Trading Reality (45 page)

We reached the hotel and checked in. The clerk at the desk tapped some keys on her computer. ‘That will be a double room?’

I was just about to correct her when I stopped myself. I looked at Rachel. She looked at me. The corner of her mouth twitched upwards.

‘Yes, a double,’ I said.

The question had been innocently put, but the clerk was quick to pick up on the pause. She couldn’t help smiling to herself as she clattered the computer in front of her.

‘OK, here’s your key card. Your room is on the third floor. You’re all set.’

We rode up in the lift together. Suddenly, I felt nervous, and excited. I gave Rachel a small smile. She smiled back at me. We didn’t say anything.

When we reached the room, I dumped the cases on the floor. ‘It’s nice,’ said Rachel, wandering around the small space. She opened the cabinet where the television was hidden, and checked out the minibar. Then she disappeared into the bathroom.

I wasn’t sure what to do with myself, so I stood at the window, looking down at the hotel car park, and the busy intersection below. My heart quickened in anticipation. I tried to keep perfectly still, to keep calm, to wait for her.

I heard the bathroom door open and shut behind me, and felt Rachel’s presence next to me. ‘Not much of a view.’

‘No.’

I turned to her. She looked up at me. For once she had lost all her aloofness and self-confidence. She blushed, a warm glow spreading up from her neck. I brushed her hair away from her face, and touched her cheek.

She smiled, a sweet smile of happiness, nerves and confusion. She lifted her big brown eyes to mine. I bent down and kissed her. Our lips touched gently, and then she pulled me down to her, and kissed me hungrily.

My hands reached up towards her chest. She pulled away from me, and lifted her top over her head. It was a struggle, and we both laughed. I held both of her full firm breasts in my hands, and the nipples stiffened beneath my fingers.

‘Come here,’ she whispered hoarsely, pulling me towards the bed.

We made love in a rush of urgent fumbling, neither of us familiar with the other’s body, both of us eager to fulfil our desire. Later, she curled up in my arms, her hair a mass of tight black curls on my chest. I stroked it, gently.

We lay there a long time in comfortable silence. Then Rachel stirred. ‘I’m thirsty,’ she said. She pulled herself out of bed and padded over to the minibar. I watched her. She looked natural and relaxed without clothes on. Serene. She took out a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. She gave me one, and sat next to me cross-legged. She reached for her cigarettes, and was just about to light one when she paused.

‘Do you mind?’

‘No, that’s fine,’ I said.

‘Are you sure?’

I smiled at her sudden concern. ‘No, go ahead.’

She lit up, and took a long drag.

I looked down at her black top and trousers on the floor.

‘I like your summer clothes,’ I said. ‘Even if it was difficult to prise you out of them.’

Rachel laughed. ‘I should hope so. I selected them specially.’

‘What? For me?’

‘Yes, for you.’

‘I don’t know,’ I laughed. ‘Women are so manipulative.’

‘Oh no. It’s just men are so easy to manipulate.’

I smiled. I liked the idea of Rachel trying to tempt me. She did have a great body; I couldn’t deny that when she had finally revealed it, it had had an effect.

‘Can we do this again?’ I asked.

‘What, now?’

‘No, not now. Tomorrow. The next day. Next week.’

‘Yes please,’ said Rachel, grinning broadly. ‘But what’s wrong with right now?’

I thought that there was nothing wrong with right now, and we made love again, slowly, gently, getting to know each other.

Afterwards I fell asleep.

I woke several hours later. The red numbers on the alarm clock said it was 4.15 a.m. That was of course lunchtime in Scotland. I watched Rachel as she lay next to me, breathing gently, her lips slightly open, her face untroubled in sleep, surrounded by a mass of dark hair.

I felt relaxed and elated at the same time. I had no qualms about Karen, I didn’t miss her at all. It was good to be with someone as straightforward as Rachel, a woman who knew what she wanted, and what she wanted was me.

Rachel’s eyelids flickered, she opened her eyes, and for a moment didn’t seem to know where she was. Then she saw me and smiled. ‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Hi,’ I said and moved over to kiss her.

Sorenson’s house was in Los Altos Hills, a town about five miles from Menlo Park, on the other side of Stanford University’s campus. The community seemed to consist of large low residences, spaced well apart, set in woods of oak, pine and eucalyptus. Many had swimming pools and tennis courts.

