovered a lighter for the first
time.”
Adam
scratched his chin. “Your point?”
“My
point?” Sam's face grew red. “My point is that you're creating a
dangerous situation that you will lose control of more quickly than
you think possible. She will be a danger to herself and could become
a liability to this entire administration.” He clenched his fists
in his lap as he spoke and his breathing grew loud. “In short, with
all due respect Mr. Secretary, I believe you are making a terrible
mistake, and you are not helping me at all.”
It
was a long moment before either man moved. Adam still stood between
the desk and window with a serious expression on his face; the
sarcasm was gone and he stared hard at Sam. Inexplicable thoughts
churned behind his green eyes and his jaw worked back and forth.
Finally he creaked back over to the desk and settled slowly back into
his chair, his eyes fixed on his chief of security and his face a
mask.
“Perhaps
I may offer a critique?” he began.
Sam
frowned. “By all means,” he allowed reluctantly.
“You
may be looking at this whole project from the wrong angle,” the
Secretary said. “Where you see danger, I see opportunity. Where you
see a threat, I see hope.” He rubbed his palms together. “Have
you ever tried to feed a chickadee from your hand, Sam?”
Confused,
Sam shook his head. “I can't say that I have,” he grunted.
“It's
a very small bird, but very innocent and in many ways quite fearless.
Despite that, you still must work to earn its trust. It is a cautious
creature.”
Sam
waved his hand, impatient with the analogy. “Okay, fine, I get it.”
“Do
you?” Adam queried. “To lure in the chickadee you must be very
still and very very patient. You must bide your time and tempt
it in slowly. It will only come to you in stages, and only if each
stage has a reward or other proper motivator.”
“Get
to the damn point.”
“The
point is this: Annalise McLean is the one I want. She is the key
piece to my puzzle, and I need her to accept all of this. However, I
gain nothing by making her do anything, she must want
to do it. In short, she must desire to come to me and must be
passionate and complete in that desire.” Adam tapped the head of
his cane with his fingers. “I have set the bait, I have put out the
seed, and she must be the one to bite. I sent you to offer her a job
that we both knew she craved and would never refuse. She accepted. I
gave her a gun and just enough training with it to make her
dangerous. I gave her a security access level high enough to make her
curious. I gave her a free enough rein to feel that she was not under
twenty-four-hour surveillance and could do and say what she wanted.
And I put her with Dr. Jarrod who can give her just enough
information for me to build upon later.”
He
rose to his feet again and continued. “I am drawing her in, Sam,
and I am well aware of how unorthodox my methods may appear to you.
But as I said, patience is the key. Each step must be either a reward
or a motivator. I have rewarded and rewarded, and now tonight I
showed her the motivator, as horrible as it may seem. If I have
cemented in her mind the belief that our goal is noble and that we
must work to avert another such awful encounter together, then
I have succeeded. As far as I know, she now thinks everything I have
told her is the truth.”
“Then
I presume you fed her the same standard line about Verité and her
parents?” Sam asked sardonically. “And you talk about telling her
the whole truth.”
Adam's
face darkened. “There is the truth, and then there is the truth,”
he growled. “Do not test me.”
Sam
shoved himself up out of his seat. “Regardless of what you decide
to do, those are my reservations and I thought you should hear them.
I realize she will need to be shown . . . things. But she is a
woman.”
“So
was her mother,” the Secretary said. “If you are implying that
Miss McLean can't handle the heat in the proverbial political kitchen
then I submit that you are a sexist ass. Her mother was the strongest
person I know and I see a great deal of the mother in the daughter. I
think we will be fine.”
“Very
well,” Sam said, peeved and unsatisfied. “But I will be keeping
my eyes open.”
“You
know?” Adam suddenly smiled. “That is indeed the difference
between you and her. I want a technocrat as my successor, an
objective fixer and pragmatist, someone without ambition or visions
of expansionist grandeur. You are ambitious, she is not.”
Sam's
face reddened and he stiffened. “Is that all?” he grunted.
Adam,
a smile still stretched across his face, gestured to the door. “That
is all. Have a good night, Officer Holloway, and remember: this is
all a game. A serious game to be sure, but a game with pieces and
moves and counter-moves and winners and losers. Right now I'd rather
I was not obstructed whilst I attempt to win this round.”
Sam
quickly crossed the space to the door, but he stopped once he reached
it and turned partway. “When will you tell her about the Complex?
If you ever do at all, which it would seem likely you will at this
point.”
Adam
looked back to the window in thought. “The time will come. Patience
is the key. The chickadee must be pecking seed right out of my hand
before I spring that one. But I will make it work.” His tone
suddenly went cold. “Good night, Mr. Holloway, and don't forget to
lock up when you leave tonight.”
Sam
slid out and the door clicked shut. The Secretary fell into his chair
and heaved an enormous sigh, then tapped an icon on his commex
screen. A picture of a woman with reddish hair appeared. Adam stared
at her face for a long time until his own expression softened. He
touched the screen.
“Well,
Mrs. McLean, lets hope your daughter is less stubborn than you were,”
he whispered. “We both know how that turned out . . . “
