Zero Alternative (17 page)

The Colonel picked up his rucksack and placed it on the table. He unzipped an internal pocket, pulled out a small tablet computer and handed it over.

‘DM gave me this a few months ago, for safekeeping. He told me to hide it at the military base – apparently it’s the twin of the one he was always carrying around. I know he would have wanted you to have it.’

‘Thanks.’ Walker took it and turned it on, waiting for the screen to come to life. ‘I can’t believe he’s gone. I miss him.’

A tear ran down JS’s cheek. ‘The world will miss him. DM was special.’

The tablet pinged, red icons blinking before a few words materialized on the screen. ‘Welcome to DeepShare – Omega Version 3.2.’

Walker bit on his tongue and signalled to the barman for another drink.
Now I have a chance
.

Walker finished the coffee sitting in front of him and glanced at his watch. It was well past one in the morning and JS had fallen silent, staring at a spot on the far wall. Walker was loath to disturb him, but he needed to be back in Lugano, planning a way into Italy. He cleared his throat and the Colonel focused back on him, eyes suddenly sharp again.

‘So you think Frankel Schwartz is going to come after you?’

‘If it’s really them, yes. But I’m going to make it hard for anyone to find me.’

‘What about the police? If someone’s trying to frame you…’

‘I have to get a new passport, fast, but I have money and an idea of where to go. It will take a lot of work before I can understand and use Omega properly – I’m nowhere near as good as DM. I’ll need time and a quiet place.’

‘Italy?’

‘Yes.’

‘How are you going to get through the border? Interpol must have signalled your name across Europe by now.’

‘I don’t know yet. I might have to just risk it.’

‘Nonsense – from what you told me, you were lucky enough in Geneva…’ JS picked up his rucksack and gestured. ‘Come with me.’

He paid the bill and looked at the truckers at the table, who had also stood up. They both saluted him and he nodded at them, returning the gesture. ‘
Danke, Soldaten
.’

‘A pleasure, Colonel,’ they replied in German.

Walker stared at them for a second, finally realising how close to the abyss he’d been. And not for the last time, he guessed. He followed JS out of the bar with a weary shrug, refusing to feel
daunted. A large black Mercedes with military plates was parked near Luigi’s Range Rover.

‘Do you need anything from your car?’ asked JS.

‘No. Where are we going?’

‘There’s a military border pass into Italy less than two hours away.’ JS pointed at his uniform. ‘I’ll take you through; no one is going to stop us if you’re with me.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course. Your friend can pick up his Range Rover tomorrow; I’ll drive you to Lake Como and then you can make your way to Milan, or wherever you want to go. What do you think?’

‘That’s great.’ Walker stepped nearer and opened the car door. ‘Thank you JS, you’ve given me a lifeline.’

‘Just make sure those bastards get caught. For DM, for all of us.’

The Swiss highways lay quiet as the car rolled up and down low mountains, whizzing through the myriad tunnels that dotted the Alps. JS drove silently, lost in his own thoughts, and Walker concentrated on the next step now that he had access to DeepShare. It was past two in the morning when they neared Italy and he decided to call Luigi.

‘Yo, is everything all right?’ The broker’s voice was alert; obviously he hadn’t gone to bed yet.

‘Yes. The Colonel had the codes, and he’s taking me through the border into Como. How’s Layla?’

‘A bit better. Ah, wait, here she comes.’ There was a crackling noise as Luigi passed over the phone.

‘Scott, what’s up?’

‘Slight change of plan. How are you feeling?’

‘I’m not dead yet.’

‘Can you meet me in Italy tomorrow morning? You’ll need to get on a train from Lugano to Milan, and bring my stuff.’

‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea. I want to…’

Luigi took the call back and put it on speakerphone. ‘She looks like a ghost. A sick ghost.’

‘I can imagine – Layla, I have no idea what you want to do…’

‘Exactly.’

‘But fainting your way to Spain, or Mexico, or wherever…’

Luigi came on. ‘I’ve spoken to the doctor – he will be waiting for us in Sassari.’

Layla sighed, audibly. ‘Okay, I’ll do it,’ she groaned. ‘But then I go my own way.’