We drove along a quiet road that wound uphill through the trees. The houses seemed bigger than most we had seen. The road eventually came to a dead-end next to a mailbox labelled ‘Sorenson’.

His house was a rambling, one-storey wooden building surrounded by oak trees and exotic shrubs. We rang the bell, and Sorenson himself came to the door. ‘Mark, Rachel, come in.’

The interior was entirely open plan. The hallway merged into a large living area, which was dominated by a huge picture window, stretching the length of the wall.

‘Go take a look,’ said Sorenson.

We walked over to the window. There was a tremendous view over the trees and low buildings of Palo Alto to the San Francisco Bay, shimmering in the sunshine. Beneath the house, a large lawn stretched down to a tennis court. Just outside were a wooden deck and a cool blue swimming pool. Somehow I didn’t think any of this came cheap.

‘Lovely,’ said Rachel. ‘How long have you lived here?’

‘Oh, five years. It’s a great location for the Valley. And we kind of like it here. But, of course, I spend a lot of time on the road.’

‘You can say that again, dear. You spend half your life in Europe these days.’ There was a noise of quick light footsteps as someone walked into the room behind us. I turned and saw a thin, well-groomed woman aged anything between forty and sixty. She had blonde hair and a tight, lightly tanned face. I wasn’t sure how much was real, and how much was artificial, but from her cheekbones and bright blue eyes you could tell she must have been beautiful once. She was still good-looking now.

‘This is my wife, Shirley. Shirley, this is Mark Fairfax and Rachel Walker. Mark is Geoffrey’s son.’

‘Oh, it’s so nice to meet you,’ said Mrs Sorenson, holding out her hand, ‘It was simply horrible about your brother. How’s your father taking it?’

‘It’s difficult for him,’ I said.

‘Well give him my love when you see him, won’t you. I think he’s such a sweetie.’

I wondered how the four of them had fitted together, all those years ago. My father, my mother, Sorenson and his wife.

‘Can I get you some coffee?’

We said yes, and in a moment she was in the kitchen clattering about with cups.

‘So, how did it go in New York?’ Sorenson asked.

I told him all about our conversations with Hartman and the SEC. He listened with great interest.

‘It looks like Richard uncovered quite an operation,’ he said. ‘Do you think the SEC are close to making an arrest?’

‘Not quite yet. But they’ll get there. They seem pretty determined to me.’

‘But so far they’ve found nothing that connects all this to Richard’s death?’

‘No. I asked the SEC how Donaldson was doing. It seems the Scottish police investigated that line pretty closely, but didn’t come up with anything. And of course there are other possibilities.’ I told him about Doogie and his death, about Yoshi’s presence at the Inch Tavern, and about David Baker’s disappearance

‘It’s difficult to say, but I’d guess it has something to do with the Japanese,’ Sorenson said. ‘That guy Yoshi pops up in all sorts of strange places. And I think you were right all along about David Baker. We should have gotten rid of him earlier.’

Mrs Sorenson came in with the coffee. She was about to sit down, and then Sorenson glared at her. It lasted less than a second, but she noticed it, and for an instant anger flared in her eyes. It was one of those moments when you catch a glimpse of the true state of a marriage behind its carefully maintained façade.

‘I’ll just leave you to it,’ she said, smiling again. ‘I’ll be out on the deck.’ She left the room.

‘So, do you have any theories?’ Sorenson asked.

‘No. But I think we’re getting closer. The SEC gave us a list of suspicious companies that they know Hartman was involved in. I’ve got it here.’ I pulled out the list and handed it over to him. ‘Recognise any of them?’

Sorenson frowned, thinking. ‘Well, I’ve heard of some of them,’ he said. ‘Futurenet makes network software, I think. A couple of the others are familiar.’

‘But there’s nothing that you know of that links them all together?’

Sorenson thought a moment. ‘Sorry. Nothing I can think of. Have you got any ideas?’

‘Not yet. But we’ll check them out when we get back to Scotland.’

Sorenson drained his coffee, and poured another. ‘Do you want some more? It’s decaf.’

Rachel looked shocked at the word ‘decaf’, but then recovered herself, and shook her head. I held out my cup.

