Digital Dreams Page 2

  Morel: Jacques?

  Jacques: Yes, Mr. Morel.

  Morel: The office is quiet, right?

  Jacques: Yes, here… just a couple of agents from operations down. I am alone in the third floor.

  Morel: Perfect. Listen, a murder just happened in

  a brothel in the north of Paris.

  Jacques: Understood. How did it reach directly to you? Are there proximity agents already?

  Morel: Well ... let me explain further. During the last months, Agent Giles and I have been conducting an investigation called Operation RENT, in the brothel of prostitutes, “Le fil d’ or”, where they use surrogated androids. As we progressed in the investigation, we realized that part of France’s business and political elite were regular customers. At some point, we evaluated the possibility of using the owner of the premises, a French pimp, and businessman named Vincent Marchand, as a “spy” and intelligence collaborator in exchange for not meddling in his business. We asked him to keep us informed of all the customers that came by and, most importantly, to record the clandestine meetings in the lobby downstairs. Several lines of investigation related to corruption at the highest level are about to be completed. About twenty minutes ago, Vincent Marchand called me on my private channel. He told me that someone had been murdered in his brothel. Vincent was extraordinarily nervous and told me he couldn’t understand how and why it happened. The surrogated robot had escaped through the window. Everything could be solved more or less as a standard case if it were not because the android is still running loose and the identity of the victim…

  Jacques: Whose is...

  Morel: The French Minister of Industry and Technology, Mr. Antoine Fachon.

  Jacques: Shit.

  Morel: Exactly. You can imagine the press tomorrow. After this conversation, I have to call the President of the Republic and the Prime Minister. On top of that, his wife, Segoléne, is my childhood friend. I have to go to her house to tell her. I’d rather explain it in person that let her figure it out tomorrow morning in the news. Can you deal with the technical part of the case?

  Jacques: Sure, and agent Giles?

  Morel: Giles is busy with corruption plots. In principle, we will treat this as a new case; It may be necessary to transfer you to the DGSE because the criminal may operate from abroad. Until we know more, it can be classified as homicide using phishing. This is your specialty, open a new case. I will give you permissions in the RENT case so you can access the database. I have told Vincent that he will have to explain the operation of the surrogated androids network. He has no other choice. This is his end, he is just playing how many years of jail he can handle. I imagine they use sex workers in virtual rooms in some developing country. You have to get this information. I’ve called Interpol, and we’ll be having a meeting with its cybercrime branch, WebPol, when you’re back.

  Jacques: Understood. Where is the brothel?

  Morel: Rue Gabrielle 5, at the end of the stairs of Rue Chappe, in Montmartre. Look at all the information of RENT investigation on the way. Vincent will collaborate… I am sure… for his own sake. Don’t report to the operation panel yet, give me time to make some calls. When you finish there, start the normal homicide process. Upload the information directly upon return. I will arrive more or less when you are back to the office. Let s meet again in… two hours?

  Jacques: Two hours sounds good, Gerard.

  Morel: Good luck, it’s going to be a very long day.

  Jacques Binet put the necessary equipment in his black leather sports bag. The upper floor of the French Intelligence Headquarters was utterly silent. Its holographic table, in stand-by, was emitting flashes of aquamarine light. On top of it, there was a small wooden sign with the following name:

  “M.Binet”.

  #1 Le fil d´or

  

  “And your very flesh will be a great poem”

  - Walt Whitman -

  French Intelligence Headquarters (DGSI) 84 Rue de Villiers, Levallois-Perret, Paris France

  00:47 AM (Local Time)

  Wednesday, November 14, 2046, Fog. 3 °C

  The stairs of Chappe Street in Montmartre distill a narcotic, gloomy atmosphere in the nights of dense fog. From above, at the intersection with Gabrielle Street, four points of light could be seen that draw a luminous path down. The lights of the four lanterns on Chappe Street fight the grey mist. Wednesday night just started his way into Thursday morning, and the streets were empty and silent, petrified. The tiles that made up several of the climbs to Montmartre and the Basilica of the Sacred Heart had a veil of moisture on them.

