Trading Reality (28 page)

They were small, black and deep-set. They darted from object to object. In the two seconds that they alighted on my face, I felt a powerful intensity of intelligence and energy. It was a relief to see them dart off again round my little office.

‘Mark, good to meet you. Carl Jenson.’

‘Good to meet you.’ He placed his hand in mine, squeezed it rapidly, and sat down at my small table. Rachel followed him in, and sat next to him.

He took charge of the conversation. I felt as though I was racing after a runaway truck, just managing to cling on.

‘I was real sorry to hear about Richard. He was a true genius. In ten years’ time people will be calling him the grandfather of this industry. It’s a shame he won’t be there to hear it.’ His eyes rested on mine for a second. He meant what he said.

‘Thank you,’ I replied.

Jenson moved on. ‘Rachel tells me that you’re running this show for three months. Is that right?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Know anything about virtual reality?’

‘Not much,’ I said.

‘Rachel says you work in financial services. That right?’

‘Yes.’

Jenson studied me for an instant. ‘You don’t look like a banker to me.’ It was a compliment.

I shrugged.

‘Those investment bankers are assholes, all of them. Whenever I want to buy a company, once the bankers find out, the shares go up. And they think I don’t notice!’ Jenson slapped the table. His words were really speeding up now. ‘They don’t understand the first thing about my business. All they care about is quarterly earnings per share. I don’t give a shit about quarterly earnings per share. I care about the future.’

‘And what is the future?’

Jenson stood up and walked over to the electronic view of the Firth of Forth.

‘That’s cute,’ he said. ‘I like that.’ He turned to me. ‘You ever heard of Sun Tsu?’

‘Wasn’t he a Chinese general?’ I asked.

‘Yeah. Fifth century BC. But what he said then makes sense now.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He said that the army that chooses a battlefield that suits its strengths will win without having to fight.’

‘I see. I think.’

‘Well at the moment there’s a war going on out there. And we’re all taking casualties, from IBM to the cheapest Malaysian manufacturer. The reason is, personal computers are a commodity. Any bozo can make them, provided they got a chip. It’s the chips that are the brains of the computer, and most of those are made by Intel.’

He began pacing, bouncing round my little room, talking rapidly.

‘So, a couple of years ago, I bought my own chip maker. A company called Intercirc. Now I make chips as good as Intel’s, and put them in my own computers. So I got the weapons I need in this war. But I’m still not making money. Intel makes all the money. Everyone follows their designs, people buy their chips first, they got the biggest plants. They got the high ground. So, what am I gonna do?’ He stopped and leaned over the table, eyes boring into me for a couple of seconds. ‘I’m gonna choose my own battlefield. Virtual reality. In the virtual reality marketplace, I can make the computers and the peripheral hardware and the chips better than anyone else. Better than IBM, or Intel, or the Japanese or the goddamn Koreans.’

‘But there isn’t a mass virtual reality market yet.’

‘There will be,’ said Jenson. ‘Fifteen years ago I was the one who foresaw what would happen to PCs. I was twenty-four then. Well, now I can spot the next wave. And it’s virtual reality.’ He held my eyes for a full five seconds, burning this insight into my brain.

‘This isn’t something for arcade freaks, or perverts. This is going to be part of life for all of us in the next century. And those fuckwits on Wall Street can’t see it!’

I thought for a moment. ‘So you hope that with our technology you can open out the VR market? You manufacture the FairRender graphics chip and assemble our computer systems.’

Jenson didn’t answer. He just kept pacing.

This was interesting. Rachel had mentioned that for a mass VR market to develop, systems, and particularly the chips inside the systems, would have to be manufactured on a large scale. Jenson seemed willing to contemplate doing just that. He was an important customer indeed.

‘And Project Platform has something to do with all this?’ I asked.

‘Maybe,’ said Jenson. ‘But I wouldn’t expect a Wall Street kid to understand it.’

I ignored the dig. ‘I know Project Platform is very confidential. I can assure you Rachel has told me nothing of the details. She says that you’ve insisted that the project be kept secret.’

‘Damn right.’

‘Well,’ I continued reasonably, ‘I would be grateful if you yourself could tell me what Project Platform is about. That way I can make sure that we do the best possible job for you. It’s very difficult to run this company without knowing anything about it.’