‘You’re going to see Jenson now?’ Sorenson asked.

‘Yes. Our appointment’s at eleven.’

‘And what kind of deal have you got for him?’

We discussed strategy for the Jenson meeting for half an hour and then left, saying goodbye to Mrs Sorenson before we went. She was sitting in a deck chair reading a Jackie Collins novel, the Santa Clara valley stretching out into the distance below.

The sun shone down on the gleaming structures that lurked on either side of Page Mill Road. There was not a house to be seen; every building was dedicated to the mighty computer. It was nothing like Glenrothes; these edifices were bigger, sleeker, more mysterious. The vegetation was lush, and to my eyes exotic – palms, eucalyptus, the odd redwood pointing straight up towards the sky.

On the left was the Stanford University campus, and on the right we passed the impressive entrance to Hewlett Packard’s facility. HP was a role model for Silicon Valley. The company had started in a garage, but now had its headquarters in this elaborate and sprawling complex. Jenson Computer’s plant was a little farther on, just off El Camino Real, the backbone of the Valley. It was difficult to see much from the road; tall shrubs and a discreet security fence provided an effective barrier. We presented ourselves to the guard at the gate. He was armed, and he took his duties seriously. He wanted ID, and phoned through before he would let us pass.

Finally the gate was raised, and we drove into a parking lot in front of a six-storey, white hexagonal building. Two huge flags fluttered outside: the stars and stripes, and the Jenson Computer flag, green lettering on a white background. Behind these nestled two large grey structures, like the hulls of spaceships, sleek, silent, with the promise of great power within their walls.

I parked in a visitor’s space outside the white building, exchanged glances with Rachel, took a deep breath, and entered. It took ten minutes, and two more security checks before we found ourselves in Jenson’s office.

It was large but bare. Jenson bounced out of his leather chair and ran round the desk to greet us. His chino trousers and green polo shirt were immaculately pressed. His eyes alighted on each of us. ‘Mark, Rachel, how you doing? Sit down, sit down.’ He ushered us to a round glass table, and we all sat.

The office was dominated by Jenson’s huge curved desk. There were a phone and two computers sitting on it, one of them attached to a pair of virtual glasses, and nothing else. Not a shred of paper to be seen. Behind his desk was wall-to-wall glass. The office was on the ground floor, and opened out on to a close-cropped, well-watered lawn and a small wooden building that looked like a Japanese temple. The walls were decorated with abstract art of the straight-lines-and-white-spaces type.

‘So. What do you guys want?’

‘We wanted to talk to you about Project Platform,’ I said.

‘Oh, so you know about that now, do you?’

Rachel answered. ‘I thought it was OK to tell him, given the position we found ourselves in.’

‘I guess that’s fair. But my understanding was that you had stopped work on the project?’

‘No, we’re still working on it,’ I said. ‘In fact, we’re ready to implement our part of the deal.’

‘Great! I knew you guys wouldn’t give up.’

‘But first we need to come to some sort of arrangement. Something that makes sense for both of us.’

‘Sure, sure. We can talk about that.’ He began to pour us mineral water from the bottle on the table. ‘But let me tell you, we’ve been busy too. It’s all coming together,’ he put the bottle down after pouring only half a glass. ‘We’re definitely going to ring the bell on this one. The operating system is testing real well on the new machines. This thing is more powerful than even I imagined.’

Rachel smiled quietly.

‘This woman’s a genius, Mark. A true genius. No, really. None of our guys could do anything like this, and we have some of the best in the industry.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ I said.

‘Come and take a look.’ Jenson leapt to his feet, and bustled quickly out of his office. We tried to keep pace, sweeping past security guards who were lucky to get the barest glance at our visitors’ passes. Jenson spoke rapidly as he walked, but I couldn’t catch what he said. A phone at his hip chirped. He snapped an answer, and within fifteen seconds the conversation was over.

We belted over the tarmac to one of the sleek spaceships, labelled ‘Building A’. We were let in through a port at the side. More security men cowered in Jenson’s path. We walked down a short corridor, and entered a large space, filled with benches, plastic and metal. It looked much like the production floor of our own factory in Glenrothes writ very large, a thought that comforted me somehow. But there was some very expensive-looking equipment dotted around the floor.