The Passengers(23)
Jack hesitated before his gaze reluctantly followed everyone else’s. There were bewildered gasps when they saw their own faces reflected on screen. From somewhere in the classified room, a camera was pointed at them, and, specifically, Jack.
‘You’re a covert little group, aren’t you?’ the Hacker continued. ‘Shifting from location to location the one week a month you sit; the public don’t know who you are; you aren’t legally bound to offer an explanation as to the decisions you make; you threaten the token member of the public with prosecution if they refuse to participate, then when they do take part you belittle them so much that they’re too frightened to ask a question or offer an opinion. Quite the little autocracy. Well, that’s all in the past now, Jack. It ends today. You are being broadcast globally. There is no corner of the world where your face does not have a presence.’
The jurors watched as Jack’s team sprang to life, fanning out across the room with photographic image locators to find the position of the camera. ‘Over here!’ yelled one as his gadget beeped. ‘It’s above the door!’ Jack leaped from his seat and when he reached the doorframe he grabbed a chair and climbed upon it. He balanced precariously, running his fingertips across the walls’ uneven surfaces until he touched upon something slightly raised. The large screen suddenly darkened as Jack’s fingers picked at the tiny lens, no more than half a centimetre in diameter, before he prised it from the plaster. He glowered at the object in the palm of his hand before dropping it to the floor and climbing off the chair. He raised his foot.
‘I’d think twice before I did that,’ said the Hacker. ‘It wouldn’t be the wisest decision you’ve ever made. For every one of your actions today, there will be a reaction.’
‘Jack,’ whispered Muriel anxiously, ‘perhaps you should listen …’
‘They know what we look like and who we are,’ Jack replied stubbornly. ‘We must nip this in the bud. We cannot be seen to be kowtowing.’
Jack offered a smile to the lens below before stamping upon on it and twisting the heel of his shoe for good measure. The screen went blank. However, the image was hastily replaced by another view of the room and its people, this time from a different angle. The smile slipped from Jack’s face.
‘Do you think I installed just one camera?’ asked the Hacker. ‘I’m a little aggrieved if you think I’m that lazy. There are, in fact, dozens of lenses scattered around this room, some of which you might be able to reach, others that you won’t. But they are the least of your problems right now. Do you understand?’
Jack gave an almost imperceptible nod.
‘So on to the business of the day. I have taken over eight of your autonomous cars – the same vehicles your Government promised were impossible to penetrate or corrupt – to operate as I see fit. These Passengers represent different walks of modern British life. Some are parents, others are childless. The youngest is in her twenties, the eldest are in their seventies. Some are employed, others are not. Some have been born and raised here, others have gravitated towards this once great, but alas now fractured, country. Six of them have been purposefully chosen and the other two have unfortunately found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time because they needed a taxi and are just as much strangers to me as they are to you. However, the one thing that every face on this wall has in common is that I have programmed each of their vehicles with an identical location.
‘In approximately two hours and ten minutes from now, they will come together and, travelling speeds of approximately seventy miles an hour, these eight vehicles will collide with one another, head-on.’
Chapter 16
The sound feed from the Passengers’ cars immediately returned: a chorus of shock, fear and desperation at the Hacker’s threat.
Libby wanted to slap her hands over her ears to try and block out their voices as they begged for their lives. Instead, they remained clasped tightly together on the tabletop. While her life was not in danger, she was as much a part of this as they were. And she owed it to them to hear and feel their pain, not to shy away from it.
It was the reaction of the pregnant woman that chilled her the most. Claire, as the caption on-screen named her, was inconsolable. ‘What about my baby?’ she wept. ‘Please don’t kill my son.’ Libby looked to another screen where a dark-skinned woman wearing a colourful hijab had closed her eyes and was either chanting or praying in a different language. Then Libby’s gaze returned to Jude. His chest slowly rose and fell, his expression blank. Of the seventy million people in the country, why are you caught up in this? she asked herself. But then, why not him? Why not any of them?
Without warning, one of the Passenger’s voices rang out through the room. ‘Libby, is that you?’
All heads turned to face her as Jude stared directly into his dashboard camera. Libby stared at him, her heart racing. She wanted to give him the same warm smile she had given the moment their eyes had locked across the pub. Instead, she chose a more fitting, sympathetic one. ‘Yes, it is.’ She raised her hand to wave at him then thought better of it.
‘Libby, oh my God!’ he replied as if equally as grateful to see her as she was to see him. ‘What are you doing there?’ he asked.
‘I was picked for jury duty.’