Exposure (29 page)

She looked at Charlie: if she didn’t know better she would have said he was sulking. How extraordinary.

That evening they sat down to a delicious stew prepared lovingly by Hank and much better than the threatened ‘mess o’ beans’. Helene guessed that he was enjoying the novelty of having company over and she had to admit that his apple pie was to die for.

“Mmm! This is wonderful! How do you get the pastry so light?” she said.

Hank beamed.

“It’s all in the quality of the ingredients, sweetie. Good butter is important but the less handling of the pastry the better. Plus you gotta have cold hands: cold hands and a warm heart, as my ma used to say. And then there’s my secret ingredient.”

“Which is?” said Helene.

“A secret, sweetie,” said Hank, raising his eyebrows.

Charlie looked bored although he’d made a good meal from Hank’s efforts.

“When are we going to talk to the Gene Genies?” he said.

“You’re not,” said Hank severely. “You think they’d talk to you? These people are paranoid: better leave it to me. I’ve already scheduled a meeting.”

“Whatever,” Charlie muttered under his breath.

Helene thought she saw him mouthing the words, ‘bunch of nutters’, but she couldn’t be sure.

After washing up the supper things as her contribution to the domestic chores, Helene joined the men in the main pod. A sense of anticipation filled the small space.

At precisely 8.27pm the computer screens around the room blinked into life. But instead of the faces of the hackers, each was represented by a different cartoon character. Helene wondered who Hank had chosen for his character: Penelope Pitstop, perhaps?

“Good evening, Genies,” said Hank. “Your mission this evening, should you choose to accept it, is to hack into the files of the Fed Reserve banks and find out how much gold has been sold to foreign governments over the last 100 years. It’s the secret audit files that we’re after. We wanna know what they’ve sold and how much they
say
they’ve still got. This is the big one, folks, it’s a task set by our leader – and we’ve got just 24 hours to complete the mission.”

“Holy baloney, Hank!” came a voice from the computer screen that was represented by a giant Bugs Bunny. “We’re really going to hit them?”

“Sure am, Bugs. Tonight we start the fight back. For Wally.”

Twelve disembodied voices muttered, “For Wally,” followed by half a minute’s silence out of respect for the lamented, believed to be ‘late’, Wally Manfred.

“Okay, Genies, let’s do it! Make it so!” ordered Hank.

There was a short pause.

“Er, who’s doing what?” came a voice from the Buffy cartoon screen. “There are the National Archives, the State Archives, plus the 12 Fed Reserves and Fort Knox: I’d like to do Dallas. It’s a cowboy thing.”

Someone else insisted on having St Louis, and at least three people were arguing over Minneapolis. It reminded Helene of a visit to a school she’d made once as a favour to one of her bosses at the newspaper. What a bunch of juveniles.

There was a huge tussle over who got to do Cleveland with at least four Cleveland Brown fans in the room: eventually Hank got them sorted out and the 12 computer screens went blank.

Charlie frowned at Helene and the look that passed between them agreed: Good Lord! We’re counting on these people? Charlie continued looking at Helene and mouthed the words slowly: “We are so fucked.”

Helene shook her head, not because she thought he was wrong but because it was all just too ghastly for words. And when it came down to it, she thought Charlie was probably right.

Even so, they all had their jobs to do. Hank was hacking Richmond because he said he’d visited there once and had been arrested. Helene didn’t ask what for. Charlie had gone into town to get supplies and ‘equipment’, whatever that meant, despite Hank’s protestations that a) he had everything they could possibly need, and b) it wasn’t safe to be seen out.

Helene stayed out of the ensuing argument which ended when Charlie had stalked off. Instead, Helene fired up her laptop again. It seemed to have wilted slightly, looking embarrassed to be compared to the gleaming technology surrounding it. Helene reminded herself it wasn’t the packaging that was important, but the contents. As a woman in her late forties, she’d used that line a lot.

She had got her notes bang up to date and was listening for Charlie to come back, when she sensed Hank leaning over her shoulder.

“It’s gonna be alright, honey,” he said kindly, a massive fist stroking her shoulder. “Aunty Hank has never let a friend down before and he’s not gonna start now.”

“Thanks,” said Helene, tiredly, “but you don’t even know me. Oh! Not that I’m not grateful because I am – obviously.”

