* * *
“I’m curious about a number of things,” Vann said, to Bell. They were sitting across the table from each other in one of the Bureau’s interrogation rooms. Vann had a manila folder in front of her. “But I’ll tell you what I’m curious about right this second. It’s that you’re here in an FBI interrogation room, under arrest, and you have neither affirmatively invoked your right to remain silent or asked for your lawyer. You should. You should do both.”
“Yes,” I said. I was standing behind Vann. I was in one of the threeps the FBI used for visiting agents. The agent who had been using it half an hour before was currently stewing in Chicago because I had interrupted her work. She could stew for a while longer. “Although if I were you I wouldn’t try to call Sam Schwartz.”
“Why not?” Bell asked, looking up at me.
“We arrested him this morning on charges of murder and conspiracy, relating to the Loudoun Pharma bombing,” I said. “Won’t his boss be surprised.”
“Hubbard’s in the clear,” Vann said. “Everything points to Schwartz alone. Not the best sort of extracurriculars to have, though.” She turned back to Bell. “Now. Would you like to remain silent?” she asked. “When you answer, keep in mind that the minute you were out of your apartment and on the way here, we executed a warrant to search your residence and belongings. Which is to say we’ve already found the video you made confessing to the murder, and also, your suicide.”
“Which explains the gun,” I said. “Stabbing’s fine for your sister, but you wanted your own end to be quick and mostly painless. But I suppose me rushing you scrambled your plans a bit.”
“So,” Vann said, again. “Do you want to remain silent? Do you want a lawyer?”
“You have the video,” Bell said, to Vann. He motioned up to me. “Your partner saw the attack. What would be the point?”
“To be clear, you’re waiving your right to silence and to an attorney,” Vann said. “I really need you to say ‘yes’ if that’s in fact what you want.”
“Yes,” Bell said. “It’s what I want. I intended to kill my sister, Cassandra Bell. That was my goal.”
“Well, that makes our lives a lot easier,” Vann said. “Thank you.”
“I’m not doing it for you,” Bell said. “I wanted people to know my sister is dangerous.”
“Is this covered in your suicide note?” Vann asked. “Because if it is, if it’s all the same we can just skip ahead to us taking you in and putting you in federal detention while you await sentencing.”
“Well, there is that one thing,” I said.
Vann snapped the fingers of her left hand. “That’s right. I did have one more question for you, Nicholas.”
“What is it?” Bell asked.
“How long are you going to keep this up?” Vann asked.
Bell looked at her uncertainly. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”
“I mean, how long are you going to keep pretending to be Nicholas Bell, Mr. Hubbard?” Vann asked. “I ask only because Shane and I have a bet going on here. Shane thinks you’re only going to keep this up until we get you into detention. After all, you do have a life and a multinational conglomerate to run, and now that you’ve confessed as Bell and admitted guilt, the hard part is done.”
“That’s right,” I said. “When the real Bell surfaces and backtracks in detention, no one will believe him. They’ll think he’s begun to regret his decision and is maybe hoping for some sort of psychiatric ruling.”
“That’s a fair call,” Vann said. “But I said no. You’ve come too far with this to half-ass it now. I think you’re committed to this all the way through the sentencing and housing. It’s only once the door slams shut on Bell in a six-by-nine cell that you’ll know for sure you’ve gotten away with it. So you have to stick with it, just like you’ve stuck with it this entire week. Yes, that means Accelerant doesn’t have you at the helm. But maybe when Bell’s asleep you can sneak out and leave a note saying you’re on vacation for a couple of weeks. They can get along without you.”
“Legal might have a problem,” I observed.
“They’ve got a lot of lawyers,” Vann said. “They can work around.”
“Neither of you are making any sense,” Bell said.
“He’s sticking with it,” I said.
“Well, he has to, right now,” Vann said. “But let’s mix things up. Mr. Bell, I have a picture for you.” Vann opened the manila folder, pulled a picture out of it, and slid the photo over to Nicholas Bell.
