Page 147 of The Killer’s Mark

‘Then—’

‘Yes, that was then. This is now. Things have changed.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘No?’ Poe raised his hand. Heard Towler get out of the car. Océane too. ‘Perhaps we have something that can change your mind.’

Towler joined him. He was holding a bag in one hand and the now struggling Océane with the other. Poe risked a glance at Esmerée. Her eyes were wide with shock. And maybe something else. Something behind the shock.

‘Who are you?’ Dong asked Towler.

‘Bruce Lee, dickhead,’ Towler said. He sniggered. ‘Nice medallion, by the way. Saves having “cock” tattooed on your forehead.’

Dong’s lips flattened. He snapped, ‘Let’s do this!’

The small triad started to drag Esmerée towards them. Towler’s eyes darkened when he saw her injuries. Poe felt him tense. Like a tiger when an unwary zookeeper had entered its enclosure.

‘The woman,’ Dong said. ‘Hand her over.’

‘Do you not want to see what she took?’ Poe said.

‘Later! The woman first!’

‘Oh, I really think you should look at the evidence. You may not want her after you’ve seen it.’

Towler handed Poe the bag. Poe reached in and pulled out one of Bradshaw’s pre-loaded iPads. He turned it on, then approached the triad. He handed it over. Dong took it without comment.

‘There are only two icons,’ Poe said. ‘Press the green one. After you’ve watched it, if you still want Océane, we’ll hand her over without a fuss.’

‘Fuck you, Poe!’ Océane said. ‘That wasn’t the deal.’

Dong glanced at Poe warily before pressing play.

While he waited for Bradshaw’s presentation to start, Poe said, ‘Sorry about twisting your balls by the way.’

The triad didn’t answer. Poe wasn’t sure he could. He seemed to have lost the power of speech. After two minutes, his eyes widened. He paled. Started to tremble.

‘What the hell is this?’ he said.

Chapter 123

‘The umbrella term is “synthetic media”,’ Poe said. ‘But to the layperson, which I guess you and I both are, what you have in front of you is commonly referred to as a deepfake.’ He took out his own iPad. Pressed play and started watching the same presentation. ‘Although I should really be more careful with my language. It’s unfair on the person who put this together to use “commonly” in the same sentence as what I’m assured is the most sophisticated synthetic media in the history of the world. I could get her to explain the science, the innovations, but you wouldn’t understand it. I know I didn’t. Regardless, as far as you’re concerned, what you’re watching actually happened. It wasn’t faked. It wasn’t manipulated. It is a true and unaltered record of events.’

‘But … it’s lies. None of this happened.’

‘Of course it didn’t. If it had, it would be worthless. We know it’s fake. You know it’s fake. And the people in these videos and photographs will definitely know it’s fake. Unfortunately for you and them, especially you, I suppose, that cannot be proven. The technology to identify this as synthetic media won’t exist for at least ten years.’ Poe paused. ‘Do you think you’ll survive that long?’

Dong stared at the iPad screen in horror. His men started to look uncomfortable. They knew something was going on, they just didn’t know what it was yet. It was as if the boss had dropped an eggy fart and they were all being forced to smile and breathe it in. Pretend he hadn’t. Poe thought the analogy was a good one.

Poe’s own video showed he had three minutes left. He reckoned the triad was getting to the end of his. When he did, the sixty-minute countdown would begin. Poe tapped his foot and waited.

Esmerée stared at him in confusion. He winked at her, and she smiled. Reassured. She glanced at her mother, and her smile fell like her cheek muscles had been severed. Again Poe felt a sense of unease. As though there was something he hadn’t yet discovered. Something Esmerée and Océane knew that no one else did.

He waited until Dong had finished watching Bradshaw’s presentation. If the man wasn’t such a ghoul, Poe would have felt sorry for him. But he was, so he didn’t. Bradshaw had said that even if the triad had turned down the volume, the iPad would alert Poe when the presentation had finished. When his sixty-minute countdown had started. She hadn’t told him what the alert would be, only that he would know it when he heard it.

He did. The Latin-flavoured acoustic intro of Iron Maiden’s ‘The Writing on the Wall’ echoed around the stone circle. Bradshaw had somehow programmed the song to play through the sound system of every car in the immediate vicinity. All three Jeep Wranglers – and the triads liked their speakers – and Poe’s car. The volume got louder and louder, and by the time the guitars and bass and drums had kicked in and Bruce Dickinson’s air-raid siren vocals were bludgeoning everyone into submission like they were in the mosh pit at Download, Dongyang Dong had started to cry.

Chapter 124