“I’m pretty good at reading people,” said Hank softly. “I’ve had to be because of the way I look: I don’t have to explain myself to you, I know. Anyway, I can tell you’re one of the good ‘uns.” Hank looked over his shoulder towards Charlie who had just climbed back down into the main pod. “Him I’m not so sure about: you be careful, young lady, you hear me?”

Hank walked away before Helene had a chance to ask him what he meant, but when she looked round at Charlie, he was staring right at her, his expression cold. A chill rippled down her spine.

She stood up and stretched and paced around the pod, trying to act naturally. Charlie ignored her and, eventually, with nothing better to do, Helene lay down on Hank’s bed and covered herself with the counterpane. She fell asleep to the gentle clicking of fingernails on keyboards.

She woke up once in the night and saw the light from the main pod glowing brightly under the closed door. The bed beside her was empty. She sighed, turned onto her side and went back to sleep.

By morning the results of the mass illegal hack were already starting to trickle in. Helene took a quick shower and began to analyse the data while her hair dried naturally. Hank whipped up a batch of pancakes with maple syrup and a pile of bacon. Helene groaned for her cholesterol levels, but it did smell good.

Charlie still wasn’t speaking to her. The silence between them was beginning to get on her nerves.

The data, on the other hand, was puzzling. According to the figures, the US Treasury seemed to have its full complement of gold. The figures for Boston and Fort Knox were still to come in, but otherwise…

New York : 1,800 tonnes

Philadelphia : 900 tonnes

Cleveland : 755 tonnes

Richmond: 2,225 tonnes

Atlanta : 125 tonnes

Chicago : 1,310 tonnes

St Louis : 50 tonnes

Minneapolis : 750 tonnes

Kansas City : 154 tonnes

Dallas : 156 tonnes

San Francisco : 200 tonnes.

Hank spun the stats through some of his home-made programmes, ran them against the private details of foreign bullion sales and sat scratching his head. Eventually he turned to Helene, a pitying look on his hairy face.

He shook his head. He didn’t need to say more.

Helene took the print-outs from him and sat poring over them while Hank finished the food.

“I’m sorry, honey,” said Hank, ladling pancakes onto her plate, “even if Boston and Knox turn up short, there doesn’t seem to be any missing gold. At least nothing worth offing poor ole Wally for.”

Helene shook her head. “Then what’s wrong with this picture?”

The two men stared at her. She saw sympathy in Hank’s eyes and what… a certain impatience in Charlie’s. He was so hard to read and spending 24/7 with him for the last ten days hadn’t helped much. My God, she thought, is that all it’s been: just ten days. She felt like she’d aged a couple of decades at least.

“I… I need to get some air,” she said. “It’ll help me think.”

“It’s not safe out there, honey,” said Hank, concern evident in his voice.

“I’ll come with you,” said Charlie. “I could do with getting out of here for a while, too.”

He threw a tight, angry look at Hank.

Helene felt the weight of Hank’s disapproval as she climbed out of the pod, but then again, she was used to feeling that around most men.

The forest looked very different in the morning light. The perfumed scent of cypress wood rose on the air. In the distance Helene could hear the sound of cars and beyond that, the familiar yet strange sound of surf crashing onto rocks. She had to remind herself that this was the Pacific Ocean not the Atlantic, and she was a long way from home.

Charlie was staring gravely through the trees, up towards the sky. Being cooped in someone else’s pod didn’t suit him, but Helene didn’t have time to worry about his moods. She had to work out where she’d gone wrong: in what way had her thinking been faulty.

In silence, each locked in their own thoughts, they followed a trail through the forest. Helene couldn’t tell whether it had been made by animals or people. The former, she hoped. She had no wish to bump into some hikers now, especially if awkward questions might ensue. On the other hand, she hadn’t thought to ask Hank if bears were to be found in the forest. She really hoped Charlie had that gun.

After an hour’s yomping, they sat down to rest. Or rather Helene sat down to rest, Charlie still had buckets of energy to use up. Helene wouldn’t have been particularly surprised if he’d started swinging through the trees like some latter-day Tarzan, he was so wired.

“What next?” he said unexpectedly.

Helene shook her head.

“We’re close to the truth: I can feel it, we’ve just missed the trail somehow. Any ideas?”