“Meet Camille Hammond,” she said, to him. “Twenty-three years old, and a resident of the Lady Bird Johnson Haden Care Facility in Occoquan, which is where the NIH stores Hadens with other severe brain disorders, who have no family or other means of support. More accurately, Camille was a resident, until Wednesday evening, when she died of a persistent pneumonial infection. Unfortunately common in people in her situation.”
Bell looked at the picture but said nothing.
“The NIH wasn’t too thrilled with us when we asked if we could borrow her for today’s festivities,” Vann continued. “But then, they also didn’t want to see Cassandra Bell brutally murdered by her own brother on the eve of the largest civil rights march on D.C. in a decade, either. So in the end they decided to help us.”
She leaned in across the table to Bell.
“So here’s the thing I want to know,” she said. “You came into that room to murder your sister. Someone you knew your entire life. I’m a little confused how you managed not to recognize that the woman you stabbed eight times was not the same woman that you had known for twenty years.”
Bell looked up and stayed silent.
“You know what, don’t answer that,” Vann said, and looked back to me. “Tell them to bring in Tony.”
I sent the message with my inside voice. A minute later Tony was in the room with us.
“Tony Wilton, Lucas Hubbard,” I said, by way of introduction. “Lucas Hubbard, Tony Wilton.”
“If it was a week ago, I’d say it was an honor to meet you,” Tony said, to Bell. “As it is, I can still say I admire your skill at coding.”
“Tony,” Vann said. “If you would be so kind as to catch up Mr. Hubbard on your latest adventures.”
“So, that thing you did where you downloaded code into the processor through the interpolator really was some genius-level work,” Tony said. “But it’s also really dangerous, because, well”—Tony gestured at Bell—“for obvious reasons. So last night I wrote a patch that would block that pathway, and the NIH, which can still dictate mandatory patching, put it at the top of their priority queue. Right around the time you entered Cassandra Bell’s apartment, it started going out to every Integrator in the United States. And after they’re patched, it’ll go into the general queue for Hadens, too. I mean, there’s no way that you could exploit it with a Haden like you do with an Integrator. But then we didn’t see this coming with the Integrators until you exploited it. Evil but brilliant. So we decided better safe than sorry.”
“I’m not understanding anything you’re telling me,” Bell said. “What is an interpolator?”
Tony looked over to me. “He’s really committed to this,” he said.
“What choice does he have?” I said. “If he drops out now, the real Nicholas Bell surfaces and spills everything.”
“Which reminds me,” Tony said, and turned back to Bell. “I’m sure you of all people are aware that patches to neural networks can be general or they can be tailored to be very, very specific. As in, a patch for one single neural network.”
Bell looked back at him, blankly.
“Okay, since you’re pretending not to understand any of this, I’ll make it really simple,” Tony said. “In addition to coding a very general patch last night, I also coded a very specific patch, for the neural network here.” Tony tapped the top of Bell’s head, lightly. “It does two things. One of them deals with control of the data stream.”
“Pay attention,” Vann said, to Bell. “This is good.”
“Usually during integration either the Integrator or the client is able to stop the data flow—if the client is done with the session or the Integrator’s had enough of the client,” Tony said. “Right now you’ve managed to disable Bell’s ability to kick you out of his head.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” Vann said.
“Right,” Tony said. “So the patch I just had automatically downloaded into Bell’s network removes your ability to cut the data stream. You’ve got Bell trapped in his own head. And now I’ve got you trapped in the same place. Go ahead, try to cut it.”
“Oh, he’s not going to do that,” Vann said. “You’re bluffing to try to get him to leave Bell’s head.”
“Huh,” Tony said. “I hadn’t thought about that. Fair call.”
“He’ll find out soon enough,” I said. “He had Nicholas Bell trying to kill his sister.” I tapped my head. “I have it right here. When the door of that six-by-nine cell slams shut, he’ll be in there with Bell.”
