Bad to Worse Read online

  9 RICHARD WORSE TO THOMAS WORSE (2)

  Thomas

  You will see that I am writing to you from a different address, which I recommend you use from now when contacting me. I attach a file that you should open in your email account when you write to or receive from my address. There are clear instructions contained within it. You can be confident that the encryption is effective. Please open that file now and the remainder of this email will present to you. There may be short delays as verification handshakes continue between us.

  I wasn’t expecting to be back in touch so soon, but I am seeking your assistance. I mentioned that the pilot you rescued, Walter Reckles, is known to a friend of mine. Apparently Reckles was given a tough time at a recent air crash enquiry in Dante, particularly by a board member named William Mortiss. Reckles believes that his plane collided with an illicit drone operating out of a place called Area Pi. Mortiss spoke forcefully against the claim, essentially ridiculing it without fair hearing, I am told. My friend (actually, more than one) has asked me to help uncover evidence to prove Reckles’ case.

  My early impression is that Reckles may be correct. I have established that whatever is going on at Area Pi, a Chicago-based company called Mortiss Bros has an interest, and may well be in full control. As William Mortiss is listed as a director of that company, there appears to be an unacceptable conflict of interest in his being involved in the investigation.

  I was hoping that you might tell me what you know about Area Pi, and what happens there. Secondly, I would value any information you have about Mortiss Bros. They seem to have corporate interests all over the US, but I am especially interested in their presence in Dante and Area Pi.

  Richard

  Richard

  Good to hear from you. Area Pi is as much a mystery to the people of Dante, including their sheriff’s office, as it is to you. In fact, I was not aware that Mortiss interests were involved at all, though it doesn’t surprise me as their economic (and, I would not be surprised, criminal) reach is far-flung. So on that score I can’t help much at present, but I will do my best to learn more.

  Mortiss Bros originated in these parts in the 1870s, and I can tell you a lot about them because it’s personal. The family carries a generational oath to destroy the Worse line in Arizona in a feud going back all that time. I will send separately some of the history that explains its origins. Depending upon who’s in charge, their wealth and power are periodically directed into the family obsession. It’s a worry at the moment because the senior heir in waiting, Regan Mortiss, recently replaced her father Charles Mortiss as chair of the board and MD. Our information is that the changeover was involuntary, but no one’s officially missing and no one’s complaining, so neither Chicago nor we can justify going in. Anyway, that makes her the first matriarch of Mortiss Bros, for which she won’t abide any jostle. The suggestion is she’s taking on the revenge business as her special project, like a destiny thing. They say she calls herself Rego in private, after the original badass Rigo who started it all nearly a century-and-a-half ago.

  I think in the case of Regan you can’t be too careful. She’s bad. She may well get the idea of spreading the hatred beyond Arizona, even as far as your parts. That would be the more likely if she finds out you are prying into her business. I already had some concern that our email contact might have been compromised and the jeopardy widened to you. I am pleased we now have a secure channel. Take care, cousin. Thomas

  10 REGAN MORTISS

  The boardroom of Mortiss Bros overlooks the Chicago River, fifteen floors down. Regan stood close to the glass watching a top-deck architecture tour drifting downstream between the bridges. Periodically, a hundred interested faces would redirect as one toward a city landmark. When they stared at the Mortiss Tower, she glowered back.

  Six directors filed in and took their seats. They might gesture a greeting to others, but the room was silent. Their view was of Regan from behind, clutching a manila folder at her back, tapping it slowly against herself. They knew she wasn’t happy.

  Under the company constitution they each exercised one vote, while Regan had seven. For decision-making, these meetings seemed unnecessary and their personal attendance pointless. But no one dared dissent, abstain, or be absent. Previous members of the board, including Regan’s own father as chair, had been known to discontinue their directorships suddenly and without explanation. They all feared the tall woman at the window. She turned to them.

