Salvation полностью

“I want you to tell me about me.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re a matcher. You find specific people, ones who fit a profile. Any profile you’re given. So show me how good you are.”

“This is bollocks. You’ve got nothing on me.”

“I have your name, and I was told you’re the best.”

“No proof, pal.”

“Don’t need it. You find people—people who are vulnerable without realizing it. I know how it works; my office has to deal with plenty of cases.”

“Your office?”

“Yeah. All those starry-eyed graduate kids who’ve just grabbed themselves a shit job at the very bottom of a big company and think they’re going to make it to CEO one day. You see their weakness, you know them. It’s a special and rare talent you have there, Conrad. You read something in them that tells you they’ll be tempted if they’re offered some mild narcotics in the right circumstances, by their new best friend. You see one, out here on the bridge, or in a pub, and you sell his name to groups who specialize in trading information. And in a month’s time that kid’ll have a serious addiction, his credit will be deep negative, he’ll do anything to get his next squirt, including handing over access to the company system. Or a girl, pretty but shy, one who can be corrupted easily. And the next thing she knows she’s met a great guy, with a great smile, who’s showing her a life she only fantasized about, one that pulls her in deeper and deeper. Bingo! Then after a time he’s not just her boyfriend, he’s her pimp. Another kid ruined. Are you getting the picture here, pal? Do you see I know you? Gotta admire the irony.”

“You know nothing, you piece of shit! You’re blind.”

“This isn’t personal, so don’t make that mistake. You need to do better, a lot better. Am I right? Now tell me about me.”

Conrad McGlasson glared at him. “You’re not police.”

“That was a fifty-fifty guess. Even I could get that one. Come on, live a little, Conrad. Impress me.”

“Russian; the accent’s still there. Received plenty of telomere treatments, and good ones. You’re over a hundred, but hide it well. You work at that—body posture and clothes. The clothes are important; they indicate status. You don’t cling to the old comforts; you make yourself stay fashionable. You have arrogance and surety, and you found me easily, so there’s plenty of money behind you. It’s corporate, not private wealth. You’ve done your time in the ranks, but you’re now too important to be a tactical team leader, which means that if you’re taking point, I’m valuable. I know that because people around us are getting antsy now that their internet feed’s mysteriously dropped out. You did that to stop me alerting anyone you’ve found me. That takes clout, digital and political. You’re a senior officer in Connexion Security.” He picked up his beer and raised it in salute.

“Not bad,” Yuri admitted. “A proper little Sherlock Holmes.”

“So why am I valuable? What are you doing here?”

Yuri took out a card and told Boris to spray a picture of Horatio on it. When he put it on the table next to the beer, Conrad gave it a cursory glance.

“Did you match him?” Yuri asked.

“No.”

“Okay, I’ll accept that for now. But it’s a small market; there can’t be many of you.”

“Is that a question?”

“No. Actually, I’m quite impressed. A Turing above G-five can do a similar job as you, but it requires access to a thousand databases. But you, you just look. I find that fascinating.” His finger tapped the picture on the card. “What do you see?”

“Him? A nobody, which is something of a paradox considering how desperate you are to find him.”

“Not really. He genuinely is a nobody. Your problem is that he met someone who is most definitely not a nobody. So tell me, what do you see, what do you match, when you have a contract?”

“This is hypothetical, right?”

“I don’t give a shit about you. Your value is measured solely in the information you provide me today. There is no deal on the table here. So? What do you look for?”

Conrad’s hands came up to massage his temple. “All right, it goes like this. You have a client, someone who wants information on a company, maybe for a share short, some corporate shit, and—”

“No.”

“What?”

“I don’t want a company scam. I’m a serial killer, a rich fuck who’s more twisted than any politician. The cops are closing in, and I need to escape.”

“What?”

“I need a new body. One I can transplant my brain into.”

“Oh, no. No no no! Do not do this. You have no idea who you’re fucking with.”

Yuri leaned in closer, his skin warming with excitement. Conrad’s reaction was the first indication that brain transplants might really be happening.

Conrad, of course, saw his reaction, and winced. “Walk away, pal. Tell your boss or whoever it is pulling your strings that you got it wrong. These people you’re asking about, they won’t respect who you are. You’ll wind up with someone like Cancer on your arse, or worse.”