  Jacques Binet was still inside the autonomous car, a Peugeot E606 electric sedan, used by most of the government agencies and ministries, but also the French secret service. The autonomous vehicle had no driver’s seat, and its interior layout was more similar to two seating lines, facing each other, with a holographic table in the center. The tinted digital glasses did not allow him to see him from the outside, although on that foggy night it didn’t matter much. Between the fog and the darkness, one could barely see beyond ten meters, but Jacques Binet had recognized the brothel door from the car after checking the RENT investigation files. Jacques rummaged his assault bag and took the research belt loaded with three mini support drones and a digital genetic scanning worm. Each of the mini drones, shaped like an octahedron of a few centimetres, conformed to a specific research need. The first was for recognition; it was carrying a camera and synchronization equipment with the assault smart glasses. Jacques could see in real-time from different angles and evaluate complex situations and position of objectives. The second was scanning equipment; It consisted of a three-dimensional scanner to track crime scenes before any distortion. The scan used to be so thorough that I could find fingerprints with high precision. The third was a blinding drone. The drone had a camera with an algorithm for detecting attackers, whose eyes directly projected a red laser. The worm was a small autonomous robot that would cover surfaces collecting genetic material. Jacques adjusted his belt. He also took a pair of Glocks and put them on each side of his vest: the 9 mm Glock 19 with a digital fingerprint and secure fingerprint grip, and the Glock 53, of the new 50 line, with 8 bullet loader of 11 millimetres, ammunition made with a special alloy, specially designed against androids. Jacques put on a black jacket with smart microfibers and smart assault glasses with augmented reality. They looked like a band around the forehead and neck. He activated them in “record video and audio” mode. In principle, the android had left the scene of the crime, but Jacques always methodically followed the procedures, especially when he did not have the real-time support of the headquarters.

  Jacques looked at the time on the holographic device of his left wrist. It was ten past one when Jacques got out of the car and, after crossing the small street, Gabrielle, heard the sound of the car closing automatically when moving away from the holographic device. He reached the door and knocked a couple of times. After several seconds, some movement could be heard. Jacques moved slightly to his right so that any right-handed man would find it harder to grab or shoot him. He heard a voice from within, not precisely inviting.

  “What do you want?”

  “I come to speak with Mr. Marchand. Private matters”

  The door opened, and in front of him, he found a blond blocky guy, almost two meters tall, wearing a jacket suit. He looked like he was from Eastern Europe. Jacques instantly evaluated his facial characteristics using the typical androids recognition marks. Lack of facial asymmetry, matte white eyes background, and stiff neck movement. He was an android, possibly an M5 Android from MacroBit, illegally modified for private security tasks. Jacques looked him in the eye and affirmed gravely.

  “Mr. Marchand is waiting for me”

  “Okay. Follow me”

  After the small entrance, one could access an elegant bar with capacity for about twenty-five people. The decor was dark, with antique-style, cigar-ambience, wood furniture. The walls were
a classic grey color, and the curtains outward, dark purple. Comfortable, puffy, black leather sofas, decadent lamps, candles that gave off smells of vanilla, mahogany, and tobacco. There were several long mirrors at the beginning of the bar. In the end, there was also one on the ceiling in the middle of the bar. In front of the barman, at the bar, five prostitutes were waiting, each of them elegantly dressed, holding a different cocktail each one. Almost all turned to look at him. Jacques did not perceive that typical erotic and visceral sensation when several beautiful women look at yourself at the same time. However, he did notice something familiar in those prostitutes, as if he recognized them. There were two blondes, a brunette, an elegant Asian woman and a black woman with beautiful hair with a lot of volumes. The prostitutes looked at him with the cold eyes of the robots but the human expression of the women who controlled them from some virtual room somewhere in the world. The Asian was staring at him. She seemed to make a strange gesture with her hand under the bar as if she didn’t want anyone to notice. Jacques thought he wanted him to choose her. He felt a mixture of repulsion and grief. Prostitution using surrogated androids was an illegal practice. Surrogated fornication through sexual androids had become the new luxury prostitution. Legal sex androids still couldn’t speak and act like real humans. And here you could enjoy your favorite actress or model, with her voice, her hair color, even the perfume she promoted, controlled by a real woman. It was the closest thing to get laid with someone famous. The ultimate deepfake. This practice attracted millionaires and influential people who wanted to be discreet with their vices but at the same time required the most exquisite treatment. And in that business niche, Vincent Marchand had settled.