“So that’s the first thing about the patch,” Tony said. “The second thing is something I think you’re going to really like.”
“Hold that thought,” Vann said. Tony silenced himself. Vann turned to Bell. “Anything to say yet, Mr. Hubbard?”
“I honestly don’t know what you are going on about,” Bell said, pleadingly. “I’m very confused.”
“Let’s aim for some clarity,” Vann said, and nodded to me. “Our next guests, please.”
Another minute, and May and Janis Sani came into the room. Vann got up to give May her seat. Janis stood behind her grandmother, hand lightly on her shoulder.
“This is him?” May asked, looking at Vann.
“It is,” Vann said. “On the inside at least.”
“I don’t know these two ladies,” Bell said.
“And that’s the first true thing you’ve said all afternoon,” Vann said.
“Lucas Hubbard, May and Janis Sani,” I said. “Their last name may sound familiar because you used Johnny Sani, their grandson and brother.”
“This is insane,” Bell said.
“I think we’ve done enough of the preliminaries,” Vann said. “And I’m getting tired of the bullshit. So let’s get right to it.” She put her foot on Bell’s chair and spun it back and out from the table.
“We lied to you about Schwartz,” she said, to Bell. “We’ve got him on murder and conspiracy, but he’s cut a deal with us. He’s told us the whole story of your play to dominate the Haden market. His version of the story doesn’t look good for you at all. We’re ready to hit Accelerant with a battalion of forensics geeks. I’ve got twenty more at your house waiting for me to tell them to go in. We have almost more warrants on you and your companies than we have people to serve them. Almost.”
Vann kicked Bell’s chair, lightly. It jumped a fraction of an inch, and Bell with it.
“But you are still here playing your idiotic game of ‘I’m not Hubbard.’ It’s time to stop playing that game,” Vann said. “So here’s what we’re doing now. You stop pretending to be Bell.” She pointed to May and Janis Sani. “You can start by telling the two of them what really happened to Johnny Sani. They deserve to know.
“Or, you can keep pretending to be Bell, in which case, here’s Tony to tell you what happens next.” She looked over to Tony. “Tell him about the other thing your patch does,” she said.
“It flips the script,” Tony said.
“A little more technical, please,” Vann said, looking at Bell. “I think he can keep up.”
“When a client uses an Integrator, the Integrator steps back and lets the client’s consciousness drive the body,” Tony said. “The Integrator assists but is supposed to hold back.” He gestured at Bell. “With your variation of it, the Integrator’s consciousness is pushed back entirely. It’s disconnected from any control of the body at all. The patch I’ve introduced into Bell’s body reverses that. It gives the Integrator complete physical control while relegating the client to the background, unable to do anything but watch.”
“The client experiences lock in,” I said.
“That’s right,” Tony said. “Now obviously it makes no sense to do this in the usual client-Integrator relationship. But then”—he looked down at Bell—“this isn’t the usual relationship, is it.”
“Bell gets his life back and Hubbard is trapped inside, forever,” I said.
“And that’s not even the good part,” Vann said. She got in very close to Bell. “Here’s the really good part. Bell is a known Integrator for Hubbard now. So why not just … let that roll?”
“Have him say he’s Hubbard?” I asked.
“Have him be Hubbard,” Vann said. She looked up at Tony and me. “We back off on the warrants, let Schwartz take the fall, and install Bell at the head of Accelerant. And then he starts dismantling the company. Sells it off, piece by piece. And with the profits from the sales, he invests in Hadens. Starting with your dad’s new thing, Chris.”
“Oh, right,” I said. I leaned in on the table, toward Bell. “My father just reached a deal with the Navajo Nation to fund a nonprofit competitor to the Agora,” I said. “The Navajo have an immense server farm. More than enough room for the entire Haden nation. Staffed by Navajo techs. Affordable and accessible. And technically not in U.S. territory. We’re announcing it tomorrow at the march. To make the point that the Haden community has another option besides being strip-mined by someone trying to corner the market.”
