The Apkallu Protocol 3

Chapter 3

[Don’t know these characters? Start at Chapter 1.]

By the time Norton’s taxi had reached Ferenc Liszt Terminal 2A, he’d confirmed that the column of smoke was from a crash landing, but hadn’t been able to confirm the flight. Rushing into the terminal, he headed to the Tourist Information kiosk. People were crowded round, demanding information in Hungarian and other tongues. The two fraught women working the counter were reduced to repeating, in Hungarian, English, French, and German, what little they knew.

The flight number was Falaise’s. All passengers had been safely evacuated and were being tended to. It was uncertain how soon they could exit the airport.

Norton heaved a sigh of relief, looked at his watch. It was 5:23. Since the flight was scheduled to land at 4:50, it was unlikely they’d be out soon. He stood waiting.

He’d waited about ten minutes when two senior figures from airport security appeared, one a large, balding man who looked like a hotel maître d, the other a no-nonsense sixtyish woman with cropped reddish hair.

The woman first spoke in Hungarian, then the man took over in English. He announced to the worried friends and relatives that no passengers were injured, but that it would still be some time before passengers could depart the airport. They were going through a short debriefing—“just to make sure everyone is really alright.”

“It was a traumatic experience for all passengers involved,” the airport security man said gravely. “We can say at this point that we believe the pilot saved many lives by his very skillful landing.”

“The plane crashed!” an older woman protested in accented English. Norton couldn’t identify the accent.

“We believe the aircraft had mechanical failure,” the official said. “The pilot did everything correctly to land the plane safely.”

There were other questions, mostly in Hungarian, until Norton finally asked: “Excuse me. Will the debriefing likely take more than thirty minutes?”

He already knew the answer. But if the airport official hinted by word or gesture that it would of course take longer than that, he was going to get something to eat upstairs.

The official gave that slight smile that indicates an awareness of the naïve optimism of the person in front of him—as if his face were saying: “Ah! What a joy it must be to be so dumb.”

Norton had his answer.

“I can’t verify exactly how long it will take,” the official said, the smile having vanished in an instant. “But please, everyone, be patient! We are very thankful that everyone is safe.”

Norton calculated at least two more hours.

Upstairs he grabbed a coffee and sandwich at the Flocafé, and tried to get further information on the crash from other customers. He was tempted to turn on his phone, to see if Falaise had contacted him, but refrained. He didn’t want to see another of the hacker’s messages, at least not until he was back in the city.

A young Frenchman had a news clip of the plane burning on the runway, fire trucks around it, but that was all. There was no video yet of the plane’s actual landing, though the Frenchman told him there was witness corroboration it had been trailing smoke on approach.

Norton ate his sandwich quickly, finished his coffee, and returned to the arrivals area. He knew he still had long to wait, but didn’t want to take any chances he’d miss their exit.

Surprisingly it was only forty minutes later when the Amsterdam flight’s passengers began coming through the doors. They were each carrying a large white shopping bag, and most of them also had a pink paper voucher of some kind.

Norton scanned their eyes, and yes, many looked traumatized, though most looked irked, as if the main problem with surviving a plane crash was the hassle.

Falaise wasn’t part of the first bunch, but then Norton saw him, walking with a tall, rather striking blonde. Falaise was talking, gesturing tiredly, his student listening somewhat wide-eyed.

Norton stepped forward.

“Claude, I’m so relieved you two are safe,” he said, reaching out to shake the old professor’s hand and nodding to the student.

“Dodd, this has not been an easy flight,” Falaise said. “Not easy at all. But let me introduce you to Sophie Collins, a brilliant ex-student of mine.”

“Very glad to meet you, I’m so sorry about the accident,” Dodd said, shaking Sophie’s hand.

“I’m honored to meet you, Professor Norton,” Sophie said. “I’ve read your work.”

“Did you bring a car, or shall we get a taxi?” Falaise asked. “This is no place to talk.”

“I came by taxi,” Dodd said. “But what should we do? I mean, it’s clear you have no luggage.”

“No, we don’t. We’re told we may get some of that luggage eventually, but an investigation of the fire will need to be completed first.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Norton said. “It’s too bad.”

“So we’ll likely be getting our luggage in what? … 2030?” Falaise added sourly.

“I assume you need to get some things, what with no luggage,” Norton said, looking to Sophie.

Falaise looked to her too.

“I’m fine,” she said flatly. “I have pajamas and some basic things in this bag they gave us.” She held up the white bag. “I’ll have to buy some clothes soon, yes, but now I’d really just like to rest.”

“You will both be guests at my flat,” Norton said. “It’s far too large for me. Enough rooms for both of you. Agreed?”

“We have these vouchers for the hotel here,” Falaise said. He slightly shook the pink paper voucher. “But I suppose we don’t need them.”

“I appreciate your hospitality,” Sophie said. “This is very short notice.”

“We have much to do,” Falaise said.

Norton glanced at him, trying to read his eyes.

“Shall we get a taxi?” he said after a moment, gesturing toward the exit.

***

“So, have you gotten anywhere?” Falaise asked as the car sped away from the airport.

“My research?” Norton said. He was seated in the front next to the driver, Sophie and Falaise in the back.

“No, I don’t mean your research here in Hungary,” Falaise said. “I mean about this crisis. Do you have any ideas?”

Norton didn’t answer at first. Then, turning back to Claude, who was seated behind the driver: “The reports so far say it was mechanical failure. Still, there hasn’t been—"

“We know it was mechanical failure,” Falaise interrupted him. “We heard it. It happened in the air, as we were coming in for the landing. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m wondering if you have any ideas regarding the main reason we’re here.”