Walker smiled. ‘No one will stop you.’

‘Nobody would dare to try,’ Luigi chuckled.

Minutes later JS parked the car and radioed ahead to let the military guards know he was coming through on urgent business. When the army Mercedes reached the pass they were whisked through without a second glance, a lone soldier saluting them both on the Swiss and Italian side.

Walker breathed a little more easily as they drove down the steep hills and reached Como in less than half an hour. JS parked near the train station, where a few taxis worked the night shift. He got out and hugged Walker, then shook his hand, trying to hold it together.

‘What should I tell the police, if they ask me about you?’

Walker thought for a second. ‘Say we’ve spoken, and that you think I might be hiding somewhere in the UK.’

‘I will do. Be careful, Scott.’

‘You too. I don’t know what these guys might be planning next.’

‘Don’t worry, I live in a top-secret Swiss army base. I’ll be fine.’

The sick old man closed the phone and lay back, considering. His feet ached abominably with the ghost pain of the recent amputation and he cursed his doctors, though he had ordered them to do anything just to give him some extra time. He told himself pain was only a companion, a recent friend who would keep him sharp until he was no more
.

His eyes drifted around the room, ignoring all the monstrous machines that kept him alive and coming to a stop on the original Van Gogh painting hanging in front of the bed. He stared at the amazing self-portrait, the work of a man obviously losing his mind, and he idly wondered what madness would feel like. Then he shrugged and reached for a glass of water, his hand too slow for his impatient brain
.

The old man sighed: the recordings were good, but not good enough to bring down the whole
house of cards. He needed more, but even if resources were not an issue, time was. Exhausted, he closed his eyes, praying to have just a little longer. A few more weeks, and his penance could start
.

Then he could die a happy man
.

Milano

Milan’s Stazione Centrale was a hulking monster built in Mussolini’s time as proof of Italy’s greatness. Its Art-Deco style was mixed haphazardly with concrete and chalk to form a monumental building that was a lot cheaper and shakier than it looked. The perfect metaphor for Italy, then and now, Walker decided.

He slipped through the crowds of the morning rush, looking for a display that showed which track he would need to wait by. Layla was travelling on the 7.11 train from Lugano, and he was early. He had found a cheap room to rest in for a few hours after the taxi ride, but his sleep had been wrecked by nightmares and he had soon given up, deciding to stroll through town as he waited for the night to end.

Milan looked a lot worse than the city where he had spent a wonderful year during university. Its wide boulevards and ancient palaces slouched dirty and unkempt. Even the mighty Duomo Cathedral seemed but a shadow of itself, scaffolding semi-abandoned on a botched clean-up of the facade as the government’s money had ran out. He half-wondered how much he had contributed to the decay, though it was a ridiculous thought. Most of the damage in Italy was self-inflicted, by its insane political system and the heavy bureaucracy, though Finance and central bankers certainly hadn’t helped. Still, it was the sort of thing DeepShare could help with in the future, just as DM had dreamed – maybe even stop the country going down the drain for good when the next crisis hit. If Walker somehow managed to stay alive and out of jail.

Trying to rub the tiredness from his eyes, he found the station coffee shop and ordered a cappuccino and a jam pastry, his stomach rumbling in anticipation. As he waited at the bar he scanned the room, his skin tingling with uneasiness. Though they still attempted to look elegant, a lot of Italians around him were shabbily dressed, in scuffed shoes and worn jackets that in the past would have been thrown away without a thought, especially in Milan. Almost half the customers in the bar were African or Eastern-European, and they seemed in even worse shape than the Italians. A couple immediately approached him, begging for change as he paid for his breakfast. He left them a few coins and finished the steaming cappuccino before checking his watch again – the train was due in five minutes.

Walker slipped out of the bar and hurried to track eleven, his mind in overdrive. Was Layla going to make it, or had she been stopped at the border? Maybe she had fainted again, or decided to
leave at some other station… An unpleasant feeling of helplessness coursed through his veins. Though unwell, Layla had proved in the past how resourceful she could be. And now she was carrying over three–hundred thousand bucks of his money. Was she going to steal from him again?

The train rumbled into the station and Walker swore at himself, trying to calm down.