  Vincent Marchand entered through the last door of the bar. He was a thin black man, one-meter eighty-two but his steps were like a clic of a heavy-machinery watch. The hair was short, machine-cut. He wore shiny black shoes, tight black pants, a white shirt under a dark blue velvet jacket. The watch? An old one, Chaumet, Dandy model. Above all, a brown hair coat. If the hair was natural or synthetic, it was unknown to Jacques. Mr. Morel had not told him if Mr. Marchand was human or android. Jacques had a tic when he looked at the movement of the neck for the first estimate about whether a subject was human or android. He usually tilted his neck slightly to better perceive the rotation of the neck of the “opponent.” It was a mania that he was barely aware of, but it helped the subject also slightly tilt his neck to look at him. The answer used to be instinctive on the other person’s part and helped Jacques visualize the movement of the neck. It had become such a natural gesture that he never noticed. As he approached, at a steady and accelerated pace, Vincent Marchand began to speak.

  Vincent: You don’t have to look at me like that. I am not a robot.

  Jacques: Excuse me?

  Vincent: The little trick of the neck. I know all of you very well.

  Jacques: It must be a routine.

  Vincent: Of course not, when have you seen a fucking black robot? You are all shit racist, aren't you?. From the creators of androids to you, typical cop. Always white androids ... yes, white, like you. But deep down, we are all the same ... I have seen how you have looked at the girls. Which one do you like?

  Jacques Binet stared at him undeterred. He presumed, from the details of the RENT case, that Vincent Marchand was going to collaborate efficiently. One had to recognize that the guy was unique. A black pimp who loved white androids and a keen sense of humour. He had read his story too. Vincent Marchand was a restless “persona”, born during the 2010 crisis in Marseille, once young, he had been engaged in motorcycle theft, and then in drug trafficking as a transporter camel on the outskirts of the city. Ambitious and energetic, he had moved to Paris and towards fake luxury tech items, where he had learned that technology was the future. With the emergence of increasingly better androids, Vincent began to specialize in the use of illegal androids for robberies and assaults. Finally, he realized that the most stable and beneficial business was to reinvent prostitution. Although he had specialized in illegality, Monsieur Marchand could not be denied his ability to do business.

  Vincent: Welcome to “Le fil d ́or”; just for friends, Uncle Marchand’s tavern. The most elegant bar in Paris, the place where time is relative and dreams come true. How do you feel tonight? A little melancholic? - while pointing at the bar - Spend a night “at the Casablanca” with Ingrid Bergman.

  Jacques had just realized that the beautiful women at the bar were all famous actresses. Of course, the first of the girls was Ingrid Bergman! Vincent continued with an energetic but somewhat forced introduction.

  Vincent: Do you want an unforgettable experience? Try Sofia Loren in all her splendour in our exclusive suite. Do you want to feel the luckiest man in the world? The dream of every man. Our Brigitte Bardot in the Parisian suite… Taste for Asian beauty? Actress Ziyi Zhang is pure elegance and discretion in our red room decorated in the style of Chinese emperors. And finally, my favorite ... Whitney Houston. Make her sing any song you want in our suite with karaoke. Are you a music lover, Mr...?

  Jacques: Binet, Jacques. I’m afraid I have more pressing matters. Mr. Morel sent me. He told me that you would collaborate... for your own sake.

  Vincent: What a remedy! They screwed me up, you know, the whore has gone crazy. What the hell do you want to do? Go Lafayette fucking shopping! What do you expect! Just now, when we were going to order more androids, Morel comes and screw us. And when we reach an agreement to get clean ... shit.

  Jacques: I am sure that Mr. Morel will continue with his investigation and the agreement you have. Please, tell me the facts.

