The Shift of Numbers (12 page)

Overlaying this in the bottom left hand and stretching out past the metallic s
trip into the watermark wa
s an orangey/yellow impression of the sun. The right hand side was taken up with a classic side-on portrait of the celebrated leader looking a little stern. Strangely
,
almost no attention was paid to the back of the note and all it contained were some swirled patterns and a map of the country. All denominations of the notes had the same design with the only difference being a coloured rectangle in the top left and lower right
,
each containing the
i
r
written worth.

Taking to his role with gusto
,
t
he lecturer walked round behind his audience and turned on his laser pointer.
“This is your bank note.” The red dot danced around the screen erratically. “
It is p
roduced in a secret location in the city by 1 man called ‘the printer’. It is his detailed handiwork that forms the backbone of the anti-counterfeiting measures. We all know the classics - holograms, watermarks,
metallic strips, serial numbers
and
,
of course
, the quality of the paper
. In particular
, in our note, there is
the way the yellow rays of the sun change to red as they bleed into the watermark. This effect costs
an extortionate amount of money
and is the reason the plates have to be changed every few months. It is the most efficient way to discourage replication, by making the process too expe
nsive to set up. But I a
m digressing.”

He clicked his remote and a digital map of the country appeared on the screen. The map was covered in little tiny black d
ots. As he zoomed in to a built-
up area of the city by the river
,
the dots increased in volume and some of them began to move. The man looked into the
puzzled faces of his now
fully-
eng
aged
audience and left them to p
onder for a few seconds.

“I can see that I now have your full attention. Something you will not know is that
inside every note -
somewhat perversely
,
inside the eye of our
great
leader
-
is a highly sophisticated and undetectable GPS device tracking the precise location of every single note produced.”

A gasp went round the room.

“This system has been active for the last 9 years and coincided with the last time the notes took a change of design.
Why,
you may ask. A
t least
,
I did.

“Lets take an ide
al world as a starting point. A
ll transactions are digital and the computers that manage them foolproof. We could track every single point-of-sale. No one could cheat. Take a drug dealer
, for instance. H
is client would come to him and purchase some of his product and a money transfer would take place. But he is selling nothing, has no
outgoings on raw materials, no t
ax record.
A f
lag goes up in the
computer,
an investigation takes place
, and then an arrest.

“This may seem like a vast over-
simplification and you would be right. But
,
to the computer
,
every person exists as a spreadsheet, a column of income and another of expenditure, plus or minus their starting worth. We
are each
connected to others by the
moving of these numbers and they,
in turn
, are connected
to us. Imagine a spider diagram connecting all the transa
ctions a person has ever made with
others. What a massive amount of data that
would be and what fantastic implications it would have for the fight against crime.

“If we investigate the aforementioned drug dealer
, every single person that deposited money into his or her account
could potentially be a client; a
nyone that the dealer sent mo
ney to
could be the next 1 up in the supply chain. The computer would crunch the numbers, cross-referencing information from police, hea
lth
care providers and education
workers
. Finally
,
a number of scenarios are virtually born and each 1 run for a probability matc
h based on the financials.

“This may seem a far-fetched idea but that was what our wonderfu
l leader
was aiming for with the GPS de
vices. As a demonstration of the
power
we now have,
let
’
s have a go at solving some crime, keeping it within the confines of our demonstration of a drug dealer.”

He pulled out a keyboard from behind the monitor, sat at the desk and began typing. The screen showed that he was accessing the enforcement database. A woman’s face popped up
,
complete with details of yesterday
’
s arrest for possession of a small quantity of drugs.

“A recreational
user
,
by the looks of it.”

Her bank records flashed up on the screen showing a string of withdrawals.

“I’m guessing that she bought the drugs
with her last cash withdrawal.” He pointed at the screen. “I’m going to track where that money went in real time.” And
,
sure enough
,
the screen changed back to the map with the little black dots, only this time 1 of the black dots had a red circle round it and the date and time at the bottom of the
screen
showed yesterday
,
at 12:15.

“This is 2 minutes before the cash was withdrawn from the bank
.
” He sped up the clo
ck and they all watched in fast-
forward as the red circled dot travelled around the city stopping regularly. He push
ed another button and the green-
lined buildings on the map came up with tags showing what they were.

“Watch as she goes into various shops.” The dot moved quicker along a road. “Now into her car.” He briefly brought up details of her driving licence and insurance details on the right of the screen. The dot stopped in a small suburb outside of the town and stayed still.

“She doesn’t live there. L
et
’
s see who does…” After a brief tap on the keyboard, a man
’
s face appeared, along with an arrest record for possession with intent to supply. “Ladies and gentlemen
,
we have our dealer. But let
’
s not stop there. You may note the lack of money held at the address by the lack of black dots.” He brought up the bank
details, showing several medium-
sized deposits over the last month and
one large cash
withdrawal.