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’

  It was her standard expression of displeasure, and six hearts sank at the prospect of attack. She crossed the room to her seat, but remained standing. There was never any adherence to meeting protocol, like a call to order. Proceedings were understood to have begun with the question and the slap of her file onto the table. She glared at her IT manager. The others shuffled papers.

  ‘This is your responsibility.’

  Tony Saviccia was sullen but knew he must meet her eye. The others were relieved that responsibility had been assigned to someone else.

  ‘And yours, asshole.’

  Suddenly, the relief was looking tenuous. It was the chief accountant’s turn to look up. Arnold Tweisser secretly desired Regan and his gaze hesitated at her breasts on its way to her face. He assumed the indiscretion would pass unnoticed, but it never did. Regan registered it. In her corporate world, beauty wasn’t truth; it was power. She looked back at Saviccia.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Ms Mortiss.’

  In that room, addressing the chair nearly always started with an apology.

  ‘We know there have been two breaches, one at an Area Pi server, the other—’

  ‘We’re all aware of that. It’s in your report. That’s why we’re here. Enlighten us.’

  ‘With the Chicago system, we know there was an attack. We don’t yet know how far it penetrated.’

  Regan glanced at Tweisser, her lips slightly parted. She was playing with him.

  ‘It’s your job to know, and to stop it, Saviccia. How is it possible?’

  ‘I don’t know, Ms Mortiss. I don’t yet know. We’re state-of-the-art with defences. No one in our team knew this could happen.’

  ‘What damage have they done?’

  Saviccia was relieved that he could report something half positive.

  ‘None, it would appear. No malicious damage. No theft.’

  ‘Jesus, Saviccia. Of course they’ve done damage.’

  Saviccia realized his mistake. Regan continued.

  ‘They’ve damaged my confidence in you dumb-asses, for one thing. We’ve no doubt taken in a sleeper or Christ knows what kind of spyware. We’re exposed, Saviccia. These fuckers have lifted our skirts and taken a look.’

  She glanced again at Tweisser, and raised her eyebrows a millimetre. He was excited. Whatever she might shout at him, whatever she might call him, he wanted her the more.

  ‘Tweisser, you idiot. Stop dreaming and tell us what you know.’

  ‘There are no irregularities in the accounts, Ms Mortiss.’

  Regan stared at him without responding. He wondered if she were secretly smiling. The others saw a savage scowl. She sat down, placing her leather shoulder bag on the table beside her file. Everyone looked at it; the rumour was that she always carried a pistol and wasn’t loath to bring it out. Tweisser wanted her the more for that as well.

  ‘Who’s done this to us?’ She was now looking at Saviccia.

  ‘We can’t identify the intruder. It was a very sophisticated attack. We don’t yet understand it. We have outside consultants engaged urgently. We’re not even sure if the Area Pi and MB incidents are connected.’

  ‘Of course they’re connected, you moron. Not good enough.’

  ‘Ms Mortiss, if I may continue,’ said Saviccia—rather bravely, the others thought—‘although we cannot trace the hackers, we do have intelligence of unwanted interest in our Area Pi operation. It’s an email intercept reported to me since I wrote that
.’ He nodded at the file on the table before her. ‘I don’t know if it relates to the hack.’

  ‘Of course they’re connected, you moron,’ she repeated. ‘Go on.’

  ‘We routinely search on mentions of Area Pi. There was an email trail from Dante to England to the Ferendes to Australia. They weren’t the usual vacuous mentions from gullible tourists. It seemed to stem from the investigation into our drone mishap out there in Dante.’

  Regan looked at her brother.

  ‘William?’

  ‘I have that enquiry under control, Regan. It won’t go anywhere,’ he said.

  ‘I’m coming to see that for myself, next time.’ She returned to Saviccia. ‘The emails?’

  ‘The last one is the most interesting. It requests satellite intelligence of the installation at Area Pi,’ said Saviccia.

