Daniel Suarez - Influx

“You have got to be kidding me.”

McAllen smirked at Alvarez and then opened the door without knocking. Inside was an empty secretary’s station—its huge IBM Selectric also covered. But the door to the executive suite beyond was open, and they could hear a man talking there as if dictating something.

“Hello?” McAllen walked through the office door and into a scene straight out of photos from his father’s days at the State Department. Sitting behind a large oak desk with a matching credenza and bar table, and paneled walls filled with institutional art, was a handsome, sharp-featured man in his fifties wearing a pinstripe suit. He sat in a large leather chair that had clearly seen better days.

McAllen ushered the other men inside and walked forward, his hand extended. “Mr…?”

The man did not rise or extend his own hand across the wide desk. “I’m certain you know who I am, Deputy Secretary McAllen.”

Having his hand refused made McAllen angry. “What on earth is going on here? Your bureau is a pigsty.”

“Yes, you might have noticed that our funding levels have dropped precipitously in recent years. I would have thought that would obviate the need for this meeting.” He gestured to the dusty chairs. “Have a seat.”

Alvarez answered for them, scowling. “No, thanks.”

Fortis was examining the decay everywhere around them. “This is unbelievable…”

McAllen leaned down onto Hedrick’s desk, leaving handprints in the dust. “Look, I don’t know what you’re running out of here, but I don’t appreciate you dragging me all the way to Cleveland for a meeting. This could have been dealt with in D.C. If it wasn’t for the DNI, I wouldn’t have come here at all.”

Hedrick appeared unruffled.

“You and your people have operated for ages without supervision, but that’s coming to an end. I’m laying down the law, and you will comply. I want a tour of all your facilities, a record of all your activities and personnel, and an accounting of all your assets.”

Hedrick still looked serene.

McAllen was disappointed. Red-faced and intimidating, he usually rattled people when he got up a head of steam. Not this Hedrick fellow. “Well?”

“Well what? I said I would meet with you, and we’ve met.”

“You don’t seem to understand. We are reasserting control over your agency, and personally, given the state of this place and your attitude, I think we’ll be finding someone else to run it. If it even needs to exist at all. I’m still not entirely clear on what it is that you people do.”

“I would have thought that was abundantly clear, Deputy Secretary McAllen. The BTC is charged with monitoring promising technologies, foreign and domestic; assessing their social, political, environmental, and economic impacts with the goal of preserving social order.”

McAllen, Alvarez, and Fortis exchanged looks and burst out laughing.

“That’s very funny. And you do all that from here? What do you do, type up reports on your typewriters? I notice you don’t seem to have anyone left in the typing pool.”

Hedrick clasped his hands under his chin for a moment in contemplation, and when he finally spoke, an edge crept into his voice. “I realize that Homeland Security is a comparatively new agency—and that Director of National Intelligence is an even newer post. So I gather you folks are unclear about how things work.”

“I think you’re the one who’s unclear about how things work, Mr. Hedrick. And you had better start showing respect for the chain of command.”

Hedrick narrowed his eyes. “I had hoped we could conduct this matter in a cordial fashion. But I see that I need to be blunt: Let your superiors in Washington know that the BTC is still very supportive of popular government.”

“Oh, are you?”

“We have no need for your funding. Our quantum computers perform trades a thousand times faster than the rest of the financial markets. It’s like running a race when everyone else is in slow motion…”

McAllen frowned at the strange little man.

“So my message to you is simple: Stay the hell out of my way. If you have any delusions about bringing us to heel, you will go the way of all the people before you who tried the same thing. Ask the senior people in the CIA’s Directorate of Science and Technology if you have any doubts.”

McAllen again exchanged looks with his companions—this time shock. “Are you threatening me? Are you threatening the deputy secretary of Homeland Security—in front of witnesses?”

“If you think you’re going to take control of the BTC, you’re mistaken. You have no idea who we are and just how completely we’ve outgrown you all. Now go away and don’t come back. Consider yourself warned.”

With that, Graham Hedrick winked out of existence—as if he were an old television screen.

McAllen jumped back in stunned amazement.

Alvarez immediately drew his weapon and rushed around the desk, kicking the chair aside. By now Fortis had also drawn his weapon and was scanning outside the office doors.

“We’re clear out here.”

Alvarez checked the credenza and floor. “All clear here, too.” He looked up at a complete loss. “What just happened, chief? I have no idea what just happened.”

Fortis came back in. “Neither do I. Was he real? Did you guys see him, too?”

Alvarez gazed around them. “This place is abandoned. They’re not here anymore. This is their last official address—but they’re not here anymore. From the looks of it, they left here decades ago.” He looked back at McAllen. “What does it mean?”

McAllen lowered himself into Hedrick’s dusty chair, not even noticing what he was doing to his own suit. “It means the BTC might be a bigger problem than we thought.”

Alexa watched the laser lineswiftly scan the contours of her own body. Then the machines pulled away, leaving her alone on the medical bench.

Varuna’s voice came to her from the ceiling. “You may sit up.”

She did so. “Why am I here?”

“You don’t recall anything unusual recently?”

“No. Like what?”

A holographic projection appeared before her—a small three-dimensional recording of Alexa in a surveillance control room, surrounded by BTC technicians talking excitedly as they, in turn, manipulated holograms that depicted surveillance subjects themselves interacting with still more holograms. They were spying on their own spies. Who in turn seemed to be spying on still other BTC personnel. The fractal nature of it was dizzying—the vertigo of two mirrors facing each other, into infinity.

Alexa gazed at herself in the hologram and could see that she was lost in the surveillance image as others moved about her, asked her questions, and then eventually moved on in embarrassment as she didn’t respond.

“Your absence seizures have returned.”

“They don’t last long.”

“They pose a risk to operations.”

“There’s too much visual input in the command center. I should be doing fieldwork. It’s what I’m good at. You know that.”

“That’s no longer possible given your biotech classification.”

“It makes no sense. I was allowed to leave the facility before Director Hedrick took charge. I’m no different than I was then—”

“Tech level eight cannot be removed from BTC facilities without approval from the director.”

Alexa sat silently, pondering her situation.

“I must recommend that you be put on leave until the neurological cause of your seizures can be identified and corrected.”

“They never find the cause. We’ve been down this road before.”