“Just think,” Vann said. “Cassandra Bell announcing it, Marcus Shane standing on one side, Lucas Hubbard on the other. Coming together for every Haden. And then Hubbard dismantling his company, a piece at a time, to keep funding the goal. Until there’s nothing left.”
“It’s a dream,” I said, standing back from the table.
“Yes,” Vann said.
“A more than slightly unethical dream.”
“More unethical than bombing competitors, attacking federal agents, and planning to assassinate a Haden activist?” Vann asked.
“Well, no,” I admitted.
“Then I’m fine with it,” Vann said. “And the only people who will ever know are in this room right now. Anyone have a problem with it?”
No one said anything.
“Then these are the options you have, Hubbard,” Vann said, returning to Bell. “Admit who you are, and tell May and Janis what happened to Johnny Sani. You’re guilty but your company will survive. Keep doing what you’re doing and we flip the script. Bell gets his life back from you and then takes over your life. And you watch everything you’ve ever done fall apart. Make your choice.”
Bell sat there, silent, for more than a minute.
Then.
“At first it was more a thought experiment than anything else,” Hubbard said. And it was definitely Hubbard. Even cuffed to a chair the swagger was there. “I had written the code and modeled the network, designed for a client to integrate full-time. There was no point to it other than curiosity.
“But then Abrams-Kettering came along and the business model I’d been working on was changing. Other businesses started to panic but I knew there were opportunities there. They just needed to be directed. In a way that was effective but untraceable, and not reproducible. If I used the network I designed, I knew I could manipulate people and events in ways that other businesses couldn’t. And in a way that couldn’t be traced back to me.
“It was Sam who pointed out that Medichord had access to Navajo Nation medical records, and that those records weren’t part of the U.S. national health database. We could find a test subject there who would be otherwise invisible—no records elsewhere, nothing to track. We found two. Johnny and Bruce. We moved on Johnny first. He was…”
Hubbard stopped, realizing how what he was about to say would sound to Johnny Sani’s family.
“Say it,” Vann said.
“He was mentally deficient,” Hubbard said. “Easy to fool. Easy to control. We set him up in California through a Chinese company Accelerant had a minority stake in. Our contacts with him were through one-of-a-kind threeps. Everything untraceable even though Johnny wasn’t smart enough to figure it out. Overcautious. We kept everything small as possible. Only Sam and I knew everything.
“When the network was installed we tested it first for a few minutes at a time, then an hour or two. We became comfortable using Johnny for more things. Driving him on simple tasks. A little corporate spying. Some bits of sabotage. Nothing really significant. Simply testing the capabilities.
“We figured out that Johnny was limited. Not in his brain—that didn’t matter when I was driving him. But the same lack of identity that attracted us to him limited him. Having no identity makes it harder to move in our society, not easier.
“With what we learned from Johnny, we started working on commercial network models. We own Lucturn, and we had the database of networks to work with. I came up with the interpolator method to hack into the networks and leave a door open. All we had to do was wait for the right opportunity.
“Then Abrams-Kettering passed and the walkout and march were planned. It was the right opportunity to destabilize the market and pick off companies we wanted.
“I knew Nicholas Bell was an Integrator. I’d known people who used him. And I knew that when Abrams-Kettering passed, he would be looking for a long-term contract. But I didn’t want to approach him directly. I had one last job for Johnny Sani. I drove him out to D.C. and used him to contact Bell, posing as a tourist. I used him to get into Bell’s mind.
“When I was in Bell, Sam was supposed to link right in and take over Johnny. But Sam got distracted for a couple of minutes. Johnny came to, looked around, grabbed a love seat, and ran at the window with it, and pushed it out into the street. Then he came back, grabbed a glass, and smashed it against the dresser. I thought he was going to use it on me. I put up my hands.