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘We shouldn’t be too concerned, Ms Mortiss,’ said Saviccia. ‘They’ll never get surveillance with the resolution they need to learn anything. We’re well hidden on the ground. Trashy magazines are always buying that imagery to run sensation pieces on places like Area 51 and Area Pi. They go nowhere.’

  ‘Jesus, Saviccia, you idiot. If they’re inside our system they don’t need high-fidelity imagery.’ She breathed deeply. ‘Who are we dealing with? Give me names.’

  ‘In the Ferendes, it’s a Nicholas Misgivingston. He’s some kind of language researcher there, a mathematician, from what we can determine.’

  ‘Why would he be interested?’

  ‘Emails tell us he’s doing a favour for a friend, named Anna Camenes, who was in Dante at the time of the safety board sitting. Evidently, she is a friend of Reckles; that was the pilot, Ms Mortiss.’

  ‘I know the name of the pilot. It’s been all over the news.’

  ‘I saw her in Dante,’ said William. ‘She and Reckles hung out. We also saw her close to the sheriff.’

  Regan took another deep breath.

  ‘I don’t want that bastard’s name uttered in this room unless we’re celebrating his grisly murder.’ She returned to business.

  ‘Where did that request go?’

  Saviccia looked down. He expected a bad reception.

  ‘Someone called Richard Worse. In Perth, Australia,’ he said.

  ‘Worse? Worse? It’s a Worse?’ Regan raised her voice, instantly leaning forward and rounding on Saviccia. After a few seconds she sat back in her chair.

  ‘Fuck.’

  She turned her head towards the window and stayed silent. The others looked down at their files, except Tweisser, who looked at her breasts. He was caught out as she turned back.

  ‘What do we know about that Worse?’ She spoke more soberly.

  ‘It’s hard to find out anything,’ said Saviccia. ‘We can’t read anything ex-Perth. He appears to have no online presence.’

  ‘Your people just need to work harder, Saviccia.’ She scowled at him. ‘Is he an M Worse?’

  Saviccia reached into a briefcase as he answered.

  ‘Our only source of information about him is contained in a documentary published last year, evidently unauthorized.’ He held up a copy of Darian’s book. ‘Because of a connection to Misgivingston described there, we believe it is the same person.’ Saviccia paused. ‘In which case his full name is Richard Magnacart Worse.’

  ‘Fuck.’ Regan stared at the window again. When she spoke, her voice was hard and soft at the same time. ‘We eliminate both. Those in favour?’ She didn’t move her eyes from the window. The motion would carry. She turned and addressed William.

  ‘Who can handle Missington?’

  ‘Misgivingston,’ Saviccia corrected, but immediately regretted his interruption.

  Regan ignored him and spoke ironically to William. ‘Do we have anyone in the Ferendes who can overpower a mathematician?’

  ‘We have Glimpse, the prospector, Regan,’ said William. ‘He was the one we used in St. John’s last year.’

  ‘The warehouse fire? That was good,’ she said.

  ‘Well, there were some innocent victims in that operation. It wasn’t clean.’

  ‘Misfortune definingly visits the bystander, William,’ she said, and glanced at Tweisser, who had no idea what to make of the comment. ‘Why is Glimpse in the Ferendes? Is he working for us on terencium supply?’

  ‘Yes and no. Glimpse works for himself in the main,’ said William.

  ‘Set it up,’ said Regan. ‘What about Perth? Who do we have there? Where is it, anyway?’

  ‘We have no one in Perth,’ said William. ‘We will need to send personnel.’

  Regan looked around the table. Her eyes settled on a man she viewed as a pestilential twit barnacled to company largesse by virtue of being her illegitimate half brother.

  ‘Can you handle it, Ben Jay?’

  ‘No worries, Regan.’

  The others winced silently. Regan was calculating that he would probably fail, but at least he might get hurt in the process. Ben Jay adjusted his baseball cap and placed a cigarette pack on the table. His tongue was loosened by his unexpected importance.