  Vincent: You’re recording this shit, aren’t you? Surely the glasses or something out there sure must be recording, you bastard. Look, I don’t care, I have already messed up. Whitie, I got a shitload in front of me. I had to cancel all appointments for tonight.

  Jacques: To the point, please.

  Vincent: Let’s see ... Mr. Fachon is an excellent customer ... sorry, he was… and he was the right customer; Occasional but recurrent. Always the same model, at the same time, between 11:30 and 12:30, at most, once every two weeks. He usually came at this time during the week to not meet anyone else. It was all very discreet. I thought he was a good guy. On TV he seems very serious, well, and ... to be frank... it was not the most expressive man, no. The thing is, tonight, at 12:30, when I saw that it was not going down, I went to ask. After several attempts without getting an answer, I had no choice. I have the key to the door and upon entering ... well, you’ll see. Mr. Fachon died, and the whore has escaped through the window of the fifth floor.

  Jacques: The Fifth floor. Room?

  Vincent: 502. The hallway room on the right. Come with me.

  The fifth floor was the fourth looking from Gabriele Street. Upon arriving at the landing between the fourth and fifth floors, Jacques asked Vincent to wait there. Jacques was halfway up the stairs that led to the fifth floor. Leaning against the wall, he controlled the angle and watched the open door of room 502. Although the owner of the brothel of surrogated android prostitutes had explained that the killer android had already escaped, Jacques was going to follow the procedure before entering the crime scene. He reached for his belt and took one of the mini drones, composed as an octahedron of graphene. Jacques threw it into the air, and the tiny drone floated beside him like an obedient can. He activated the assault glasses on the right side of the arm. The device automatically connected to the drone that remained in the air. The augmented reality device had the appearance of a band on the forehead only a couple of centimeters thick and metallic in appearance. A transparent screen unrolled like a blind before Jacques’s eyes. I could see in real-time the same as the tiny camera on the front of the mini drone. Jacques began to think of the words “in front” “below” “left” and, automatically, the manual control of the drone was activated by brain waves. He concentrated, and the drone advanced up and gently forward. Upon arriving at the door, the drone turned and entered th
e room. Jacques, from the hallway and through the screen in front of his eyes, could already see the massacre. As he approached, he discovered the rest of the small suite, under the dim light of the lamps, completely static. No signs of the alleged murderer. He turned off the manual mode of the android by looking twice at the corner of the screen. The mini drone automatically returned to his hands, and from there to the belt.

  Jacques entered the crime scene while activating a pair of front led lights on the smart assault glasses. The window was open, and a light breeze refreshed the room. Through the window, framed, there it was the beautiful Dome of the Basilica of the Sacred Heart. It was glimpsed, illuminated at night with golden lights. A small breeze, wet with fog, entered the room cooling the lifeless body that lay on the bed and filling the silence of the room. He approached the bed frame and took several photos directly from the smart glasses. Jacques released the robotic worm of DNA recognition on the body and also activated the scanning drone, which emitted a peculiar green light laser halo as it toured the walls. Video and audio were still active, and Jacques Binet started talking at the crime scene.

  “The room is spacious, and there is enough light. The window, open... I look outside. There is no trace of the android. There is a pipe that goes down from the roof to the street, I cannot ruled out that the android has used it when fleeing to avoid injury. The closet is open, with several clothes on the floor. On the bedside table, there is a bouquet of fresh flowers still wrapped in cardboard. On the bed, the corpse is naked, with the bloody sheets covering the intimate parts and the thighs. The victim may have been killed during the sexual act. As you approach, you can see how the neck has a bluish color, and the face is slightly swollen. Most likely, the android has suffocated the victim. There are no marks or grooves that suggest the use of textile or some utensil for strangulation. Current androids have a human-like strength and could be used as an initial hypothesis. The research team will have to evaluate it thoroughly. In the lower abdomen begins a deep and wide wound. The sheets cover the wound, and I cannot assess the level of depth without altering the scene. More than a stabbing, it seems as if the murderer was looking for something inside. There are blood marks on the floor, like a trail of blood that goes to the wall next to the door… holy shit!”