“Let
’
s track the withdrawal.” At the push of a button
,
a concentrated black dot with a red circle moved from the high street bank directly, and at speed, along a number of roads eastwa
rds until it stopped in a built-
up area of the city. Zooming in on the map as the dot stopped, the tag showed
th
at
it
was at a disused factory.

“The big
score,” effused the would-
be lecturer, clearly enjoying himself. “This is where it gets
very
interesting. I want you to imagine that the mastermind behind this deal wasn’t actually a
t the deal himself
. See all those other dots on the screen at the same time as the deal was going down. They are the other people at the meeting who are carrying money. I’m going to ask the
computer to give me a likely I
D of them by following the money back to where it originated, which is either at a bank or from someone who went to a bank.” He clicked a few
buttons and the computer computed
for a moment. Then
, a number of
names appeared on the screen.

“There we go. Of the 5 people at the deal and
,
discounting the 1 we al
ready know of, t
he computer gives us a 96% match on the top name with the other 3 receiving their cash via this company, owned by this man.” He pointed to a subject numb
er and brought up his details. It was a university-
educated accountant.

“Someone is trying to cover their tracks.” He smiled and typed again. “It seems our accountant gets most of his funds via small companies who all seem to link back to this man.” He pointed to the screen as a well-groomed face appeared
,
along with a record for
suspected
drug trafficking and extortion. Red letters under the face flashed ‘Current open file’.

“You see its power now?”

*

“
G
ather round
, please. W
e have a lot of patients to see and not enough time.”

Fluffy metallic-
tasting heaviness - filling all space surrounding him.
Wave
s of feeling without pain lapping
around the island of his body.
A
new state of flux carrying an awareness of the self…

“Differential diagnosis. The patient was admitted yesterday after being hit by a bus. He presents with facial bruising, concussion and several cracked ribs. His left ulna and fibula are fractured. The MRI and ultrasound showed no internal bleeding or swelling. Seemingly unrelated to the trauma are patches of orange
skin
on his lower extremities, in particular his feet. Questions?”

“TOX screen?”

“Negative for opiates and alcohol. Positive for
fluoxetine and valproate
.
”

“Bipolar disorder?”

“Yes, but doesn’t explain the orange skin.”

“Wilson’s disease?”

“I’m not even going to answer that…”

“Anything in the patient history?
”

“He’s a John Doe.”

“Beta carotene?”

“Raised, 40 times the norm. Good question.”

“But he should be orange all over…”

“He should. Any ideas as to why he’s not?”

“Carotenoids deposit themselves in the outer layer of the skin. Why the selectivity?”

“Perhaps the
y’
re binding to another molecule? Heavy metals?”

“Add the test to the chart.”

“What about pesticides?

“I want you to do a full work-
up. The next patient is less of a mystery, presented in a comatose state, brought on by a massive electric shock. See the burn marks radiating from the hands up to the chest and neck. Tachycardia on lower doses of pain relief, all we can do is make him more comfortable. Recommendations for pain mana…”

I’m awake, I’m Pete, I
can’t see, I’m trapped, I can’t move, pain, burning pain, blistering scorching pain.

“Prolonged PT waves. He’s going to crash. C
all a code.”

Beep beep beep

“Push 10 milligrams IV epinephrine stat.”

Beeeeeeeeep

“Charging to 200. CLEAR.”

*

The
Scientist
crawled,
scraping
his belly across the cold mud and grass
, slowly approaching his prey,
wincing every so often from the pain radiating from his bandaged thigh.
He used a thin
,
meandering column of smoke from an old fire as a compass bearing. The crest of a small hill to the southeast with a glorious view of the valley was picked as the ‘spot’, the hut
,
the
killing field. He figured the shot would be about 80 metres. Relaxing down into the soft grass, shielded from view by several prickly gorse b
ushes and the camouflage suit, h
e had calculated that a late afternoon winter sun would be at his 10 o’clock
and low, n
ot enough for the keen observer to s
pot any glare from the scope but
enough to highlight the primary target. He could smell the tang of cheap aftershave and cabbage mixed with
the
earthy tones of ‘real’ fertili
s
er rising from the fields directly in front and to the east. Each field
was
a near perfect square stacked symmetrically and fading surreally into the winter mist. The hut sat at the far end of the field closest to his position in a clearing of surrounding trees. As he gazed down
,
fighting to suppress his anger
,
he noticed that the trees nearest the hut were misshapen and deformed. Parts of them, root
s and branches were
twisted and gn
arled into oddly comic shapes, g
rowing too quickly for the rest of the tree, mutated by some unknown force. He knew the reason immediately.