  ‘We’re not gonna take Worse shit in our seki … ses … sexi …’

  No one came to his rescue.

  ‘… thing.’

  ‘Ses-qui-centenary,’ said Regan syllabically, ‘and it’s years off. Memorize it or don’t say it, for Christ’s sake. And if you want to smoke, leave the damn building.’

  To defuse her irritation, she turned again to the window. All but its principal actor read her thought-play that here would be an ideal means for his leaving the building. She looked back at Ben Jay.

  ‘That’s settled then. Take two professionals from Security. People with kill CVs. William, you oversee selection. Financials to Camelline. I want a team in Perth by Monday, wherever the fuck it is. Do they speak English there?’

  No one was sure if an answer was expected, but she kept looking enquiringly around the meeting. They read the signs of growing impatience, and William put himself forward.

  ‘They’re impossible to understand, but it is a basic form of English, yes,’ he said.

  ‘Perfect. A basic form of English is your language, Ben Jay. Twice daily reports to the GM, and a result by Friday latest. Remember, the Worse target is business but it’s also family honour.’

  ‘No worries, Regan. Friday latest,’ interrupted Ben Jay.

  ‘Don’t mess up. All done.’

  Regan pushed her file toward the centre of the table, and placed a hand on her shoulder bag. It was a sign that the meeting was over.

  ‘Tweisser, stay behind.’

  It was an instruction that the others would dread, but Tweisser felt special. As those dismissed left the room, she casually unbuttoned the top of her shirt, almost as if he weren’t present.

  Tweisser couldn’t believe his good fortune. No matter what people thought of Regan Mortiss, she was acknowledged by all as extremely beautiful. He felt his heart thumping, missing beats, racing. Thank God he had that pacemaker–defib inserted earlier in the year. At least he could still pump blood to where it was needed at times like this.

  Regan reached for her shoulder bag again. To Tweisser, it was a slow, caressing touch of the leather as she drew it towards her. He wanted to be dangerous too, to be touched like that, drawn close to her, pressed against the white lace border displayed for him. Now she was playing with a second button, looking at him, smiling.

  ‘I was wanting to ask, Arnold. How is your wife?’

  11 GLIMPSE

  Dear Worse

  I trust you are well. I was wondering how your enquiries went regarding that Area Pi business. The safety board hearing will resume sometime and Walter is certain that place is somehow relevant to his crash. Not to worry if you can’t do anything. It’s really up to Walter to present his case and convince the US authorities to investigate fully.

  We have a rather strange visitor to the station. A big German-sounding chap (Paulo thinks he’s Afrikaner) who calls himsel
f Glimpse appeared in a 4WD truck a few days ago, saying he was a prospector heading west. He asked if he could camp near our compound for a while. Paulo said that was fine, and we’ve provided the odd thing for him. He doesn’t seem to do much except sit around his truck all day watching what’s going on. It’s causing a bit of spooking in some of our teachers here.

  Nicholas

  Nicholas

  My advice is to treat anything out of the ordinary with a high degree of suspicion. Take extreme care, Nicholas. I suggest you instigate a 24-hour discreet observation. Send me some photographs for an Interpol face-rec search in case he’s on record. Just don’t let him see you pointing a lens in his direction. Also send the registration of his truck. I will check payment channels. The Area Pi matter is progressing. Worse

  The cave work was suspended for the next three days as torrential rains made the five-kilometre hike through the jungle too unpleasant. Paulo used the time to catch up on administrative duties, which included negotiations with the new government in Madregalo about provision of basic medical services at the LDI station. Nicholas immersed himself in programming.

  As station manager, Paulo became increasingly concerned about the presence of Glimpse. Much of the conversation at the shared canteen meals was about their visitor’s strangeness, and increasingly disturbing fantasies were aired about his identity and purpose in being there. He was becoming a morale issue, especially among the women. Paulo also felt a growing unease about their security.