Kelly awoke on a creaky bed in a small-town hotel room not far from the Arizona-Utah border. She tapped her watch—not quite midday. She checked her equipment, methodically and routinely, and then repacked her bag. Today she’d be heading to San Juan, part of the colourless desert sprawl where the cultists had supposedly established their latest compound.
“Morning,” said Dunstan, as Kelly stepped into the kitchen. He handed her a cup of coffee. Had he slept at all? She knew he was exhausted.
“Today we get to work,” Kelly said sternly. “I want you to pull all your data; tell me what you can about Anton Harrell.”
The cultists weren’t the only ones capable of stealing data. Although the cult’s communications were encrypted, Dunstan combined GPS locations of cultist vehicles with everything from Fitbit biodata to VR log-ins and a little bit of old-fashioned code breaking, and ran all the data through an algorithm. The data worked, and put a fix—or rather, a confirmation—on what Kelly hoped would be Anton’s location.
“It’s amazing what you can find out about someone,” said Anton, tapping away on his laptop keyboard. “I can understand why the cult take this stuff to heart, but it makes you wonder—are we controlling the algorithms, or are the algorithms controlling us? How much help do we need with a decision before the choice is removed from our hands entirely?”
Kelly sipped at her coffee and stared out the window. Beyond the low rusty iron rooftops there was a house, a gorgeous mansion, propped up on the ridge of a great escarpment. She could see from afar, sunlight gleaming off white walls and dark windows, and a trickle of water falling from a hanging swimming pool. Kelly figured she’d look pretty small to whoever stood on that high balcony.
“Take sleeping pills, for instance,” Dunstan was saying. He pointed at his computer screen. “This particular man’s wristwatch scans his biodata and detects that from the hours of 10pm to 08am he is motionless but in a state of insomnia or broken sleep. I sell the data to pharmaceutical companies who send the man an advertisement, or a system buys the pills automatically on the basis that he isn’t getting the required amount of sleep, all the while he might not know he’s being drugged for his own good. All the same it increases company’s sales for sleeping pills.” He tapped a few keys extra hard and leaned back. “Advertising and cyberterrorism have a lot on common. I think I’ve found Anton.”
“Then let’s go see what he has to say.”
The American small town had in many cases developed into a town-like suburb hidden within the outer reaches of a great sprawl. Arizona city was a desert, mechanical, maybe even alive, but void and sparse. The boundaries of Anton’s group were marked by a rickety barbed-wire fence that no one who lived there seemed to care about. As the pockmarked BMW rolled down the main street Kelly made her first impression of the place—grey but oddly quaint. The sidewalks were littered with pedestrians and the roads were busy, slightly busier than you’d expect from a place this small. The locals went about their business like nothing was wrong, and Kelly supposed that for them everything about this place seemed fine. The town had an abundance of speeding drones and automated service devices like AI operated clinics and hamburger stands. The place was full of what Kelly would call big-city-tech, the kind of instalments that weren’t too common this far away from any of the country’s capitals. But then again, an automated clinic increased the efficiency of transmitting medical data to the web, and automated fast food produced instant statistics on the locals’ eating habits. Prominent in the middle of the town was an old-fashioned diner.
“Pull in here,” said Kelly. “We’ll look around.”
Dunstan swung the BMW into a parking space behind the diner. Kelly stepped out and approached the sidewalk, using her civilian clothes to blend in—she wore a light grey plaid shirt over a black T and badly worn-out Converse sneakers, with the Berretta tucked into the back of her jeans. She spotted hip holsters on a number of civilians who made no attempt to conceal their weapons. The way these guys moved, slowly and with watching eyes, Kelly supposed they were some kind of peacekeepers for the cult.
“We can confirm that they’re armed,” said Kelly, thinking back to last night’s ambush. Miller…
“How do we find Anton?”
A chime sounded from an unseen speaker system. At that moment a congregation of pedestrians began to converge. There was a small refurbished church across the road from the diner, a remnant from the old town. A pedestrian, a young man with curly chestnut hair and square-rimmed glasses, no older than nineteen, brushed right past Kelly without noticing her. He had a kind of dead-inside nature about him that Kelly couldn’t quite figure out. If Kelly looked closely enough she could have sworn the man shuffled as he walked. Another woman about the same age was typing a message on her phone as she walked, her skin was dark around her eyes as if she were sleep deprived.
“Something seem a little… I don’t know… off, about these people?” said Dunstan.
They watched in silence for a while and then Kelly said, “Alright,” and made her way over to the church.
It was the kind of church you’d expect to find in an American small town. The walls were painted white. The pews were all full with more followers standing around the back wall. Kelly joined them. The room was filled with quiet murmurings and shuffling feet. Then a man stood up at the front, with a large TV screen as a backdrop, and everyone hushed. Kelly knew in an instant that this was their man — Anton Harrell.