‘Hey. I’m sorry you’re finding it difficult to run FairSystems. But that‘s your problem, not mine.’

I decided not to rise to the provocation. And it was obvious that to ask more questions about Project Platform would just lead to confrontation. But it annoyed the hell out of me that he wouldn’t tell me.

He stopped pacing and sat down. ‘How’re you coping without Richard?’

Ah. This was a difficult question, but I had been asked it before by other customers, and come up with satisfactory answers.

‘Everyone has been hit by his death, naturally,’ I began. ‘But as you know, we have very good technical people here. Rachel was aware of almost everything Richard was doing technically. And David Baker has good relationships with our customers.’

‘And what about leadership? Every company has to have a leader.’

‘That’s down to me. And I’ve been very pleased by the support I’ve received from everyone working here.’ And I had been. Although there were countless problems, I thought I had done well with the people. Already they seemed to trust me, and accept my authority.

‘Uh huh.’ Jenson wasn’t convinced. He leaned back. ‘Richard ran a great operation here. I hope you’re not going to screw it up.’

‘I won’t,’ I held his gaze. ‘Everything will carry on as normal.’

There was silence for a moment, then Jenson stood up and made his way to the door. ‘Well, it was great to meet you, Mark. And to see you, Rachel.’ He smiled to her. We showed him out to Reception. He paused at the door. ‘I passed through some kind of demo outside earlier.’

I tensed.

‘They were shouting about some kid who had gotten himself killed using VR. Do you know about that?’

I nodded. ‘They have no proof that VR actually caused his death.’

‘Good,’ said Jenson. ‘Because if they did, that would be very bad publicity for all of us, don’t you think?’

With that, he left.

‘Phew,’ I said. ‘Is that man crazy?’

‘Kind of,’ said Rachel. ‘There is a debate in the industry about whether it’s clinical or not. He won’t allow any psychiatrist near him for long enough to find out.’

‘And what was all that about Sun Tsu?’

‘Carl’s always up on all the new hip ideas. He comes from New York but he fancies himself as a Silicon Valley entrepreneur. Despite all that bullshit, though, he gets things done.’

‘I can believe it. Will he pay up?’

‘Yes, he’ll pay. We’re on time.’

‘Good. Look Rachel, whatever this Project Platform is, please make sure you get it right.’

‘Och, we’ll get it right,’ she said.

I was tired as I drove home. Tired and worried. The BOWL demonstration and the latest plunge in the share price were hardly good news. And although Jenson seemed to be committed to putting resources into a mass virtual reality market, I still felt a bit of a fool after the meeting. What the hell was Project Platform?

It was dark by the time I drove down through the narrow streets of Kirkhaven and along to the end of the quay. I parked the car and got out. Although there was a breeze that evening, the corner of the road just outside Inch Lodge was sheltered. I locked the car and fumbled for my house-keys.

Behind me I heard a rapid pattering sound. It was coming closer, fast. I turned round just in time to see a dark brown body hurl itself against my chest. I was thrown back against the wall of the house, and on to the pavement, the wind knocked out of me. As I lay on the ground, gasping for air, I heard a low growl inches from my ear, and felt hot breath on my face. I looked up.

I saw teeth, tongue and saliva. I kept absolutely still, trying to control my breathing.

‘Hannibal! Stay!’

I couldn’t take my eyes off the dog, but I recognised Doogie’s voice. ‘Get up, Fairfax!’ he said, and 1 felt a kick in the ribs.

I pulled myself to my feet.

The dog stood foursquare in front of me. It was only about two feet off the ground at the shoulder. But it was strong, and powerful, and I didn’t want to mess with it.

Doogie pointed to my groin.

The dog moved closer, its muzzle an inch from my trousers, still growling in short low bursts. It’s saliva dripped on to my knees. I pushed my back as hard as I could into the wall, and inched my hands forward to protect me.

‘Don’t do that!’ shouted Doogie. ‘You’ll lose your fingers!’

Slowly, I moved them back by my sides.

‘You saw our demonstration today,’ said Doogie. I took my eyes off the dog for a second to glance at him. He was standing loosely on the balls of his feet. His voice was calm, but menacing. ‘Virtual reality has to be stopped, and we’re going to stop it. Whatever it takes.’