Within a few seconds the doors of the carriages opened and a dozen people came out. One old man had to be helped by a conductor, and a pregnant lady struggled while carrying a young baby girl. The train was only six wagons long, and mostly empty. In less then two minutes all the passengers were gone.

Layla was nowhere to be seen.

I can’t fucking believe this. Where the hell is the bitch?

He started walking along the track to check whether she was still inside when a hand tapped him on the shoulder. Walker spun round, ready to throw a punch, but stopped just in time.

‘Got you again.’ Layla smiled, raising her hands. ‘I think I’m too good for you.’

‘You probably are,’ he groaned. He studied her face – she looked tired, but in better shape than the previous night. At least she wasn’t fainting. ‘I’m sorry, I was just a little nervous.’

‘About what?’

She looked at him and he shrugged. ‘Oh God, you thought I was going to run with the money.’

‘It crossed my mind.’

‘Asshole.’ Layla turned on her heel and walked away. ‘Where’s the train we are supposed to take, before I change my mind and drop you right here?’ she hissed.

Walker caught up, pointing towards a nearby track. ‘Come on, you
are
a thief.’

‘And you are a goddamned banker. I’m not sure what’s worse.’

Tirrenia

The second-class cabin on the ferry from Genoa to Sardinia was cramped and rusty, but at least the ship was massive, the sea calm and the evening clear. Walker placed their bags on the floor and glanced at Layla, who was already sprawled on the lower bunk bed. She had been fading during their train journey from Milan, becoming quieter as time passed.

‘How are you holding up?’ he said.

She grimaced, one hand going up to her shoulder. ‘I’ve been better.’

Walker helped her out of her jumper and started unwinding the tight gauze, noticing it had turned a pallid pink. Layla’s entire upper arm was swollen and tender. He touched around the wound and she moaned, then asked him in a low voice, ‘Is it bad?’

‘I think you’ll lose the hand.’

‘Go to hell.’ She lay back and closed her eyes.

Walker shrugged and rummaged in his rucksack, finding his tablet. When he returned to the bed she was already half-asleep. Which was perfect; he had time to get some work done. He left the cabin, locking the door to go in search of some quick food and a drink, his mind buzzing with plans for the next few days.

Walker put down his coffee cup and readjusted his chair, brushing a few crumbs away from the old wooden table. He glanced about but no one seemed to be looking at him. He turned on the tablet and fired up DeepOmega, digging into the latest financial markets events. After about an hour it became clear that the machine had picked up a scent and was forecasting serious trouble for a large pharmaceutical conglomerate in the US. Exactly the sort of thing he needed to make the hook more appetizing for his old schoolmate. He quickly typed a message to Mosha, explaining what he expected to happen to the company and giving him Deep’s target for the share price, before saying he would be in touch again after the events.
I wonder if he’s gone to the police already
. Probably not – Mosha’s hedge fund was in trouble, and he would be loath to attract attention to himself. This should give the big Serb further room for thought.

After sending the message, Walker returned to their cabin to check on Layla. The room was
dark and stuffy and he could hear her murmuring in her sleep. He sat on the bed and swore in a low voice – her fever had not broken and the bedsheets were drenched in sweat. He grabbed some medicines and gave her a sip of water, his hand stroking her hair.

‘I’m cold,’ she whispered.

‘I know.’ He lay down next to her and Layla snuggled into him, pressing her body against his warmth. She shivered and her breathing slowed as she drifted back to sleep. He readjusted himself and hugged her closer, then he closed his eyes and tried to switch off, his body exhausted and battered by the lack of sleep and continuous tension of the last seventy-two hours. What felt like minutes later he woke with a start as Layla pushed hard against him, trying to sit up on the bed. He realised she was in the middle of a fever-dream and tried to restrain her, whispering against her hair. She groaned and fought him with unexpected strength, before lying back and speaking in a low voice, her disconnected words almost unintelligible in a sleepy Spanish. ‘No puedo… Capitan, no es possible…’

Walker half-rolled her, holding her closer. She tried to turn back, leaning on her wounded arm and moaning in pain. Then she mumbled something, her voice too low for him to understand, until she shuddered and half-shouted, ‘Rafa, no!’