Anton appeared older than he was the day he died, and despite having grown a beard he looked just the same as the man in the videos Agent Connors had provided. He was hardly dressed like the tyrannical cult leader that Miller made him out to be. The profile said that Anton Harrell was forty-five years old but the man was stuck in the past. He presented his sermon in long chinos and a white-buttoned shirt. He enunciated his words like he was unveiling a new feature for Facebook. Who was he fooling with those Birkenstock sandals? There was something unsettling about him though, an uncanny look in his eyes. It was an augmentation. Anton Harrell’s eyes glowed like computer screens, and if you looked carefully you could see a perfect pale-blue ring around his irises. This augment — whatever it was — probably had something to do with the tiny metallic device embedded in his skull right behind his left ear.
Five other people stood behind Anton Harrell, belonging to some kind of upper hierarchy. Kelly guessed that the man with greying hair and demon jacket was Marcus Harrell, the brother. The youngest among the group was in the mission file too, a kid named Johnathan, Anton’s son, who had an ugly bruise over his right eye. Dunstan identified the stocky man with a revolver on his hip as Gustav Lynwood. Then there was Julia van Buren, a regal-looking businesswoman associated with the Harrell’s and outlined in the file — she was their cousin. The final member of the group was a young blonde, pretty, Julia’s daughter Cherry.
Anton Harrell stood quietly for a long moment and then spread his arms in a messianic gesture. “Information is the supreme value,” he began. “In 2013 Aaron Swartz took his own life after being persecuted for releasing scientific papers from the JSTOR archive free of charge. This man, this martyr, gave his life for the free access of information.” Anton paused for dramatic effect. “The world is complicated and seemingly unpredictable, but in the end all things constitute data. By relying on data, by trusting data, we can reduce cognitive biases and illuminate patterns of behaviour that we haven’t even discovered yet. We can put an end to the human error, to the error of human decision-making, because the system knows you better than any human mind ever could, including your own. Right now, in this very moment, we are participating in a data processing system. Think of the entire human species as a single data processing system, with individual humans serving as its chips. The whole of human history can be read as a process of improving the efficiency of this system by increasing the number and variety of processors, chips, in the system, increasing the number of connections between the processors and increasing the freedom of movement along existing connections. Freedom of information is the greatest good of all. Our purpose, our destiny, is to maximise data flow by connecting to more and more media — for the sake of humanity.”
Anton’s computer eyes locked directly onto Kelly and her skin prickled, an uneasy sensation. She had planned not to draw attention to herself. Anton obviously knew his congregation well.
“I see we have some newcomers today,” Anton declared, and the entire congregation turned and looked at Kelly and Dunstan.
Kelly reflexively but subtly moved her hand towards her gun, even though she had no intention of using it. Anton refused to break eye contact when he spoke.
“Tell me,” said Anton, in a low almost ethereal voice, “what drew you to our cause?”
Kelly opened her mouth, but had to choose her words carefully. She hesitated.
“We’re here to learn,” said Dunstan.
“Good.” Anton nodded. “Welcome to our town. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.” He gestured to the men and women standing behind him — his family. “My companions and disciples look forward to having you in our family.”
The sermon ended after a few more words from Anton and then, of all things, a prayer. Kelly and Dunstan merged with the crowd as they shuffled out of the church. The crowd dissipated in the street. Kelly made her way back to the diner. A chime sounded as she stepped inside. A recording of Anton’s speech played over the radio on the counter. Dunstan found a booth near the window and Kelly ordered some breakfast then joined him at the table.
“Dunstan.”
He understood the command from a simple gesture and placed a small flat device on the table. He pressed a button on the device and it blinked a blue light, and then he covered it with his beanie.
“So what do you think?” said Kelly.
“Well, we can confirm that Anton is back,” said Dunstan. “This is incredible — all this tech and not a shred of data reaching the outside other than what Anton permits. He’s got complete control of all transmissions going in and out of this entire region.” Dunstan paused. “I can see how his ideas can cause trouble, but he doesn’t look like any terrorist I’ve ever come across. This is going to be tricky.”
“Don’t say another word,” Kelly snapped, discretely looking behind her. “I’ll need you to set about locating our delivery so we can pick it up as quickly and quietly as possible. In the meantime we might as well check into the hotel and keep a low profile.”
The door chimed and the whole diner quickly hushed as Anton and the Cherry van Buren stepped inside; they approached Kelly’s table and Anton smiled at them. Up close Anton’s computer eyes seemed to look right through Kelly, as if he was seeing something about her that the rest of the people at the table couldn’t process. She shifted uncomfortably but smiled at him politely.
A waiter came over to pour Kelly’s coffee, but funnily enough Kelly could have sworn she saw the waiter glanced at Anton for permission before doing so.
“I wanted to introduce myself,” said Anton, “even though I’m sure you already know who I am.” He gestured to the woman beside him. “This is Cherry, my niece, she owns a nightclub not far from here. We’d love for you both to join us there this weekend.”
“Thank you,” said Kelly. She shook their hands. “I look forward to meeting the rest of your family, and learning all there is to know about what you do here.”
Anton smiled. He and Cherry found their own table. Kelly looked at Dunstan, sipped her coffee and then stood up. They had to leave. Now.
ns 172.70.130.73da2