22
THE NEW ORDER
Todd Baxter’s blood pounded in his head, his breathing ragged. The printout on his desk crouched like some predator from an imagined hell-world, ready to devour him. Except this wasn’t imagined. Identified Subversives: Todd Baxter, Ross Candale, Bert Tallman, Ellen Sangster.
Baxter had come across Ellen’s name by chance. He had fixed a bug in one of the programs and needed to test it. The best test data came from real files, not something he made up, so as he had done for the year and a half since he joined the NPF, he ran an extract to pull a hundred random entries from a database and run them through the program he’d fixed. The test completed, Baxter was preparing the notification when he glanced at the screen where part of the database was displayed. And he choked. Ellen Sangster.
Why was Ellen on this database? More to the point, what was the database for? Baxter’s focus was always on the bug, rarely on the overall purpose of the program, so he didn’t know what this program did.
On an impulse, he scanned the database for Bert Tallman. A hit. Ross Candale. Another. He held his breath. Him? Yes.
He stared at the screen, feeling his heart race, his breathing quicken. He ran a cross-reference of programs that used this database. The main one was a program called NPFSubList, which produced a list of people who had been identified as subversives. The report was at least fifty pages long, each page bearing thirty names along with last known addresses. He and his friends had been placed on the list by Warren Fraleigh, whose presence had polluted his apartment one evening.
Each entry included the name of the informant and the recommended disposition, a number from one to four. It took Baxter some digging to decipher what the numbers meant.
1. Question and evaluate.
2. Place under active surveillance.
3. Arrest and detain.
4. Terminate.
That last one was the code for Baxter and his friends.
4. Terminate.
But they would never have hired him if they thought he was a subversive. According to the list, his address was his apartment back in Calgary. He had to assume some cops or agents had gone to his place, found out he wasn’t there, and filed a report. Same thing for his friends. Ross had gone to Vancouver, Ellen to Winnipeg. Only Bert had stayed in Calgary.
Apparently, Baxter had been spared because of the confusion and turmoil in setting up the National Peacekeeping Force and the rush to get its computer systems running. But that wouldn’t last. Once the systems had been settled down, the bugs shaken out, agents would locate everyone on this list, including him. And he was the person who was supposed to settle the systems down.
First things first. He had to get these names off the list. He could just delete them, but the database recorded the identification of everyone who changed it. Since he wasn’t authorized to make changes, this would take some subtlety. Also, the entries were coded and cross-refenced so that removing one could cause problems somewhere else.
He checked other programs that used the same database. One of them produced an Informer’s Status Report that listed all the names provided by each informer along with the status of each name. The status also carried four codes.
1. Pending.
2. Need input.
3. In progress.
4. Completed.
Completed. Did that mean if the recommended disposition was to terminate, the person had been—he struggled with the word, the concept—killed?
He scanned the database and pulled off a few names with a disposition of terminate and a status of completed. With his special privileges, he examined the database of the tax department. All the people he selected were marked as deceased.
A spasm of fear hit him. Bert. He had stayed in Calgary. He checked the entry for Bert and cried out. Completed. He scrambled for the tax department database. Bert Tallman: deceased.
He held his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking, tears smearing his cheeks. Bert. One of his best friends.
The others! He checked the status for Ellen and Ross.
2. Need input.
His own record? The same. Apparently, the National Peacekeeping Force hadn’t yet organized itself enough to track down people who had moved.
But they would.
His heart thudded. He had an idea of how to protect his friends and himself, but it would be risky. He opened the database with a tool he had built that wouldn’t leave any indications of who had changed it. He altered his status and that of his friends to completed. At least that would mean nobody would be searching for them.
He paused. What if Fraleigh bumped into one of them? That was unlikely, but he couldn’t dismiss the possibility. He’d bought them all some time, but the respite was temporary.
GEORGE BLACKWELL STOOD at the front of the conference room table. Twelve people—eight men and four women dressed in power suits—sat, a single sheet of paper in front of each of them. Blackwell said, “This meeting of the Board of Directors of Vivace Petroleum Canada is now in session. There is just one item on the agenda. I’ll turn the floor over to Jake Abbott.”
Abbott stood, his face grim. None of the directors looked at him, their eyes resting on the paper. He said, “You’ve read this summary, so you know the status. But that was as of last week. Unfortunately, things have deteriorated further and faster than we expected. Over the weekend, the last two pipelines we’ve been using have been sabotaged. None of them are operating. Since there is no way to protect thousands of kilometres of pipeline, we have to face that they are no longer available.”
One of the directors said, “What about that new pipeline, Pacific West. It’s still being built.”
Abbott shook his head. “I just learned Montford is shutting down the project. That’s confidential. They won’t make the announcement until they have security in place to protect their people.”
Another director said, “Can’t we still ship by rail?”
“Please read the status report. The rail companies are no longer willing to risk sabotage. They will no longer ship petroleum products. The bottom line is that there is no way we can get our products to market. We’re stymied.”
He nodded toward Blackwell. “George and I met with the board of our parent company in Houston. Nobody likes this choice, but nobody has any alternatives. You’ve had a week to digest this. If any of you have come up with any ideas, this is your chance.”
A director said, “Could we sell off our assets? Even a fire sale would give us some revenue.”
“Sure, if we could find a buyer who had a different view of the state of the industry. I don’t know of any, but I’m open to suggestions.”
Another director said, “Is the government likely to take any action to stop all of this?”
Abbott said, “I’ve met with the federal and provincial ministers responsible. They’re politicians. Great at sounding positive, poor at anything resembling a commitment. I see no indication any of them are willing to override the Supreme Court decision. They’re afraid of the backlash.”