“He yelled at me, telling me that now someone would come up to see what was happening. He wanted to stop being used. He wanted to know what he was being used for. He said he wanted to go home.”
Hubbard paused again.
“Keep going,” Vann said. “If you won’t say it, Bell will. It’s all coming out, Hubbard.”
“I laughed at him,” Hubbard said. “I knew Sam was coming to link to him and then that would be the end of it. So I told him that what he was being used for was to make me very rich. He wanted to know if he’d ever been made to hurt people. I told him that he didn’t remember it anyway so he shouldn’t worry about it.
“Then he said to me, ‘I know you’re a bad man and I know you won’t let me go home so now I’m going to make trouble for you.’
“And then he cut his throat.”
May and Janis stared at Hubbard stonily. I remembered Klah Redhouse telling me how they tried not to show too much grief.
“I’m sorry—” Hubbard said, looking at May and Janis.
“Don’t you dare,” Janis spat. “You’re not sorry Johnny is dead. You were going to kill someone today. You’re sorry you got caught. But you did get caught. You got caught because Johnny stopped you from getting away with what you were doing. He made trouble for you, just like he said. My brother was slow but he could figure things out if he took enough time. He figured you out. And now look at you. My brother is ten of you.”
Janis helped May up out of the chair. The two of them left the room without looking back.
“You saw him cut his throat, but then you panicked, didn’t you,” Vann said, after they left. “You actually left Bell’s body for at least a couple of minutes.”
“Yes,” Hubbard said. “I left but Sam told me to go back in. He said if Bell told anyone about his experience that they would figure out what we had done, and sooner or later it would come back to us. I had to stay with Bell until the thing was done.” He snorted. “He said he’d come up with a cover story that would last through Saturday, and that would be long enough. For all the good it did either of us.”
“You were gone just long enough for Bell to give us a clue,” Vann said. “He was confused just enough by what was happening to let us know something was seriously wrong. Thanks for that.”
Hubbard smirked ruefully and looked up at Vann. “Now what,” he said.
“Now it’s time for you to go get arrested for real, Mr. Hubbard,” Vann said. “Go back to your body. Do it now.”
“You need to swap out the patch,” Hubbard said.
“About that,” Tony said.
“What about it?” Hubbard asked.
“We lied to you,” Vann said. “There was no patch.”
“There was a general patch that closed the interpolator back door,” Tony said. “That was true. So if you backed out you wouldn’t have been able to come back in.”
“But we knew you wouldn’t do that,” Vann said. “So we decided to press our luck.”
“There was no script-flipper either,” Hubbard said.
“If we had that, we would have led with that,” I said. “And then we would have made you watch your company burn.”
“Now, go, Hubbard,” Vann said. “My colleagues are waiting for you. You’ve got a lot to answer for.”
Hubbard left, which was not noticeable.
Nicholas Bell surfacing was. He shook himself, almost knocking over his chair, and sucked in his breath. “Jesus,” he said.
“Nicholas Bell,” Vann said.
“Yes,” Bell said. “Yes. It’s me.”
“Nice to meet you,” Vann said.
“Hold still,” I said, gently putting a hand on his shoulder. “I need to get you out of these cuffs.” I undid him. He shook out his arms and rubbed his wrists.
“Mr. Bell,” Vann said.
“Yes,” he said.
“What Hubbard said about Johnny Sani,” Vann asked.
Bell nodded. “It was true,” he said.
“I’m sorry you had to watch that,” Vann said.
Bell laughed, shakily. “It’s been a long week,” he said.
“Yes,” Vann said. “That it has.”
“I hate to say this,” I said, to Bell. “But we need to have you answer some questions. We need you to tell us everything you saw or heard while Hubbard had control of your body.”
“Trust me, I intend to tell you everything I know about that son of a bitch,” Bell said. “But there’s something I really would like to do before I do that. If I can. If you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Vann said. “Tell us what you would like to do.”
“I’d really like to see my sister now,” Bell said.