The dog growled. I looked down. A strand of saliva was hanging down from its lips.

‘Now some people are going to get hurt. FairSystems, for example. We’re going to destroy FairSystems. Do you understand that?’

I didn’t say anything. I just kept my eyes on the dog.

‘So if I were you, I’d just forget all about it and piss off back down to London. And don’t go crying to the police about any of this, eh?’

I wasn’t watching Doogie, so the punch took me by surprise. It was a quick movement, a rapid blow to the solar plexus. Once again I fell to the ground, and this time I couldn’t breathe in. I opened my mouth but the air wouldn’t come. The surface of the road went black around the edges. Then, finally, the air rushed in, and I took huge gulps of oxygen. I felt sick.

I lifted my head up from the pavement and saw Doogie’s feet retreating down the road, Hannibal’s paws trotting along beside them.

The morning papers all carried something about the demonstration, but in most of them it was tucked away in the middle. They were careful about Doogie’s allegations. Like Reuters they talked about ‘unconfirmed reports’. There was a small article in the
Financial Times.
According to Susan there had been a clip on
Scotland Today,
the regional news programme. She said my confrontation with ‘that Doogie’ was quite dramatic. It seemed that within the company Doogie wasn’t remembered very favourably.

Rachel came into my office at about eleven.

‘You’re looking a lot better this morning,’ I said.

She smiled. ‘It’s amazing what twelve hours’ sleep can do. But did you see the papers?’

‘Yeah. It’s not good, is it? Still, it could have been worse. At least they couldn’t confirm the story.’

‘Ah ha. I wonder why Doogie didn’t show them the letter?’

‘You don’t believe that bit about the family wanting to remain anonymous, do you?’

‘No. That was crap.’

‘You know I saw him last night.’

‘Where?’

‘Outside Inch Lodge. With his dog. He said he would destroy FairSystems. He told me to go back to London.’

‘Why should you?’

‘He and his dog were quite persuasive.’

‘Ooh.’ Rachel winced. ‘Did you tell the police?’

‘He warned me not to, but I did. I saw Sergeant Cochrane this morning. They’ll give Doogie a hard time over it. But there weren’t any witnesses, so they can’t actually prosecute him. And according to Cochrane, Doogie seems actually to enjoy being questioned by the police. The harassment gives him some sort of legitimacy as a true revolutionary. Apparently, he’s an expert on his rights. And his dog’s.’

‘Are you going to take any notice of him?’

‘No,’ I smiled. ‘I don’t like being threatened.’

‘Good. But be careful. You never know what Doogie will do.’

‘I will be, don’t worry.’

Rachel turned to leave. Her way was blocked by Susan. ‘Carl Jenson’s here again. He wants to see you.’

‘Jenson?’ I looked at Rachel. She shrugged. ‘OK, send him up. Can you stay for this, Rachel?’

Within a minute, Jenson had rushed into my office.

‘Hey, Mark. Rachel. How’re you doing?’

I gestured to a chair, but he ignored me. ‘I like that,’ he said, pointing to the electronic window. ‘I see the sun moves across the sky depending on the time of day. But does the day shorten in winter?’

I had no idea.

‘No,’ said Rachel. ‘It’s May, all the year round.’

Jenson nodded to himself. ‘Cool. I gotta get one of those.’

He took a seat, and leaned forward. ‘I’m worried about your company, Mark.’ Straight to the point.

‘Oh yes?’

‘Yeah. You’re shortly going to be a key supplier for us. And we need to know you’re going to be around for the next couple of years. Are you?’

There it was, the question that had been dogging me since Richard’s death, asked baldly.

‘Well, I have been reviewing the figures with Willie Duncan, our finance director, this morning, and – ’

‘I don’t want horseshit,’ barked Jenson. ‘I want to know. Will FairSystems still be here in two years’ time?’

‘I think so.’ Despite myself, my voice cracked.

His eyes bored into me. ‘Oh yeah? Well I think you might not be. I’ve seen a lot of companies fold in my time, and you’re showing the signs. Falling stock price, threat of litigation, rumours of a cover-up, original founder replaced by a financial chief executive. I’ve seen ’em all.’