“The Gene Genies could be wrong,” he said. “You could be wrong.”

“It’s possible,” she admitted, “but somehow I don’t think so. Let’s look at the evidence again.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” said Charlie bitterly, “but we’re a bit thin on evidence right now.”

Glumly, Helene had to agree. She leaned back against a tree and tried to let her mind drift: maybe if left to its own accord, it would stray back to the correct neural pathway.

Charlie slid down next to her and she was glad to feel him close to her again.

“If it’s not about the gold,” he said resting his head on his knees, “what else could it be?”

“I don’t know: that’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” she said wearily.

Suddenly they heard the sound of a twig cracking in the distance.

Immediately Charlie was alert. He rose silently and listened intently. Helene felt a sweat break out across her back.

“Time to go,” said Charlie, bending down and breathing softly into her ear.

He pulled her up by the arm and they crept away through the forest. Helene was lost but Charlie was utterly sure-footed. Helene didn’t remember crossing a stream – and she certainly didn’t remember wading through one. In fact Charlie made her cross and re-cross the stream several times.

“In case there’s anyone out there looking for us and in case they’ve got dogs,” he whispered.

Two hours later they were back at the shack. Helene was exhausted, wet and muddy. Also very, very pissed off. But at herself and her stupidity on insisting she went for a walk in the first place. Would she ever be able to recognise good advice when it was given to her? It seemed unlikely: learning had not taken place.

Hank was practically gnashing his teeth at their tardy return.

“Straight into a hot bath for you, missy,” he growled, tossing a baleful look at Charlie whom he clearly blamed for leading Helene astray. The look bounced off Charlie’s broad shoulders. In fact Helene recognised that he had perked up considerably after their close encounter. She guessed he was one of those soldiers who was brilliant to have around when on active service, when imminent danger was in the air; and a complete nightmare back at home barracks. A friend of hers had had a dog like that once: a Weimaraner who was so highly strung it needed constant distraction or it chewed the furniture.

She was soaking in the old fashioned sit-up-and-beg hip bath and wondering what Hank had cooked for lunch when the thought suddenly hit her. She sat up so suddenly that a small tidal wave of soapy water slopped over the tub’s edge.

Cursing softly, she lurched out of the bath, and mopped up the mess as best she could, Hank being so house-proud. Then she dressed hastily and presented herself clean and alert in the kitchen.

“I’ve had another idea,” she said.

At least neither of the men groaned, even if mentally they were rolling their eyes.

“I’ve been thinking about this business of the gold,” she said, “and I still think I’m right: there’s just more to it than I’d thought. At first I thought that the gold must be missing, but unless the auditors are making up the figures, which is entirely possible, then there’s something else going on.”

“Granted,” said Charlie, “but what?”

She didn’t answer directly.

“When the economy goes really badly,” she said, concentrating hard, “governments want to put their money into strong currencies – like the Swiss Franc. A totally over-rated currency for a piss-pot of a country the size of Wales, wouldn’t you say?”

Charlie shrugged and Hank looked askance at her bad language before lunchtime.

“And if things go really, really badly,” continued Helene, “governments don’t want cash, they want something a bit more certain – they want gold.”

“Yah, so what?” said Charlie, clearly bored.

“Time for another history lesson,” said Helene, getting into her stride. If she saw Charlie rolling his eyes for real, she pretended not to.

“If people don’t have confidence in the currency, the whole system is in danger of collapsing,” explained Helene. “Going back five hundred years, dear old Henry VIII wasn’t quite the bluff King Hal everyone thought he was: in reality he as a war-hungry, greedy bastard. His father had spent a lifetime making England into one of the most stable economies in Europe, but it wasn’t a case of like father like son: until Henry’s reign, English currency was made of gold and silver so the face value was pretty much the same as their bullion value. But Henry had some expensive vanity wars to pay for so he mixed the silver in his coins with a base metal, copper. But he didn’t stop there: it was such a good wheeze that he kept on doing it. Soon the so-called ‘silver’ coins were more copper than silver. That’s how Henry got the nickname ‘Old Coppernose’ because where his portrait was stamped onto the coins, his nose was the highest part of the profile. When the coins got rubbed in people’s pockets, the silver got rubbed off the nose first, it showed the copper underneath.”