Again there was a pause from Norton. “I’m sorry, Claude, I can’t really guess that. All you told me is that you were coming, that you needed to see me. I couldn’t guess the reasons. I mean, I’m very glad to see you of course. But … what’s up?”

“Dodd, I told you on the phone,” Falaise said impatiently. “The demonic infestation. What’s happening in California. We’re here because you’re the one who might have some angle.”

“I don’t know about any demonic infestation,” Norton said evenly. “I don’t remember you saying anything about it on the phone.”

“How is it possible?!” Falaise exclaimed. “We talked about it. First, Ereshkigal, then the apkallu. You said you hadn’t seen any news, told me you were focusing on your research, but you’d start looking.”

“I honestly don’t remember anything about that,” Norton said. “I mean, you only told me you were coming to visit. You seemed eager to visit, excited about the trip. But there was no hint of disaster and no talk of … Did you say Ereshkigal? You mean the Mesopotamian Ereshkigal?”

There was a moment of silence. Falaise seemed confused, but also angry. He looked out the window, not sure if he should be frustrated by his friend’s flippant denials, or if he should seek some other answer.

“It’s very strange, Dodd,” he finally said. “I’m sorry, but our conversation was very clear.”

“It seemed clear to me too,” Norton said. “A little out of the blue, but clear.”

“Then why don’t you remember what it was about!” Falaise snapped.

“Please, both of you. Stop,” Sophie broke in.

They said nothing.

“Forgive me, but just stop,” she continued. “Something just … struck me.”

“What is it?” Norton asked.

“I was standing next to Claude as he explained everything to you on the phone,” Sophie continued. “He did explain about what was happening in California. I heard it. I also could hear your voice responding to him, but couldn’t hear what you said.”

“See?” Falaise put in, almost in triumph.

“Wait, Claude,” Sophie went on, cutting him short. “Just wait. Professor Norton, I assume you were in a quiet place when the conversation happened.”

“Yes,” Norton said. “I was in my apartment. I heard every word.”

“And you remember signing off—I mean, you remember you both said goodbye after Claude gave you our flight info.”

“Yes. He gave me the flight info just at the end.”

“The conversation was perhaps … oh, maybe six minutes,” Sophie said. “I’m not sure exactly, but that’s my guess.”

“That seems about right,” Norton agreed.

“And Claude, you heard everything Professor Norton said, and it was clear that he understood you.”

“Yes. He understood,” Claude said. “He responded to the things I was telling him.”

Sophie seemed to be gathering her thoughts. She didn’t know how to put it.

“The conversation was faked,” she finally announced.

“What do you mean?” Falaise protested. “I was there talking with him. We were talking!”

“You each heard different responses. You each heard words that were aimed at responding to what the other said. But you didn’t hear what the other was really saying. The conversation was manipulated.”

“How is that even possible?” Norton asked, suddenly remembering the hacker. “How can anyone do that?”

“I don’t know,” Sophie said. “It’s either very high tech, or …”

She didn’t continue.

“I’m sorry, Dodd,” Falaise said. “I’m sorry I was getting irritable with you. This is all quite difficult. The plane crash too—it’s put me on edge.”

“Don’t worry about it, Claude.” Then, craning back so as to better see Sophie: “Is it possible for AI to pull off such a trick?”

“Yes,” Sophie said. “But to do so it would need some … prep. I mean, it would need to know you two were going to converse. And it would need to have a rough plan as to what it didn’t want you to communicate.”

“But who would have known that we were going to talk?” Norton asked. “And why? I mean, who would want to muddle our conversation?”

“Dodd,” Falaise put in, sullenly this time, “it’s perhaps not a question of who, but what. This is why we’ve crossed the Atlantic.”

An air of dejection weighed on his words. They sat pondering as the car sped along.

“Ach!” Falaise finally exclaimed, losing patience once more. “We’ve so much work to do, and already I’m exhausted!”

Norton was going to respond.

“Let’s not continue the topic now,” Sophie cut him short. “At least not until we reach Professor Norton’s apartment.”

They acceded to her request.

* * *

Norton’s apartment was on the fourth floor of an 18^th century building on Krudy utca. When they entered Sophie immediately noted the smell of fresh paint, then when the lights went on, she noticed how large the place was, though rather shabbily furnished. Still, it was located right in what she could see was one of the city’s priciest neighborhoods.

She assumed Norton had no trouble renting such a place, given his alternate life in Hollywood. She kept glancing at him, seeing Hanks behind the mustache and recognizing Hanks’ voice in the somewhat different voice he put on in his professorial mode.

While flying over the Atlantic, Falaise had told her Norton didn’t mind occasional small allusions to his acting life, but that he wouldn’t talk about it directly.

“When he’s Norton, he’s Norton,” Falaise had said. “Simple as that.”

The living room had just been painted. As the fixture shades had been taken down from the ceiling lights, the bulbs shown bright. The glare caused her to squint.

Sophie and Falaise took seats while Norton went to get them drinks.

As soon as he returned with a tray of drinks, however, she realized she couldn’t enter right into the conversation they needed to have.

“I’m very sorry, Professor Norton, Claude—I’m sorry but I need to sleep. I just can’t start talking about all this now. I didn’t sleep at all on the plane, and then the accident …”

“It’s quite alright,” Norton said. “We can talk in the morning.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Falaise put in, “if Dodd and I hash out at least a few things before we turn in. I’m tired too, but a drink would do me good.”

He gestured at the tray that had been put on the coffee table.

“I don’t mind at all. I just need to close my eyes.”

Norton showed her to her room.

[On to Chapter 4. »»]